But how shall they manage to be talked about in the newspapers, and most gloriously abused? There is only one way. They must make speeches—if they cannot make speeches, they may as well give up the ghost, and be gathered to their fathers; for most assuredly, (whatever may be their worth, or strength, or talents, in every other way,) if they cannot make speeches, not a man of them will ever be remembered—long enough to be forgotten. And they must make long speeches—the longer the better; and frequent speeches—the more frequent the better; and be their own correspondents and report themselves for the newspapers, with tart replies and eloquent outbreaks, and happy illustrations, never uttered, nor dreamt of till the unpremeditated battle was over, like some that were made by Demosthenes himself, years after the occasion had passed by, and there was nobody alive to contradict him; or like the celebrated oration of Cicero against Cataline. But they cannot make speeches about nothing at all—at least such is my present opinion—it may be qualified hereafter, and I am well aware that common experience would appear to be against me, and that much may be said upon both sides, as well as upon neither side, in such a question. They must have something to work with—and to talk about: something, too, which is likely to make a noise out of doors; to set people together by the ears; to astonish them, and to give them a good excuse for fretting, and scolding, and worrying. In other words, they must introduce a new law—the more absurd the better—or attack an old law, the older the better; and seek to modify it, or to change or repeal it. And what is the result? Just this; that every Legislative Hall in the land, from the least to the greatest, from the lowest to the highest, becomes a debating-school; and the business of the whole Country is postponed, month after month, and year after year, to the very last days of the session, and then hurried through—just a little too late, wherever the national honor is deeply concerned, as in the case of French spoliations, and other honest debts owed by the Government to the People—with a precipitation so hazardous and shameful, that much of the little time left in future sessions must be employed in correcting the blunders of the past: and all for what?—merely that the Lawyers may be heard month after month, and have long speeches that were never delivered, or when delivered, not heard, reported piecemeal, and paragraph by paragraph, in perhaps two or three thousand newspapers—that are forgotten before the next sun goes down, and literally “perish in the using.” Nor does the mischief stop here. The whole business of the country is hung up—and sessions protracted for months—and millions upon millions wasted year after year, of the people’s money, upon what, after all, are nothing more—and there could not well be any thing less—than electioneering speeches.