The regular formula is this. The judge begins to read his notes, and makes “running comments” as he goes along. “We have first, gentlemen, the statement of Mrs. Cluppins, she tells you, &c. Of course she comes as the friend of the Plaintiff, and naturally takes a favourable view of her case. If you are satisfied with her statement, it is for you, gentlemen, to consider what value you will attach to it. Then we come to the question of damages. This is entirely a matter for you. You must take into account the position in life of the Defendant, and what the Plaintiff has lost by his default. On the other hand they must be reasonable in amount. If you believe the promise has been clearly established, you should give substantial though not excessive damages, on a scale sufficient to repay the Plaintiff for the wrong. On the other hand—should it seem to you doubtful whether the promise had been made—you will give the Defendant the benefit of the doubt. These are questions entirely for you—not for me. On the whole case, you will ask yourselves, whether a promise such as would satisfy reasonable men, has been supported by sufficient evidence. If so, Plaintiff is entitled to damages—on the other hand, if this is not proved to your satisfaction, you will find for the Defendant.”

Mr. Justice Stareleigh, however, as we are told, then “summed up in his old established and most approved form. He read as much of his notes as he could decypher on so short a notice, and made running comments on the evidence as he went along. If Mrs. Bardell were right, it was perfectly clear that Mr. Pickwick was wrong, and if they thought the evidence of Mrs. Cluppins worthy of credence, they would believe it, and if they didn’t, why they would’nt. If they were satisfied that a breach of promise had been committed, they would find for the Plaintiff, with such damages as they thought proper; and if, on the other hand, it appeared to them that no promise of marriage had ever been given, they would find for the Defendant, with no damages at all.” Such was this lucid direction—which is really, not in the least, an exaggeration.

But I could fancy some acute judge of our time—such as Mr. Justice Day or Mr. Justice Bigham—after trying this case, turning round in his seat to “charge” the jury. “Here, gentlemen,” he would tell them, “we have it claimed on one side that a promise of marriage was made—and broken; on the other hand the Defendant denies having ever given such a promise. The question you will have to deal with is: What was this promise, and when was it given? In other words, when did the Defendant propose to the lady. On the part of the Plaintiff, this was said to have been done at the interview in Goswell Street, and two friends of the Plaintiff—Mrs. Cluppins, I think”—turning over his notes—“yes, Cluppins, and Sanders both declare positively that they overheard the language of the proposal. Further, Mr. Pickwick’s friends are called, to prove that the lady was in his arms, fainting. It is extraordinary that not one of these three gentlemen should have deposed to any statements or have offered explanations of the situation. One witness indeed says that he heard the Defendant remonstrate with the Plaintiff, on her hysterical behaviour, and ask her to consider that if any one should come in, what would be said. Now, this is not the language of an ardent suitor, who would rather wish than otherwise, that such endearing familiarities should continue: though I don’t think you need seriously accept the reading the learned Counsel, Mr. Skimpin, put on the phrase used; on the other hand, the words ‘my dear creature,’ were distinctly heard.

“There is one little incident,” the Judge might go on, “which I must not pass by, and which is not without its significance. A witness deposed that the defendant was noted for his kindness to the Plaintiff’s little boy—that he was constantly giving him presents, and once was heard to say to him, patting him on the head, ‘how would you like to have another father?’ Now, this addressed to a child of tender years does seem an odd sort of speech. Of course, it will be contended that the reference was to the probability of his Mother marrying some one other than the Defendant: if that be the case, it seems to me rather an indelicate and reckless speech. And then it must be said, it seems inconsistent with the amiable and benevolent character given to the Defendant to-day. On the other hand, if he were referring to himself it will appear natural and proper enough. And there is this to be added, that when the child had reported the remark to his mother, which of course he did, she would most reasonably begin to found hopes upon it. And then what follows, Gentlemen?—the Defendant is found holding this lady in his arms, and becomes so demonstrative in his attentions that this very child comes to her rescue. I am inexperienced in these things—they may be innocent and done with the purest intentions, or may not; but you, Gentlemen of the Jury, are men of the world: and it is for you to put the proper construction on them.”

“You will have noted, Gentlemen, this curious feature of the case. None of the witnesses were in the room when the imputed proposal was made, yet all, Cluppins, Weller, and the Defendant’s three friends, heard what the Defendant said. This suggests that he must have been very pressing, if not agitated. One of the witnesses, Winkle, I think, yes, Winkle, actually deposes to hearing the words, ‘My dear creature! Compose yourself’ and the like. He added he was afraid someone might come in; a very reasonable fear, Gentlemen, and well grounded: for several persons did come in and it would seem with awkward results for the Defendant. But, Gentlemen, I confess that what most of all weighs with me in this case is the remarkable avowal wrung from a reluctant witness, of the Defendant’s being surprised at midnight in a lady’s bed-chamber, and being taken, after a serious riot, before the Magistrates. This came on me, as I saw it did on you all, as a surprise. True, it does not bear on the question of a promise or of the breach. But still it seems a matter which you cannot wholly shut out from your consideration. It startled me as it did you, to find a sort of travelling philanthropist, as the Defendant Pickwick holds himself out to be, on whose mildly benevolent features nature seems to have stamped rectitude and high principle, living a life of hypocrisy, taking part in midnight invasions and daylight riots. It is one of his own friends who tells us this sad story: and it is for you to consider whether the Plaintiff was here also in pursuit of yet another disreputable game, holding out marriage as the bait: I seem to speak strongly, but I feel it would be impossible to withdraw this from your consideration.

“You may reasonably ask yourselves of what Pickwick was afraid—or why did he dread the presence of witnesses? Was he simply beguiling the lady, as he attempted to beguile that lady at Ipswich, without ‘meaning business,’ as the phrase runs. I must say the Plaintiff had rather reasonable grounds for assuming that the Defendant did mean business. But all this is for you, Gentlemen, not for me.

“Then we have the man Weller’s statement—a sort of humorous stage servant, not unamusing—and of course entirely devoted to his master’s interest. I don’t think you need attach any importance to what he said of the solicitors for the Plaintiff. When I was at the Bar, Gentlemen, attornies did much worse things than this.”

The jury consulted for only a few minutes. Perhaps, however, they were only discussing the amount of damages. They were certainly moderate—laid at £1500—though had Dodson and Fogg’s advice prevailed, it should have been double. This only, by the way, is further proof of the amiable Mrs. Bardell’s moderation and secret tendre for her genial lodger. Considering that Mr. Pickwick was ‘a gentleman,’ and further a gentleman of means, and that Mrs. Bardell was but an humble lodging-house keeper, the sum seems hardly commensurate. Dodson and Fogg no doubt expected £1,000.

An anxious quarter of an hour elapsed; the jury came back; the judge was fetched in. Mr. Pickwick put on his spectacles, and gazed at the foreman with an agitated countenance and a quickly beating heart.

‘Gentlemen,’ said the individual in black, ‘are you all agreed upon your verdict?’

‘We are,’ replied the foreman.

‘Do you find for the plaintiff, gentlemen, or for the defendant?’

‘For the plaintiff.’

‘With what damages, gentlemen?’

‘Seven hundred and fifty pounds.’

Mr. Pickwick took off his spectacles, carefully wiped the glasses, folded them into their case, and put them in his pocket; then having drawn on his gloves with great nicety, and stared at the foreman all the while, he mechanically followed Mr. Perker and the blue bag out of court.

They stopped in a side room while Perker paid the court fees; and here, Mr. Pickwick was joined by his friends. Here, too, he encountered Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, rubbing their hands with every token of outward satisfaction.

‘Well, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Well, sir,’ said Dodson: for self and partner.

‘You imagine you’ll get your costs, don’t you, gentlemen?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

Fogg said they thought it rather probable. Dodson smiled, and said they’d try.

‘You may try, and try, and try again, Messrs. Dodson and Fogg,’ said Mr. Pickwick vehemently, ‘but not one farthing of costs or damages do you ever get from me, if I spend the rest of my existence in a debtor’s prison.’

‘Ha, ha!’ laughed Dodson. ‘You will think better of that, before next term, Mr. Pickwick.’

‘He, he, he! We’ll soon see about that Mr. Pickwick,’ grinned Mr. Fogg.

Speechless with indignation, Mr. Pickwick allowed himself to be led by his solicitor and friends to the door, and there assisted into a hackney-coach, which had been fetched for the purpose, by the ever watchful Sam Weller.

Sam had put up the steps; and was preparing to jump upon the box, when he felt himself gently touched on the shoulder; and looking round, his father stood before him. The old gentleman’s countenance wore a mournful expression, as he shook his head gravely, and said, in warning accents:

‘I know’d what ’ud come ’o this here mode ’o doin’ bisness. Oh Sammy, Sammy, vy worn’t there a alleybi!’

We may wonder that the laborious Chamber Counsel Serjeant Snubbin did not advise “moving for a new trial.” The verdict was clearly a wrong one—no sufficient evidence had been furnished either of a promise, or a breach. The full court would no doubt have granted the motion, and this would have led to Mr. Pickwick’s release, for the astute Dodson and Fogg must have recognised their poor chances, and perhaps have required “security for costs,” which their client could not have given. However, the idea did not occur to anybody.

Since the law was changed both plaintiff and defendant may be examined in such cases as these. What a different complexion this would have put on the suit. The whole case would have tumbled to pieces like a pack of cards. For Mr. Pickwick “put into the box” would have clearly shown that all that had been thus misconstrued, was his proposal for engaging a valet, which was to have been that very morning. He would have related the words of the dialogue, and the Jury would have seen at once how the mistake arose. On the other hand, he would have been exposed to a severe rating cross examination by the learned Serjeant—fortified by Winkle’s most damaging slip about the White Horse incident—who would have forced out of him all the incidents. We can almost hear the Serjeant subject the Defendant to the torture.

“This fellow of yours, Sir, was he recommended to you by a friend?”

“No—not at all.”

“By a Registry Office?”

“Certainly not—nothing of the kind.”

“Nothing of the kind? I suppose too low a class of place for you, eh? Come Sir!”

“I never said such a thing.”

“Nor thought it, I suppose? Come, Sir, no beating about the bush. In plain terms, did you get him from a low Public House in the Boro’?”

Mr. Pickwick started up.

“Never!”

“Do you deny it?”

“I never knew that the White Hart was a low Public-House,” said the witness indignantly.

“Never mind what you know, Sir. Did you or did you not get him from there?” thundered the Serjeant.

“Of course I did.”

“Of course you did. Then what’s the use of all this juggling. It does you no good with My Lord and the Jury. I tell you plainly, Mr. Pickwick, we mean to have all out of you. Now Sir, was this man of yours an experienced valet?”

“Certainly not.”

“He had, of course, some training in his profession in other families?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Not that you know of. Do you dare to persist in that, Sir?”

“Why not?”

“Don’t ask me questions, Sir, I’m asking you. Do you deny, Sir, that the man was neither more nor less than a common Boots in the yard of a Public House, wearing an old tattered hat and jacket—very different from the suit in which you have rigged him up here to-day?”

Mr. Pickwick was astonished and silent. He was suffering. He had never dreamed of this view.

“Why,” he said, “I suppose—”

“We want none of your supposes, Sir, answer yes or no.”

“Well he certainly was such as you describe.”

A flutter ran round the court.

“And this creature of yours, you would impose on the Jury as a trained man servant. You may go down Sir.”