But I must not delay longer over where the lawyers live. The lawyers of Dickens furnish me with three types of the practising solicitor or attorney, each admirable in its way. First, Mr. Perker, whose aid Mr. Wardle seeks to release Miss Rachel Wardle from that scoundrel Jingle. He is described as a little high-dried man, with a dark squeezed-up face, and small restless black eyes, that kept winking and twinkling on each side of his little inquisitive nose, as if they were playing a perpetual game of peep-bo with that feature. He was dressed all in black, with boots as shiny as his eyes, a low white neckcloth, and a clean shirt with a frill to it. A gold watch-chain and seals depended from his fob. He carried his black kid gloves _in_ his hands, and not _on_ them; and as he spoke, thrust his wrists beneath his coat-tails, with the air of a man who was in the habit of propounding some regular posers. He lived at Montague Place, Russell Square, and had offices in Gray's Inn, and appears to have had a large and very respectable business, into the details of which we have not time to travel; but perhaps the cleverest piece of business he ever did was when, as Agent to the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, he brought about the return of that honourable gentleman as Member of Parliament. I suppose we have all read the account of that memorable election, which is a pretty accurate record of what went on at Eatanswill, and I am credibly informed at many other places. Mr. Pickwick and his companions, in their quest for experience, set out for the excitement of a contested election, and found their way to the agent's room. "Ah--ah, my dear sir," said the little man, advancing to meet him; "very happy to see you, my dear sir, very. Pray sit down. So you have carried your intention into effect. You have come down here to see an election--eh?" Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative. "Spirited contest, my dear sir," said the little man. "I'm delighted to hear it," said Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands. "I like to see sturdy patriotism, on whatever side it is called forth;--and so it's a spirited contest?" "Oh, yes," said the little man, "very much so indeed. We have opened all the public-houses in the place, and left our adversary nothing but the beer-shops--masterly stroke of policy that, my dear sir, eh?" The little man smiled complacently, and took a large pinch of snuff. "And what are the probabilities as to the result of the contest?" inquired Mr. Pickwick. "Why, doubtful, my dear sir; rather doubtful as yet," replied the little man. "Fizkin's people have got three-and-thirty voters in the lock-up coach-house at the White Hart." "In the coach-house!" said Mr. Pickwick, considerably astonished by this second stroke of policy.