That our legislation is unstable and changing and fluctuating, who will deny? What great system of national policy have we ever pursued steadily beyond the terms of two or three of our political chief-magistrates—a paragraph at most, in the long History of the World? And how should it be otherwise? Lawyers with us are Conveyancers and Notaries and Special-Pleaders: and Conveyancers and Notaries and Special-Pleaders over sea are always, and in our country, almost always paid by the page; and a certain number of words, you know, constitute a page at law. Again—so sure is it that a lawyer shall not only be heard, but paid for his “much speaking,” that I do believe people are often better satisfied to lose a case with a long speech, than to gain it by a short one. This may appear somewhat startling; but let us see if, on the whole, it be not substantially true and no paradox. A man goes to consult a lawyer—you see how careful I am to distinguish between the two—and states his case. The lawyer hears him patiently through—having already touched the fee—and tells him, without opening a book, or lifting his spectacles, or moving from his chair, that the question lies in a nut-shell; and that if his view of the law should be sustained by the court, of which he cannot be sure, it may be settled easily and at once. Well—the case in due time goes up. The jury are empanneled; a great speech is brewing on the opposite side; you can hear the whiz of preparation in the very breathing of the Adversary; but up rises our friend—by the supposition a very clear-headed, able and honest lawyer—and so states the principle of law upon which he depends, that the court rules in his favor, no speeches are made, and the jury are discharged. And now comes the tug of war. The client begs a moment of the lawyer’s time, and asks what’s to pay: “Fifty dollars.” “_Fifty dollars!_—why, sir—pulling out his watch—you were not more than—” The lawyer bows, and on turning away with a stately air, as of one who truly respects himself, and will not suffer the dignity of the profession to be trifled with nor tarnished, is stopped by—“I beg your pardon, squire—there’s the money. Good morning.” And off goes the client, who has gained the cause, to complain of the lawyer for extravagance or extortion; saying that “the case was plain as a pike-staff—any body might have managed it—could have done it himself and without help—nothing but a word or two for the court—never opened his mouth to the jury—and then, whew! what do you think he had the conscience to charge? why, _fifty dollars!_—would you believe it! Very well—much good may the fifty dollars do him; it is the last he’ll ever see of my money, I promise you.”