then held, by the name of Hoover. He was a bright, active young man, but his chirography resembled, in illegibility if not in form, the Egyptian Hieroglyphics. He filed an answer to a complaint for a client. The Hon. Frank Clark, attorney for plaintiff, demurred to it because it did not state facts sufficient to constitute a defense-in fact, did not state anything-that, if it did, it was wholly illegible and passed finding out. As soon as Mr. Clark had finished reading his demurrer, the Judge, who prided himself on his ability to read all forms of handwriting, asked Mr. Clark to hand the answer to him, saying that he thought he could read it. It was handed up to the Judge. He read the first line in the body of the answer all right, but utterly broke down on the second line. He scanned the remainder of the answer deliberately and with care, then handed it to Mr. Hoover, asking him to read it. The Judge meantime watching him with an intensified, if not admiring, gaze. When Mr. Hoover had finished, the Court said: "Mr. Hoover, hold up your hand." Mr. Hoover did so, and in that solemn position the Court swore Mr. Hoover as to the correctness and truthfulness of his interpretation of that answer. Mr. Hoover has left the profession and gone into the more lucrative business of banking. On account of the unjust criticism sometimes made on my own hand manual, I feel inclined to treat him kindly.

There may be a dash of the ego in the following reminiscences, but it will be seen that I was but the incident or subordinate actor or, more often, victim, than otherwise.

While the Third was my judicial district, I was ordered by the legislature of A. D. 1869 and 1870 to hold court in the Second, as well. The docket at Vancouver, for various causes, not necessary for me to mention, had become very much clogged. There were over two hundred cases, civil and criminal, awaiting trial. The legislature gave me six weeks to clear up that docket. I went to Vancouver a little out of humor from the imposition of double dnties, but with the determination to accomplish the task within the allotted time if continued and sharp work

I would do it. I made myself something of a judicial tyrant during that term. I run court from eight o'clock in the morning, with evening sessions often extending until twelve o'clock at night. Motions and demurrers

were read and I only heard the party against whom I was inclined to rule on the reading. I took nothing under advisement. I limited the time of addresses to juries, adjusting it according to the importance of the case and the character of the rights involved. The local and visiting bar showed their appreciation of the situation and wasted no needless time in the direct or cross-examination of witnesses. We finished up our work on the last day of the alloted time, and of all that mass of cases heard and finally determined at that time not one was taken to the Supreme Court.

Quite a number of amusing incidents occurred that tended to relieve the monotony and to lighten the burden of our labors. By your permission, I will relate one.

A man had been indicted for a grievous assault and battery. The alleged place of the assault was in the woods near the northern limits of the town. The second witness for the prosecution was a school teacher from Washougal. He was a tall and lank man, with high cheek bones, sunken cheeks and eyes and sandy hair. He had about him an air of conscious superiority. After he had been sworn, he advanced to the witness stand, which was directly to my right. Before he took his seat, however, he courteously bowed to me, and, with a dignified wave of his hand, saluted the Court. The following is his description of the assault and battery:

"The prosecuting witness was sitting calmly and sedately on a log, when the prisoner approached with stealthy, yet intrepid, steps, until he approximated in close proximity to his person, sir,"-The Court interrupted: "If you can get along without making a stump speech, we will be very much obliged to you." "Thank your Honor," he responded. "Proceed," said the Court. "As I was remarking, the prosecuting witness was sitting calmly and

sedately on a log, when the prisoner approached him with stealthy, yet intrepid, steps, until he approximated in close proximity to his person, sir, when he reached forth his digits and fastened them in the capillary filaments of the prosecutor's head, and then, with a tremendous jerk, laid him prone and prostrate on the ground, then he lifted his heel high in air and sent it with such force and violence into the countenance of the prosecutor that it has left an impression indelible to this day, sir." "That will do,' said the Court, "you can go." He arose and, with a courteous bow to the Court and a wave of his right hand towards the Bar, said: "Thank your honor for releasing me from the impertinence of these attorneys." And he proudly walked out of that court house. The Court surrendered its dignity for a time and joined in the storm of laughter.

Pierce County, now a model of intellectual and moral progress with a thrifty, energetic and law-abiding population, was, in early territorial days, a hotbed of local feuds frequently resulting in homicides. She had no Tacoma, then, to control the spirit of lawlessness and to teach her citizens that life's truer conflicts are different and nobler. This county was in the Third Judicial District, over whose courts I had the honor to preside for six years. At one of these terms of court, a man by the name of Walker was indicted for the murder of his nearest neighbor. Walker and his said neighbor were both unmarried and lived in cabins not far apart. Both were stock raisers, and both were well advanced in years. No one saw the killing and it was, therefore a case of circumstantial evidence. The body of the neighbor when found lay near a gate that entered Walker's pasture field, and the right side, from the shoulder down to a point opposite the navel was perforated with heavy shot. I will not attempt. to state the circumstances on which the prosecution relied, suffice it to say they pointed with a good deal of force to the guilt of the accused; but I will not say, in opposition to the verdict of the jury, that they excluded every hypoth

esis of innocence. The prisoner was ably defended by Judge Wyche, James McNaught, Irving Ballard and Gov. Wallace. The Hon. C. H. Bradshaw was the prosecuting attorney, and he was ably assisted by Hon. Frank Clark. The trial occupied the attention of the court for four days. On the second day of the trial, a lady tastefully dressed, but closely veiled, entered the court with the prisoner's counsel, and when the prisoner came, took a seat by his side. She was evidently a stranger, and "Who was she?" was on the lips of everyone. At the noon recess it was learned that she was the daughter of the prisoner. Day by day she appeared, took her accustomed seat, and remained a silent and mournful listener to the damaging testimony given against her father. At noon of the fourth day I thought the testimony was all in. At the call of the court after recess, I was somewhat astonished by the announcement of Judge Wyche that he wished to put one more witness on the stand. I was still more surprised when he asked this daughter to take the witness stand. She moved across the room in front of the large audience in a dignified and graceful manner, her face still veiled. Before she was sworn, Judge Wyche requested her to remove ber veil, and she did so, revealing a countenance beautiful, intelligent and sorrowful. Judge Wyche asked her to state her age. She answered, twenty-four. Ques.-What relation are you, if any, to the prisoner? Ans. He is my father. Ques.-Before you came here, how long had it been since you last saw your father? Ans.-About fifteen years. Ques.-Are you married? Ans.-I am. Ques.-What is the object of your visit here? This question was objected to, but I let it go in. "I came," she said, "to persuade my aged father to go back and live with me in my eastern home, so that I could smoothe his pathway to the tomb with a daughter's love and affection, but to my sorrow and astonishment, when I arrived I found him on trial for his life." She was about to proceed, but the Court stopped her.

Then Judge Wyche said; "I want to ask you one more

question. I presume it will be objected to, and you need not answer until the Court permits you to do so. Taking into consideration all that you have stated and all that you may know in the past, as well as in the present, of your father-what is your opinion of his sanity?" "We object," came quick and sharp from Mr. Clark; but, as he did not arise to argue the objection, Judge Wyche made a clear and cogent argument in favor of the admissibility of the testimony, admitting that the authorities were in conflict, but claimed that the better reason was in favor of its admission. In conclusion, he repeated the testimony of the witness and drew a brief but pathetic picture of her melancholy condition. His emotions seemed to intensify as he proceeded until they became too great for utterance, and he resumed his seat amid the profound silence of the court room.

Frank Clark, who had watched this performance with the keen eye of a connoisseur, immediately arose to reply. He did not waste much time on the legal proposition, but addressed himself to the concluding portion of Judge Wyche's argument. He said the learned counsel for the defendant had drawn a pathetic and melancholy picture, but, with a voice trembling with seeming emotion, he asked: "Did the learned counsel say anything about the poor, lone man who fell on yonder plain, pierced by many cruel shot, with no daughter near to receive his last blessing or to close his eyes fast glazing in death?" Seemingly overcome with emotion, he resumed his seat, but no sooner had he done so than he put his hand to the corner of his mouth and said to the prosecuting attorney, in a stage whisper, distinctly audible in most of the room: "I guess they did not beat us much in that game."

All of the older members of the bar in Western Washington were acquainted with I. M. Hall. He was Probate Judge of King county for two terms, and for one term its auditor. He possessed what Bishop calls "a legal mind." While he was well read in the elements of the law, after his admission to the bar he had very little use for books