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What though the roots of common law in English soil are laid, Our younger race can point with pride to names which will not fade I Shall Storey, Curtis, Kent, or Shaw the palm to Britons yield? Will not our sons and grandsons talk of Lowell and of Field? Death claims his own; yet death but gilds with more conspicuous grace The worth of him 1 who late adorned our first and highest place; Of him,2 his colleague, who obeyed the heavenly bugle-call, Pre-eminent in many paths, and noble in them all.

Gone are the fictions of the past : the lawyer of to-day Wears no wig on his head to hide the crown that 's bald or gray, No gown of richly flowing silk encompasses his frame, He has no letters fastened to the rear end of his name; And yet (if you 'll excuse the slang) he gets there just the same. He is a plain and proper man, the lawyer of to-day, Who tries to reach the point at bar as quickly as he may; He fights with fundamental facts, he matches link with link, Nor dares to trust to the belief that juries do not think; He knows they will no longer gulp the glibly uttered lie, Because he hammers with his fist or lightens with his eye; The teary, tremulous harangue evokes the knowing smile, For laymen when attorneys weep discern the crocodile. But though the style of argument which made the counsel hoarse Has given place to business-like, colloquial discourse, And though the son may not prevail by arts which crowned his sire, The world still heeds the voice which rings with real Promethean fire. True eloquence controls mankind as surely and as well As in the days when Abinger or Webster wrought the spell. Let but the hour demand the man to talk in tongues of flame, The gaping world still holds its breath, and wise men cry acclaim. Oh happy he who has the power to make his words seem thongs When sneering common-sense conspires to bolster up old wrongs! But over every paltry case, what boots a beetling brow? It 's not the largest kind of dog that makes the greatest row.

O brothers of the legal faith, the world is growing old! Men say that all the poems are writ and all the stories told; And judging by the multitude of issues framed and tried, There should be no contentions left for judges to decide. 1 Chief-Justice Marcus Morton.

2 Mr. Justice Charles Devens.