With all my heart, Graham! But inasmuch as the lecture you want a copy of has never been reduced to writing, though portions have appeared from time to time in the newspapers of the day; and I have no notes worth referring to, I dare not pretend to give you the language I employ; for, between ourselves, that depends upon the weather and the House, to say nothing of my temper at the time. For example; if I see before me a goodly proportion of what are called the _learned_, or the _educated_, I never mince matters—I never talk as if butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth, but go to work with my sleeves rolled up, as if I heard a trumpet in the hollow sky. In other cases, where the great majority of my hearers happen to be neither learned nor educated—though there may be a sprinkling of both—I am apt, I acknowledge, to wander off into familiar every-day illustrations—perhaps into down-right story-telling, or what my brethren of the bar would be likely to denominate _unprofessional_ rigmarole. But the substance of my preaching for many years upon this subject, and the “thing signified,” and the general arrangement, under all sorts of provocation, I think I may venture to promise you. Bear in mind, I pray you, that phantoms under one aspect, may be more terrible than giants, cased in proof, under another. Every great mischief, being once enthroned or established, is a host of itself. In the open field, lawyers are not easily vanquished—out-manœuvered or overborne. Walled about, as with a triple wall of fire—or _brass_?—high up and afar off, their intrenchments are only to be carried by storm. They must be grappled with, face to face. No quarter must be granted—for no quarter do they give—no mercy do they show, after their banners are afield. “Up, guards! and at ’em!” said Wellington, at the battle of Waterloo; and so say I! whenever I see my brethren of the bar rallying for a charge.