quails when the shop is brought forward. No
doubt all this is morbid, and inexcusable, and
unpractical; still, such elements go for
something in keeping many men silent about their
professions: while in the case of some others,
and more especially in the case of the less
honest professors of the three black arts, there
is a strong conviction that it is as well to keep
up an air of mystery, lest the public should
get too intimate with them, and lose some of
their respect through familiarity.

Altogether, then, when gushing ladies and
gentlemen will talk to men about their professions,
they must run the risk of being thought
wanting in tact, and also of exposing their own
ignorance, which is commonly on professional
matters profound in the extreme. I feel this
myself so strongly, that though I am in my own
secret estimation a mighty pretty sportsman,
and a shrewd judge of horseflesh, I would as
soon think of engaging with a gamekeeper, or a
horse-dealer, in half an hour's chat on shooting
or horse-keeping, as I would of discussing
medical jurisprudence with Professor Taylor.

One more reason, and a very sound one,
there is, why men should not talk about their
work, and that is the awful danger of evaporation.
That wise old man, Sir Joshua Reynolds,
warns the students in one of his lectures against
talking among each other of the pictures they
are going to paint. And he is right. Words
are a safety valve, but sometimes they let off
steam that is wanted for practical use. Most
of us have known men who paint their pictures
and write their books and invent their mechanical
contrivances, ay, and do their virtuous acts too
in words, and I think we must generally have
remarked that they are none of them the most
able of performers in their respective lines.

That there is such a thing as professional talk,
however, it is not for your Small-Beer Chronicler
to deny. When men of the same calling get
together, they will sometimes talk professionally,
seeking counsel and support from one another
naturally enough, for many are the points on
which most of us have misgivings, and many are
the party-walls in our moral natures which
require to be occasionally shored up. This is
one kind of professional talk. Another is that
which takes place between a professional and his
client, when they meet on business. Of course
this sort of conversation is confined to certain
professions. When a military or naval hero, for
instance, is engaged in " business," it is not talking that
goes on, but something much more
serious. The principal professions of which
talking is an integral element, are law, medicine,
dentistry, and portrait-painting. The professors
of all these callings have their particular ways
of lightening their labours with conversation.

The lawyer's style I should be disposed to call
the cheerfully-plural style. This obtains
occasionally, also, in medicine, but it is in its highest
perfection among solicitors. It is very
condescending and impressive.

"Now, ma'am," says a smiling gentleman,
unfolding some enormous sheets of parchment,
with mysterious wafers dotted over the surface.
"We must not be alarmed. These are mere
matters of form, ma'am. We lawyers are all sad
rogues, ma'am, and we make things look as
formidable as we can—but we must not be
alarmed, ma'am—we must not be alarmed. Now,
ma'am, you see we just put our little finger--
no, not our left little finger, but our right little
finger— that's it—that's it—upon this wafer—
no, ma'am, not that wafer, this one. We are
a little flurried, a little flurried—natural enough
—and we say, merely formal, ma'am—'I deliver
this as my act and deed'—you deliver, hum, ha,
as your act and deed. Why that's as it should
be. Nothing very alarming in it—no, no, only
we lawyers, you know, ma'am, we make it all very
imposing, you know, to serve our own purposes.
So now you see, ma'am, we are quite ourselves
again, and we've signed our little document,
enabling our cousin, Michael O'Flannegan, ha,
hum, to have and receive, ha, hum, our little
property with, hum, ha, a view to the investing
of the same in— Irish Flax Company—and so on
—that will do, ma'am. Uncommonly nice part of
the country this—ah! its little we poor smoke-
dried lawyers see of nature—Mr. Tapely, have
the goodness to tie up these deeds."

This cheerfully-plural, or plurally-cheerful,
style has long been in vogue in legal circles. It
used formerly also to be a good deal affected by
old apothecaries of the shirt-frill and silk-stocking
school, and was found to be very comforting
and seductive: the medical man seeming to take
up your shattered constitution, and identify it
with his own flourishing constitution, just as the
solicitor took up your affairs and made them his
own affairs, thereby giving you an ineffable, but
utterly unfounded sense of security, which could
be communicated in no other way. The cheerfully-
plural style is, I am sorry to say, fast dis-
appearing from modern society.

Is there any happy, any doubly-blessed,
individual living in the world who is unacquainted
with the manners and customs of the dental
fraternity? What other thing is so terrible as
the light conversation which gentlemen of that
profession have recourse to while preparing to
operate. How awfully cheerful they are. How
does Mr. Scrunchem receive you when you enter
with a face like an inflated bagpipe? " Good
morning, Mr. Chopfall, I've not had the pleasure
of seeing you for a very long time. I hope you
are very well—a little troubled with a tooth, eh?
I see your face is a good deal swelled, yes, yes.
Come, sit down and let's have a look-- let's have
a look opena little wider, if you please— hum--
hum—yes, there's a sad offender here, Mr. Chopfall.
Dear, dear, dear, dear—yes, yes—I think
we ought to get rid of this tiresome fellow for
you, eh? You'd rather not—well, just as you
like, but, if I were you, I would certainly
be rid of him in no time. Does it hurt you
when I press? Ah, no doubt, no doubt. Come,
Mr. Chopfall, take my advice now—courage, sir,
courage; it's only the affair of a moment. You
will? Why that's right—that's right." (Mr.
Scrunchem retires to a neat marble table, and