'"
Mr. PELL here paused, and panted, like one who comes to the surface
after a deep-sea dive. Then he pursued:--
"There, Boy! _That_ is from the opening speech of the President of
the Incorporated Law Society at Plymouth! And excellent it is,--though
perhaps a little long-winded. As a mere sentence, a sinuous sequence
of words, a 'breather' in syllables, an exercise in adjectives,
it cuts the record and takes the cake. But look, Boy, at the
sound common-sense of it! Since the famous, if flattering,
remarks--concerning Me!--of my late friend, the ex-Lord-Chancellor,
who said--nay, swore, that 'the country ought to be proud of me,'
I have met with no observations concerning our Profession which so
commend themselves to my judgment."
"Oh, please Sir, yussir, right you are, Sir!" jerked out the Boy with
the Bag.
"Right Mr. MELMOTH WALTERS is," corrected Mr. PELL, severely. "I knew
it would come, Boy, and it _has_. Though it has taken time, it has
taken time. Listen yet further, and don't fidget with that Bag!
"'I contend (_He contends!_) that it is the duty of the State to
provide due recognition of merit in the ranks of a Profession which
has been set apart (_Dedicated, as it were, like a--like a--sort of a
scapegoat--ahem! no, not that, exactly, either, but--a--you know, Boy,
you know!_), and regulated (_Just a leetle too much, perhaps_) by it,
from which so much is expected, and to which so much is confided.'
"Splendid! My sentiments to a touch! Sir, that Blue Bag is a Temple of
Sacred Secrets, and _should_ be a shrine of Open Honour.
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