Wood was a native of Stirling, a thinly settled country town near the foot of Mount Wachusett. The people of that town were nearly equally divided between the Unitarian and Universalist congregations. Each had its meeting house fronting on the public common or Green, as it was called. In the summer the farmers would come to meeting from distant parts of the town, bringing luncheon with them; have a short intermission after the morning service, and then have a second service in the afternoon. During the recess, in pleasant summer weather, the men of the two congregations would gather together on the Green, discussing the news of the town, and very often getting into theological controversies. In the winter, they gathered in the tavern or post-office in the same way. There was one Universalist champion who told the gathering that he would make any man admit the truth of Universalism in five minutes. He was a well known and doughty champion, and the Unitarians were rather loth to tackle him. But, one Sunday, Lawyer Wood came home to spend the day at his birthplace, and the Unitarians thought it was a good chance to encounter the Universalist champion. So they accepted his challenge and put Wood forward to meet him.
The Universalist theologian began: "You'll admit there is a God?"
"No, I'll be damned if I do," replied Wood.
The fellow was completely non-plussed. He had got to take up his five minutes in compelling Wood to admit the existence of a Creator. So he was obliged to retire from the field discomfited.
Another of our leaders at the Bar was Henry Chapin. He had made his way from a rather humble place in life to be one of the leaders of a very able Bar, Mayor of Worcester, and to hold a place of large influence in the various business, social, charitable and religious activities of the community. He was not specially learned, specially profound or specially eloquent. But he had a rare gift of seizing upon the thought which was uppermost in the minds of excellent and sensible men, country farmers, skilled workmen in the shops, business men, expressing it in a clear and vigorous way, always agreeing with the best sentiment of the people. This, with an unfailing courtesy and pleasant humor and integrity of character and life gave him great popularity. He was exceedingly happy in short speeches at dinners or at political meetings. He had a fund of entertaining anecdote which never seemed to fail. He was very careful not to seem dogmatic, or to assert himself too strongly. He would put forward his opinion with saying, "It strikes my mind," or "It has occurred to me," or "I thought perhaps it was possible," or "It is my impression." I remember once protesting before old Judge Byington against some objection which the counsel on the other side had made to a witness testifying to his impressions. I told the Judge that Brother Chapin never in his life stated anything more strongly. If you asked him if he were married, he would say it was his impression he was. The Judge said: "Well, we have a lawyer in Berkshire County who has the same habit. Only if you ask him if he is married it is his impression he isn't."
It is said that when he went to see the Siamese Twins, he observed to the exhibitor, "Brothers, I suppose." But I believe that story had been told before of one of the Royal Dukes.
Mr. Chapin was nominated by the Republicans for Congress and accepted and would have had a useful and distinguished public life. But he became alarmed by the opposition of the Know- Nothings and withdrew from the canvass much to the dissatisfaction of his political friends. That ended his political aspirations. But he was soon after appointed to the more congenial office of Judge of Probate, which he discharged to great public satisfaction until his lamented death.
Unquestionably the most important character in the legal history of Massachusetts is Chief Justice Lemuel Shaw. He was a great lawyer before he came to the Bench. He had written one or two very able articles for theNorth American Review,one of them a vigorous statement of the opinion of Massachusetts upon slavery. He was the author of a petition signed by many of the leading men of Massachusetts in opposition to the high tariff of 1828. No more powerful statement of the argument against high protection can be found. I have been surprised that the modern free-traders have not long ago discovered it, and brought it to light. He was one of the managers of the impeachment of Judge Prescott, securing a conviction against a powerful array of counsel for the defendant, which included Daniel Webster. He was consulted in difficult and important matters by eminent counsel in other counties than Suffolk.
But all these titles to distinction have been forgotten in his great service as Chief Justice of Massachusetts for thirty years. No other judicial fame in the country can rival his, with the single exception of Marshall. He was induced to undertake the office of Chief Justice very reluctantly, by the strong personal urgency of Mr. Webster. Mr. Webster used to give a humorous account of the difficulty he had in overcoming the morbid scruples of the great simple-hearted intellectual giant. He found Mr. Shaw in his office in a cloud of tobacco-smoke. Mr. Webster did not himself smoke, and was at some disadvantage during the interview for that reason.
Mr. Shaw was rather short in stature and, in the latter part of his life, somewhat corpulent. He had a massive head, a low forehead, and strong and rather coarse features. He reminded you of the statues of Gog and Magog in the Guildhall in London. His hair came down over his forehead, and when he had been away from home for a week or two, so that his head got no combing but his own, it was in a sadly tangled mass. His eye was dull, except when it kindled in discussion, or when he was stirred to some utterance of grave displeasure.
There is an anecdote of Mr. Choate which occasionally goes the rounds of the papers, and which is often repeated quite inaccurately. The true version is this. I heard it within a few hours after it happened, and have heard it at first hand more than once since.
Mr. Choate was sitting next to Judge Hoar in the bar when the Chief Justice was presiding, and the Suffolk docket was being called. The Chief Justice said something which led Mr. Choate to make a half-humorous and half-displeased remark about Shaw's roughness of look and manner, to which Judge Hoar replied: "After all, I feel a reverence for the old Chief Justice."
"A reverence for him, my dear fellow?" said Choate. "So do I. I bow down to him as the wild Indian does before his wooden idol. I know he's ugly; but I bow to a superior intelligence."
Judge Shaw's mind moved very slowly. When a case was argued, it took him a good while to get the statement of facts into his mind. It was hard for him to deal readily with unimportant matters, or with things which, to other people, were matters of course. If the simplest motion were made, he had to unlimber the heavy artillery of his mind, go down to the roots of the question, consider the matter in all possible relations, and deal with it as if he were besieging a fortress. When he was intent upon a subject, he was exceedingly impatient of anything that interrupted the current of his thought. So he was a hard person for young advocates, or for any other unless he were strong, self-possessed, and had the respect of the Judge. My old friend and partner, Judge Washburn, once told me that he dreaded the Law term of the Court as it approached, and sometimes felt that he would rather lay his head down on the rail, and let a train of cars pass over it, than argue a case before Shaw. The old man was probably unconscious of this failing. He had the kindest heart in the world, was extremely fond of little children and beautiful young women, and especially desirous to care for the rights of persons who were feeble and defenceless.
I was myself counsel before him in a case where the question was whether a heifer calf, worth six or seven dollars, the offspring of the one cow which our law reserves to a poor debtor against attachment, was also exempt. My opponent undertook to make some merriment about the question, and there was some laughter at the Bar. The old Chief Justice interposed with great emotion: "Gentlemen, remember that this is a matter of great interest to a great many poor families." There was no laughter after that, and that heifer calf did duty in many a trial afterward, when the young advocates at the Worcester Bar had some poor client to defend.
The Chief Justice had not the slightest sense of humor. When old Judge Wilde, the great real property Judge, died after an illustrious judicial service of thirty-five years, somebody showed Chief Justice Shaw a register published in Boston which recorded his death, "Died in Boston, the Honorable Samuel S. Wilde, aged eighty, many years Justice of the Peace." It was passed up to the Bench. The old Chief Justice looked at it, read it over again, and said "What publication is this?"
In the old days, when the lawyers and Judges spent the evenings of Court week at the taverns on the Circuit, the Chief Justice liked to get a company of lawyers about him and discourse to them. He was very well informed, indeed, on a great variety of matters, and his talk was very interesting and full of instruction. But there was no fun in it. One evening he was discoursing in his ponderous way about the vitality of seed. He said: "I understand that they found some seed of wheat in one of the pyramids of Egypt, wrapped up in a mummy- case, where it had been probably some four thousand years at least, carried it over to England last year and planted it, and it came up and they had a very good crop."
"Of mummies, sir?" inquired old Josiah Adams, a waggish member of the Bar.
"No, Mr. Adams," replied the Chief Justice, with a tone of reproof, and with great seriousness. "No, Mr. Adams, not mummies—wheat."
Adams retired from the circle in great discomfiture. He inquired of one of the other lawyers, afterward, if he supposed that the Chief Justice really believed that he thought the seed had produced mummies, and was told by his friend that he did not think there was the slightest doubt of it.
Chief Justice Shaw, though very rough in his manner was exceedingly considerate of the rights of poor and friendless persons. Sometimes persons unacquainted with the ways of the world would desire to make their own arguments, or would in some way interrupt the business of the court. The Chief Justice commonly treated them with great consideration. One amusing incident happened quite late in his life. A rather dissipated lawyer who had a case approaching on the docket, one day told his office-boy to "Go over to the Supreme Court and see what in hell they are doing." The Court were hearing a very important case in which Mr. Choate was on one side and Mr. Curtis on the other. The Bar and the Court-Room were crowded with listeners. As Mr. Curtis was in the midst of his argument, the eye of the Chief Justice caught sight of a young urchin, ten or eleven years old, with yellow trousers stuffed into his boots, and with his cap on one side of his head, gazing intently up at him. He said, "Stop a moment, Mr. Curtis." Mr. Curtis stopped, and there was a profound silence as the audience saw the audacious little fellow standing entirely unconcerned. "What do you want, my boy?" said the Chief Justice. "Mr. P. told me to come over here and see what in hell you was up to," was the reply. There was a dive at the unhappy youth by three or four of the deputies in attendance, and a roar of laughter from the audience. The boy was ejected. But the gravity of the old Chief Justice was not disturbed.
He had a curiously awkward motion, especially in moving about a parlor in social gatherings, or walking in the street. I once pointed out to a friend a ludicrous resemblance between his countenance and expression and that of one of the tortoises in the illustrations of one of Agassiz's works on natural history. To which my friend replied: "It is the tortoise on which the elephant stands that bears up the foundations of the world," alluding to the Hindoo mythology.
Chief Justice Shaw's opinions, as we have them in the reports, are exceedingly diffuse. That practice would not answer for a generation which has to consult the reports of forty-five States and of the Supreme Court and nine judicial circuits of the United States, besides the reports of the decisions of some of the District Judges, and in most cases the English decisions. But it would be a great public loss if any of Chief Justice Shaw's utterances were omitted. His impulse, when a question was argued before him, was to write a treatise on the subject. So his decisions in cases where the questions raised are narrow and unimportant are often most valuable contributions to jurisprudence. He seldom passed over any point or suggestion without remark. He went to the bottom of the case with great patience and incredible industry. The counsel who lost his case felt not only that he had had the opinion of a great and just magistrate, but that every consideration he could urge for his client was respectfully treated and either yielded to or answered. Some of his ablest and most far-reaching decisions were written after he was eighty years old.
He possessed, beyond any other American Judge, save Marshall, what may be termed the statesmanship of jurisprudence. He never undertook to make law upon the Bench, but he perceived with a far-sighted vision what rule of law was likely to operate beneficially or hurtfully to the Republic. He was watchful to lay down no doctrine which would not stand this test. His great judgments stand among our great securities, like the provisions of the Bill of Rights.
The Chief Justice was a tower of strength to the Massachusetts judiciary. But for him it is not unlikely that the State would have adopted an elective judiciary or a tenure limited to a term of years. But the whole people felt that his great integrity and wisdom gave an added security to every man's life, liberty, and property. So the proposition to limit the judicial tenure, although espoused by the two parties who together made up a large majority of the people of the State, was defeated when it was submitted to a popular vote. It is, however, a little remarkable that in the neighboring State of Vermont, for many years the Judges of the Supreme Court were annually elected by the Legislature, a system which, I believe, has worked on the whole to their satisfaction. They have had an able judiciary. It is said that old Chief Justice Shaw was one evening discoursing at a meeting of the Boston Law Club to an eminent Vermont Judge, who was a guest. He said, "With your brief judicial tenure, sir—" The Vermonter interrupted him and said, "Why, our tenure of office is longer than yours." "What do you mean?" said the Chief Justice. "I do not understand you." "Why," was the reply, "our Judges are elected for a year, and you are appointed as long as you behave yourselves."
Chief Justice Shaw is said to have been a very dull child. The earliest indication of his gift of the masterly and unerring judgment which discerned the truth and reason of things was, however, noticed when he was a very small boy. His mother one day had a company at tea. Some hot buttered toast was on the table. When it was passed to little Lemuel he pulled out the bottom slice, which was kept hot by the hot plate beneath and the pile of toast above. His mother reproached him quite sharply. "You must not do that, Lemuel. Suppose everybody were to do that?" "Then everybody would get a bottom slice," answered the wise urchin.
Judge Shaw had the sturdy spirit and temper of the old seafaring people of Cape Cod, among whom he was born and bred. He was fond of stories of the sea and of ships. He liked to hear of bold and adventurous voyages. Judge Gray used to tell the story of the old Chief's standing with his back to the fire, with his coat-tails under his arm, in the Judges' room at the Suffolk Court-House, one cold winter morning, when the news of the fate of Sir John Franklin's expedition or the story of some other Arctic tragedy had just reached Boston and was in the morning papers.
"I hope, sir," said Judge Bigelow, "that there will be no more of these voyages to discover the North Pole."
"I want 'em to find that open Polar sea, sir," said Shaw.
"But don't you think," said Judge Bigelow, "that it is too bad to risk so many human lives, and to compel the sailors to encounter the terrible suffering and danger of these Arctic voyages?"
"I think they'll find it yet, sir," was all the reply Bigelow could get.
Judge Shaw, in his latter days, was reverenced by the people of Massachusetts as if he were a demi-god. But in his native county of Barnstaple he was reverenced as a God. One winter, when the Supreme Court held a special session at Barnstaple for the trial of a capital case, Judge Merrick, who was one of the Judges, came out of the Court-house just at nightfall, when the whole surface of the earth was covered with ice and slush, slipped and fell heavily, breaking three of his ribs. He was taken up and carried to his room at the hotel, and lay on the sofa waiting for the doctor to come. While the Judge lay, groaning and in agony, the old janitor of the court- house, who had helped pick him up, wiped off the wet from his clothes and said to him, "Judge Merrick, how thankful you must be it was not the Chief Justice!" Poor Merrick could not help laughing, though his broken ribs were lacerating his flesh.
Next to Chief Justice Shaw in public esteem, when I came to the Bar in December, 1849, was Mr. Justice Wilde. He was nearly eighty years old, and began to show some signs of failing powers. But those signs do not appear in his recorded opinions. He was a type of the old common-lawyer in appearance and manner and character. He would have been a fit associate for Lord Coke, and would never have given way to him. I suppose he was never excelled as a real-property lawyer in this country. He had the antiquated pronunciation of the last century, a venerable gray head and wrinkled countenance, with heavy gray eyebrows. He seemed to the general public to be nothing but a walking abridgment. Still, he was a very well-informed man, and had represented a district of what is now the State of Maine in Congress with great distinction. A friend of mine went rather late to church at King's Chapel one Sunday when the congregation had got some way in the service, and was shown into the pew immediately in front of old Judge Wilde. The Judge was just uttering in a distinct, clear tone, "Lord, teach me Thy statoots." It was the only petition he needed to have granted to make him a complete Judge. Of the Lord's common law he was a thorough master.
He was no respecter of persons. He delivered his judgments with an unmoved air, as if he had footed up a column of figures and were announcing the result. When I was in the Law School, Mr. Webster was retained to argue an important real estate case before Judge Wilde in Suffolk County. Mr. Webster was making what would have been a powerful argument on a question of land-title but for a statute passed since the days of his constant practice, which had not come to his knowledge. There was a great audience, and when Mr. Webster had got his point fairly stated, he was interrupted by Wilde. "Pooh, pooh, Mr. Webster." The Judge pointed out that Webster had overlooked one link in the chain of his antagonist's title.
"But," said Mr. Webster in reply, "the descent tolls the entry."
"That rule is abolished by the statoot, sir."
"Why didn't you tell me that?" said Webster angrily to his junior.
Another of our great old Judges was Judge Fletcher. He had had a great practice as an advocate in Boston, especially as a commercial lawyer. He had a great power of clear statement. He brought out his utterances in a queer, jerking fashion, protruding his lips a little as he hesitated at the beginning of his sentences. But he knew how to convey his meaning to the apprehension of Courts and juries. He left the Bench less than two years after I came to the Bar. I never had but one important case before him. He was a bachelor. He was very interesting in conversation, liked the company of young men, who never left him without carrying away some delightful anecdote or shrewd and pithy observation.
A lawyer from the country told me one day that he had just been in Fletcher's office to get his opinion. While he was in the office, old Ebenezer Francis, a man said to be worth $8,000,000, then the richest man in New England, came to consult him about a small claim against some neighbor. Fletcher interrupted his consultation with my friend and listened to Mr. Francis's story. In those days, parties could not be witnesses in their own cases. Fletcher advised his client that although he had an excellent case, the evidence at his command was not sufficient to prove it, and advised against bringing an action. Francis, who was quite avaricious, left the office with a heavy heart. When he had gone, Fletcher turned to my friend and said: "Isn't it pitiful, sir, to see an old critter, wandering about our streets, destitute of proof?"
But the most interesting and racy character among our old Judges was Theron Metcalf. He used to say of himself—a saying that did him great injustice—that he was taken to fill a gap in the Court as people take an old hat to stop a broken window. He undervalued his own capacity. He was not a good Judge to preside at jury trials. He had queer and eccentric notions of what the case was all about, and while he would state a principle of law with extraordinary precision and accuracy he had not the gift of making practical application of the law to existing facts. So a great many of his rulings were set aside, and it did not seem, when he had held a long term of Court, that a great deal had been accomplished. But he was a very learned common-lawyer. His memory was a complete digest of the decisions down to his time. He comprehended with marvellous clearness the precise extent to which any adjudged case went, and would state its doctrine with mathematical precision.
He hated statutes. He was specially indignant at the abolition of special pleading. He sent word to me, when I was Chairman of the Judiciary Committee in the Massachusetts Senate, asking to have a provision enacted for simplifying the process of bringing before the full Bench for revision the proceedings in habeas corpus, or mandamus, or certiorari, or some other special writ, I forget now what. I called upon him at once, and pointed out to him that exactly what he wanted was accomplished by the Practice Act of 1852. This was the statute under which all our legal proceedings in cases affecting personal property were had. Metcalf said, with great disgust: "I have said, sir, that if they did not repeal that thing I would not read it."
He used to enliven his judgments with remarks showing a good deal of shrewd wisdom. In one case a man was indicted for advertising a show without a license. The defendant insisted that the indictment was insufficient because it set out merely what the show purported to be, and not what it really was. On which the Judge remarked: "The indictment sets out all that is necessary, and, indeed, all that is safe. The show often falls short of the promise in the show-bill."
There was once a case before him for a field-driver who had impounded cattle under the old Massachusetts law. The case took a good many days to try, and innumerable subtle questions were raised. The Judge began his charge to the jury: "Gentlemen of the jury, a man who takes up a cow straying in a highway is a fool."
Another time there was a contest as to the value of some personal property which had been sold at auction. One side claimed that the auction-sale was a fair test of the value. The other claimed that property that was sold at auction was generally sold at a sacrifice. Metcalf said to the jury: "According to my observation, things generally bring at auction all they are worth, except carpets."
I once tried a case before him against the Norwich Railroad for setting fire to the house of a farmer by a spark from a locomotive. It was a warm summer afternoon when the house was burnt up. There was no fire in the house except a few coals among the ashes in a cooking stove where the dinner had been cooked some hours before. The railroad was very near the house. There was a steep up-grade, so that the engineers were tempted to open the bonnet of their smokestacks for a better draught. We called as a witness a sturdy, round-faced, fat old woman, who testified that she was sitting at her window, knitting, in a house some little distance away, when the train went by. She put in a mark to see, as she expressed it, "how many times round" she could knit before supper. A few minutes after, she heard a cry of fire, and looked out and saw a blaze on the roof of her neighbor's house, just kindling, close to the eaves on the side where the engine had passed. She threw down the stocking and went to help. The stocking was found after the fire with the mark just as she left it. So we claimed that we could tell pretty well how long the time had been between the passing of the train and the breaking out of the fire. Judge Metcalf, who was always fussy and interfering, said: "How can we tell anything by that, unless we know how large the stocking was?" The old lady, with a most bland smile, turned to the Judge as if she were soothing an infant, lifted up the hem of her petticoats, and exhibited a very sturdy ankle and calf, and said, "Just the size I wear, your Honor." There was a roar of laughter in the court-house. The incident was published in the morning paper the next day, much to the Judge's indignation. He addressed the audience when he came into Court in the morning, and said: "I see the WorcesterSpyhas been trying to put a fool's cap on my head."
Judge Metcalf told me this story about Chief Justice Parsons. The Chief Justice's manner to the Bar, as is well-known, was exceedingly rough. He was no respecter of persons, and treated the old and eminent lawyers quite as harshly as the youngsters. The Bar used to call him Ursa Major. The Chief Justice used to look over the pleadings carefully before the trials began. It was in the time when special pleading often brought the issue to be decided into a narrow compass. Soon after the case was begun, the Judge would take the case out of the hands of the counsel and examine the witnesses himself, and give an opinion which was likely to be implicitly followed by the jury. Jabez Upham, of Brookfield, in Worcester County, Mr. Justice Gray's grandfather, once sent his office-boy to Court with a green bag containing his papers, thinking there was no use in going himself. At last the leading members of the Bar in Boston got very angry, and four or five of them agreed together to teach the old Chief a lesson. So they sat down to a trial in the Supreme Court where Parsons was presiding. Pretty soon he interfered with the lawyer who was putting in the case for the plaintiff, in his rough way. The lawyer rose and said: "I cannot take care of my client's rights where my own are not respected," or something to that effect. "I will ask Brother Sullivan to take my place." Sullivan, who was possessed of the case, took the place. The trial went on a little while, when something happened which offended Sullivan. He rose and said he could not go on with the case after his Honor's remark, and would ask Brother So-and-So, perhaps Otis, to take his place. This happened three or four times in succession. The Chief Justice saw the point and adjourned the Court very early for the noon recess, and went to the house of his colleague, Judge Sewall, who lived out somewhere on the Neck, called him out and said: "You must go down and hold that Court. There is a con_spire_acy sir." Parsons never held anisi-priusterm in Suffolk again.
Chief Justice Shaw used to tell with great indignation the story of his first appearance before Parsons, when a young man. There was a very interesting question of the law of real property, and Samuel Dexter, then the head of the Bar, was on the other side. Parsons was interested in the question as soon as it was stated, and entered into a discussion with Dexter in which they both got earnestly engaged. The Chief Justice intimated his opinion very strongly and was just deciding it in Dexter's favor, when the existence of the young man on the other side occurred to him. He looked over the bar at Shaw and said: "Well, young man, do you think you can aid the Court any in this matter?" "I think I can, sir," said Shaw with spirit. Parsons listened to him, but, I believe, remained of his first opinion.
Judge Metcalf in the time when he was upon the Bench had the credit, I do not know how well deserved it was, of not being much given to hospitality. He was never covetous, and he was very fond of society and conversation. But I fancy he had some fashions of his own in housekeeping which he thought were not quite up to the ways of modern life. At any rate, he was, so far as I know, never known to invite any of his brethren upon the Bench or of the Bar to visit him at his house, with one exception. One of the Judges told me that after a hard day's work in court the Judges sat in consultation till between nine and ten o'clock in the evening, and he walked away from the Court-House with Judge Metcalf. The Judge went along with him past the Tremont House, where my informant was staying. As they walked up School Street, he said: "Why, Judge Metcalf, I didn't know you went this way. I thought you lived out on the Neck somewhere." "No, sir," said Judge Metcalf, "I live at number so-and-so Charles Street, and I will say to you what I heard a man say the first night I moved into my present house. I heard a great noise in the street after midnight, and got up and put my head out of the window. There was a man lying down on the sidewalk struggling, and another man, who seemed to be a policeman, was on top of him holding him down. The fellow with his back to the ground said: 'Let me get up, —- d—- you,' The policeman answered: 'I sha'n't let you get up till you tell me what your name is and where you live.' The fellow answered, 'My name is Jerry Mahoney, —- d—- you, and I live at No. 54 Cambridge Street, —- d—- you, where I'd be happy to see you, —- d—- you, if you dare to call." That was the only instance known to his judicial brothers of Judge Metcalf's inviting a friend to visit him.
Judge Metcalf's legal opinions will read, I think, in the future, as well as those of any Judge of his time. They are brief, compact, written in excellent English, and precisely fit the case before him without any extraneous or superfluous matter. He would have been a very great Judge, indeed, if his capacity for the conduct of jury trials and dealing withnisi-priusbusiness in general had equalled his ability to write opinions on abstract questions.
John Davis was never a Judge. But a few words about him may well find a place here. He had long since withdrawn from the practice of law when I came to Worcester. He remained in the Senate of the United States until March 4, 1853. But the traditions of his great power with juries remained. I was once or twice a guest in his house, and once or twice heard him make political speeches.
My father, who had encountered all the great advocates of his time in New England—Webster, Choate, Jeremiah Mason, Dexter— used to say that John Davis was the toughest antagonist he ever encountered. Mr. Davis had no graces of oratory or person. He was not without a certain awkward dignity. His head was covered with thick and rather coarse white hair. He reminded you a little, in look and movement, of a great white bear. But he had a gift of driving his point home to the apprehension of juries and of the people which was rarely equalled. He was a man of few words and infrequent speech, without wit or imagination. He thoroughly mastered the subjects with which he dealt. When he had inserted his wedge, he drove it home with a few sledge-hammer blows. It was commonly impossible for anybody to extract it. It was only the great weight of his authority, and the importance of the matters with which he dealt, which kept him from seeming exceedingly tedious. I remember thinking when I heard him make a speech in behalf of General Scott in the City Hall, in the autumn of 1852, that if any man but John Davis were talking the audience could not be kept awake. He spoke very slowly, with the tone and manner of an ordinary conversation. "The Whigs, fellow- citizens, have presented for your suffrages this year, for the office of President of the United States, the name of Major-General Winfield Scott. I know General Scott. I have had good opportunity to acquaint myself with his character and public service. I think you may give him your confidence, gentlemen." That was pretty much the whole speech. At any rate, there was nothing more exciting in it. But it was John Davis that said it, and it had great effect upon his audience.
Mr. Davis supported General Taylor for President in 1848, thereby, on the one hand, offending Mr. Webster, with whom his relations had for some time been exceedingly strained, and the anti-slavery men in Massachusetts on the other. It was understood also that he had displeased Governor Lincoln at the time of his election to the Senate, Governor Lincoln thinking that Mr. Davis had taken an undue advantage of his official influence as Governor to promote his own selection. But the two united in the support of General Taylor, which led Charles Allen to quote a verse which has been more than once applied in the same way since, "And in that day Pilate and Herod were made friends together."
Mr. Davis was a careful and prudent manager of money matters, and left what was, for his time, a considerable estate, considering the fact that so much of his life had been passed in the public service. His success in public life was, doubtless, in large measure, increased by his accomplished and admirable wife, the sister of George Bancroft. She was a lady of simple dignity, great intelligence, great benevolence and kindness of heart. Her conversation was always most delightful, especially in her old age, when her mind was full of the treasures of her long experience and companionship with famous persons. Mr. Davis left five sons, all of them men of ability. The eldest has been Minister to Berlin, Assistant Secretary of State, Secretary of Legation in London, Judge of the Court of Claims, and Reporter of the decisions of the Supreme Court of the United States. Another son, Horace, has been a member of Congress, eminent in the public life of California, and, I believe, president of the University of California.
John Davis won great distinction by a very powerful speech on the tariff question in reply to James Buchanan. Buchanan was one of the most powerful Democratic leaders in the Senate, but Davis was thought by the Whigs to have got much the better of him in the debate. It was generally expected that he would be the Whig candidate for the Vice-Presidency in 1840. But another arrangement was made, for reasons which may be as well told here. The Whig Convention to nominate a President was held at Harrisburg, Pa., in December 4, 1839, nearly a year before the election. The delegates from the different States were asked to consult together and agree upon their first choice. Then they were asked to say whom they thought next to the person they selected would be the strongest candidate. When the result was ascertained, it was discovered that William Henry Harrison was thought by a very large majority of the Convention to be the strongest candidate they could find. He was accordingly selected as the Whig standard-bearer. A committee of one person from each State was then chosen to propose to the Convention a candidate for Vice-President. Benjamin Watkins Leigh, of Virginia, was a strong supporter of Henry Clay, a man of great personal worth, highly esteemed throughout the country. The Convention adjourned, and came in after the adjournment to hear the report of the committee. Mr. Leigh accosted the Chairman of the committee and stood with him in a conspicuous place as the delegates filed in. He inquired of the Chairman what conclusion they had come to as to a candidate for Vice-President. To which the Chairman replied: "You will be informed in due time." When the Convention was called to order, one of the delegates from Massachusetts made a speech in which he set forth the high qualities that were desired in a candidate for this important office, and, after giving a sketch of exalted character and great capacity for the public service, he ended by declaring that such a man was Mr. Leigh, of Virginia, and proposing his name as the unanimous recommendation of the committee. Mr. Leigh was taken aback. He had been a zealous supporter of Mr. Clay. He addressed the chair, saying he was much gratified by what had been said by his friend from Massachusetts, and he hoped he might live in some humble measure to deserve the tribute which had been paid to him. But he thought that having been a zealous supporter of Mr. Clay, and having had, in some sense, the charge of his candidacy, he could not himself accept a nomination in connection with another person without exposing himself to the suspicion that he had in some way benefitted by the defeat of his own candidate and leader. It was said that his embarrassment was increased by the fact that he had been seen conversing with the Chairman of the committee by the members of the Convention. How that is I do not know. The result was the nomination of Mr. Tyler, his election, his succession to the Presidency after the death of Harrison, which resulted in such disastrous consequences to the Whigs.
John Davis was a Federalist and a Whig. His sons were Whigs and Republicans always on the conservative side of public questions. His nephew, Colonel Isaac Davis, was in that respect a contrast to his uncle.
It has been charged that John Davis, by taking up the time at the close of the session of Congress by an indiscreet speech, was the means of defeating the Wilmot Proviso, which had come from the House inserted in a bill for the incorporation of Oregon as a Territory. This statement has received general circulation. It is made in Pierce's "Life of Sumner," and in Von Holst's "Constitutional History." There is no truth in it. I investigated the matter very carefully, and have left on record a conclusive refutation of the whole story in a paper published by the American Antiquarian Society.
Mr. Davis's popularity, however, enabled him to render an important service to his party at home. The Democrats in 1839 had elected their governor, Marcus Morton, by a majority of one vote by reason of the unpopularity of the law to prevent liquor-selling, known as the Fifteen-Gallon Law, which had been passed in January, 1838. They were anxious to redeem the State, and summoned John Davis, their strongest and most popular man, to lead their forces. He accordingly resigned his seat in the Senate, was chosen Governor by a large majority, and was reelected to the Senate again the next year.
Sketches like these, made by a man who was young when the men he is talking about were old, are apt to give prominence to trifles, to little follies and eccentricities. Let nobody think that there was anything trifling or ludicrous about John Davis. He was a great, strong, wise man, a champion and tower of strength. He not only respected, but embodied the great traditions and opinions of Massachusetts in the great days, after the generation of the Revolution had left the state when she earned for herself the name of the "Model Commonwealth," and her people were building the structure of the Commonwealth on the sure foundations which the master- workmen of the Colonial and Revolutionary days had laid. The majestic presence of Webster, the classic eloquence of Everett, the lofty zeal of Sumner have made them more conspicuous figures in the public eye, and it is likely will preserve their memeory longer in the public heart. But the figure of John Davis deserves to stand by the side of these great men in imperishable memory as one of the foremost men of the State he loved so well and served so faithfully and wisely.
The Bar of Worcester County in 1850 and the years following was a very able one, indeed. It had many men of high reputation in the Commonwealth and some of wide national fame. The principal citizen of Worcester and the most distinguished member of the Bar was Governor Levi Lincoln. Although he had long since left practice, he used always to come into the court once at each term of the Supreme Court, bow respectfully to the Bench, and invite the Judges to dinner at his house, and withdraw. He filled a very large place in the history of Massachusetts from the time of his graduation at Harvard in 1802 until the close of the War in 1865. There is, so far as I know, no memoir of him in existence, except one or two brief sketches which appear in the proceedings of some local societies of which he was a member.
His father, Levi Lincoln the elder, was an intimate friend and correspondent of Mr. Jefferson, and Attorney-General in his Cabinet. He was nominated Judge of the Supreme Court of the United States by Mr. Madison and confirmed by the Senate and actually appointed, but was unable to take the office because of failing sight. He did more, probably, than any other man to organize and bring to success the political revolution in New England which followed Jefferson's accession to the Presidency in 1801. Many letters to him are found in Mr. Jefferson's published works, and there are many letters from him to Mr. Jefferson in the Jefferson papers in the archives at Washington. Some of the correspondence on both sides is enough to make the hair of the civil service reformer stand on end. The son adopted his father's political opinions and was an enthusiastic supporter of Jefferson in his youth. Jefferson wrote a letter, which I think is now in existence, praising very highly some of young Mr. Lincoln's early performances. He delivered an address at Worcester, March 4, 1803, a few months after he left college, in which he proposed that the Fourth of March, the day of Mr. Jefferson's accession to the Presidency, should be celebrated thereafter instead of the Fourth of July. He says: "Republicans no longer can hail the day as exclusively theirs. Federalism has profaned it. She has formed to herself an idol in the union of Church and State, and this is the time chosen to offer its sacrifice." He sets forth "the long train of monstrous aggressions of the Federalists" under Washington and Adams; declares that they "propose a hereditary executive and a Senatorial nobility for life," and says that the "hand would tremble in recording, and the tongue falter in reciting, the long tale of monstrous aggression. But on the Fourth of March was announced from the Capitol the triumph of principle. Swifter than Jove on his imperial eagle did the glad tiding of its victory pervade the Union. As vanish the mists of the morning before the rays of a sunbeam, so error withdrew from the inquiries of the understanding. The reign of terror had passed," etc., etc. But there never was a better example of Emerson's maxim that "a Conservative is a Democrat grown old and gone to seed." As the young man grew in reputation and influence he became more moderate in his opinions. He was appointed Judge of the Supreme Court; then was elected Governor by a union of all parties in what was called "the era of good feeling"; held the office nine years; then represented the Worcester district in Congress, and withdrew to a dignified and honorable retirement from which he emerged to hold the office of Mayor of Worcester the first year of the life of the city. He was, as I remember him, the very embodiment of dignity and aristocracy. He had a diffuse and rather inflated style, both in public speaking and in private conversation. His dignity had a bare suspicion of pomposity in it. He looked with great disdain upon the simplicity of behavior of some of his successors, and their familiarity with all classes of the people. He came into my office one morning full of an intense disgust with something Governor Briggs had been doing. He said: "In my time, sir, the office of Governor of the Commonwealth was an office of dignity. The arrival of the Chief Magistrate in any town was an event of some importance. He travelled in his carriage, with suitable attendants. He appeared in public only on great occasions. But now you see hand-bills about the street giving notice that there is to be a Temperance tea-party to-morrow afternoon, in some vestry or small hall. Music by the Peak family. His Excellency George N. Briggs will address the meeting. Admission, ten cents."
He accepted his position at the head of the social life of Worcester as a matter of course. I remember one night, when a party was breaking up, I said to the person next to me, in some jesting fashion: "I am sorry to see the decay of the old aristocracy." The Governor, who was getting his coat at the other end of the room, overheard the remark, and called out: "Who is lamenting our decay?"
The Governor looked with great disgust upon the formation of the Free Soil Party and the Anti-Slavery movement. But when the war came he remained thoroughly loyal. He encouraged enlistment in every way, and measures for the support of the Government had all the weight of his influence. He was a Presidential elector, and voted for Abraham Lincoln at the time of his second election.
When Webster was first chosen Senator he refused to be a candidate for the office until it was ascertained whether Governor Lincoln would accept it. The Governor then declined, for the reason I have stated in another place. He was also offered an appointment to the Senate by Governor Washburn when Mr. Everett resigned in 1853. But it is said that he was quite desirous of being elected Senator when Mr. Davis was first chosen.
The Governor was, as just said, an example of Emerson's famous saying that a Conservative is a Democrat grown old and gone to seed. He was looked upon as the embodiment of reverend dignity. His household was at the head of the social life of Worcester during his later years. Every family in the County was proud who could trace a connection with his. There were a few traditions in the old Federalist families like the Thomases and the Allens of a time when the Lincolns were accounted too democratic to be respectable. But they gained little credence with people in general. One day, however, I had to try a real estate case which arose in the adjoining town and involved an ancient land-title. An old man named Bradyill Livermore was summoned as a witness for my client. He was, I think, in his ninety-fifth year. He lived in a sparsely settled district and had not been into Worcester for twenty or twenty-five years. I sat down with him in the consultation-room. After he had told me what he knew about the case, I had a chat with him about old times and the changes in Worcester since his youth, and he asked me about some of the members of the Bar then on the stage. Governor Lincoln, who had long retired, happened to be mentioned. The old fellow brought the point of his staff down with great emphasis upon the floor, and then held it loosely with the fingers of his trembling and shaking hand, and said, very earnestly, but with a shrill and strident voice like that of one of Homer's ghosts: "They say, sir, that that Mr. Lincoln has got to be a very respectable man. But I can remember, sir, when he was a terrible Jacobite."
I have given elsewhere a portraiture of Charles Allen, and a sketch of his great career. He was a man of slender physical frame and feeble voice. But he was a leader of leaders. When in 1848 he left the Whig Convention in Philadelphia, an assembly flushed with the anticipation of National triumph, declaring, amid the jeers and hisses of its members, that the Whig Party was dead—a prediction verified within four years—down to the election of Lincoln, in 1860, he was in Massachusetts a powerful influence. He was a great advocate, a great judge, a great counsellor. He was in my judgment a greater intellectual force than any other man in his time, Daniel Webster not excepted. It was a force before which Webster himself more than once recoiled. I knew him intimately and was, I believe, admitted to no inconsiderable share of his confidence. But there is no space here to do justice to my reverence for his noble character.
On the whole, the most successful of the Worcester Bar, in my time, in the practice of his profession, was Emory Washburn. He was a man of less intellectual power undoubtedly than either of his great contemporaries and antagonists, Allen, Merrick, or Thomas. Yet he probably won more cases, year in and year out, than either of them. He was a man of immense industry. He went to his office early in the morning, took a very short time, indeed, for his meals, and often kept at work until one or two o'clock in the morning of the next day. He suffered severely at one time from dyspepsia brought on by constant work and neglect of exercise; but generally he kept his vigorous health until his death at the age of eighty. He was indefatigable in his service to his clients. His mind was like a steel spring pressing on every part of the other side's case. It was ludicrous to see his sympathy and devotion to his clients, and his belief in the cause of any man whom he undertook to champion. It seemed as if a client no sooner put his head on the handle of Washburn's office-door than his heart warmed to him like that of a mother toward her first-born. No strength of evidence to the contrary, no current of decisions settling the law would prevent Washburn from believing that his man was the victim of prejudice or persecution or injustice. But his sincerity, his courtesy of manner and kindness of heart made him very influential with juries, and it was rare that a jury sat in Worcester county that had not half a dozen of Washburn's clients among their number.
I was once in a very complicated real estate case as Washburn's associate. Charles Allen and Mr. Bacon were on the other side. Mr. Bacon and I, who were juniors, chatted about the case just before the trial. Mr. Bacon said: "Why, Hoar, Emory Washburn doesn't understand that case the least in the world." I said, "No, Mr. Bacon, he doesn't understand the case the least in the world. But you may depend upon it he will make that jury misunderstand it just as he does." And he did.
Charles Allen, who never spared any antagonist, used to be merciless in dealing with Washburn. He once had a case with him which attracted a great deal of public attention. There had been a good many trials and the cost had mounted up to a large sum. It was a suit by a farmer who had lost a flock of sheep by dogs, and who tried to hold another farmer responsible as the owner of the dog which had killed them. One of the witnesses had been out walking at night and heard the bark of the dog in the field where the sheep were. He was asked to testify if he could tell what dog it was from the manner of his bark. The evidence was objected to, and Allen undertook to support his right to put the question. He said we were able to distinguish men from each other by describing their manner and behavior, when the person describing might not know the man by name. "For instance, may it please your Honor, suppose a stranger who came into this court-house during this trial were called to testify to what took place, and he should say that he did not know anybody in the room by sight, but there was a lawyer there who was constantly interrupting the other side, talking a great deal of the time, but after all didn't seem to have much to say. Who would doubt that he meant my Brother Washburn?"
This gibe is only worth recording as showing the court-house manners of those times. It is no true picture of the honest, faithful and beloved Emory Washburn. He was public-spirited, wise, kind-hearted, always ready to give his service without hope of reward or return to any good cause, a pillar of the town, a pillar of the church. He had sometimes a certain confusion of statement and of thought, but it was only apparent in his oral discourse. He wrote two admirable law-books, one on easements, and one on real property. Little & Brown said his book on easements had the largest sale of any law- book ever published in this country up to its time. He was a popular and useful Professor in the Harvard Law School. He gave a great deal of study to the history of Massachusetts, and was the author of some valuable essays on historical questions, and some excellent discourses on historical occasions. He left no duty undone. Edward Hale used to say: "If you want anything done well, go to the busiest man in Worcester to do it—Emory Washburn, for example." He was grievously disappointed that he was not appointed Judge of the Supreme Court when Judge Thomas became a member of the Bench. A little while afterward there was another vacancy, and Governor Clifford took Merrick, another of Washburn's contemporaries and rivals at the bar, although Merrick was a Democrat, and the Governor, like Washburn himself, was a Whig. This was almost too much for him to bear. It took place early in the year 1853. Mr. Washburn sailed for Europe a few weeks after, and felt almost like shaking off the dust of his feet against Massachusetts and the Whig Party. But he was very agreeably compensated for his disappointment. During his absence he was nominated by the Whigs for the office of Governor, to which office he was elected in the following January, there being then, under our law, which required a clear majority of all the votes, no choice by the people. He made an admirable and popular Governor. But the Nebraska Bill was introduced in that year. This created strong excitement among the people of Massachusetts, and the Know-Nothing movement came that fall, inspired more by the desire of the people to get rid of the old parties, and form a new anti-slavery party, than by any real opposition to foreigners, which was its avowed principle. This party swept Massachusetts, electing all the State officers and every member of the State Legislature except two from the town of Northampton. They had rather a sorry Legislature. It was the duty of the outgoing Governor to administer the oath to the Representatives- and Senators-elect. Governor Washburn performed that duty, and added: "Now, gentlemen, so far as the oath of office is concerned, you are qualified to enter upon your duties."
Governor Washburn was a thorough gentleman, through and through, courteous, well-bred, and with an entirely sufficient sense of his own dignity. But he had little respect for any false notions of gentility, and had a habit of going straight at any difficulty himself. To this habit he owed much of his success in life. A very amusing story was told by Mrs. Washburn long after her husband's death. She was one of the brightest and sprightliest and wittiest of women. Her husband owed to her much of his success in life, as well as much of his comfort and domestic enjoyment. She used to give sometimes half a dozen entertainments in the same week. She was never disconcerted by any want of preparation or suddenness of demand upon her hospitality. One day some quite distinguished guests arrived in Worcester unexpectedly, whom it was proper that she should keep to dinner. The simple arrangements which had been made for herself and her husband would not do. She accordingly went at once to the principal hotel of the town, in the neighborhood, and bargained with the landlord to send over the necessary courses for her table, which were just hot and cooked and ready for his own. She got off very comfortably without being detected.
Her story was that one time when Judge Washburn was Governor the members of his Staff came to Worcester on some public occasion and were all invited to his house to spend the night. When he got up in the morning he found, to his consternation, that the man who was in the habit of doing such services at his house was sick, or for some other reason had failed to put in an appearance, and none of the boots of the young gentlemen were blacked. The Governor was master of the situation. He descended to his cellar, took off his coat, blacked all the boots of the youngsters himself, and met them at breakfast with his usual pleasant courtesy, as if nothing had happened.
I do not undertake to give a full sketch of Benjamin F. Thomas. He was one of the very greatest of American lawyers. But such desultory recollections as these are apt to dwell only on the eccentricities or peculiarities or foibles of men. They are not the place for elaborate and noble portraiture.
Judge Thomas was the principal figure in the Worcester court- house after Judge Allen's election to Congress in 1848. Judge Thomas did not get large professional business very rapidly. He was supposed, in his youth, to be a person of rather eccentric manners, studious, fond of poetry and general literature and of historical and antiquarian research. He was impulsive, somewhat passionate, but still with an affectionate, sunny, generous nature, and a large heart, to which malice, hatred, or uncharitableness were impossible. It is said that in his younger days he used to walk the streets, wrapped in his own thoughts, unconscious of the passers-by, and muttering poetry to himself. But when I came into his office as a student, in August, 1849, all this trait had disappeared. He was a consummate advocate, a favorite alike with Judges and jurors, winning his causes wherever success was possible, and largely employed. He had a clear voice, of great compass, pitched on rather a high key, but sweet and musical like the sound of a bugle. The young men used to fill the court-house to hear his arguments to juries. He became a very profound lawyer, always mastering the learning of the case, but never leaning too much upon authorities. Charles Emerson's beautiful phrase in his epitaph upon Professor Ashmun, "Books were his helpers, never his masters," was most aptly applied to Thomas. If he had any foible which affected at all his usefulness or success in life it was an impatience of authority, whether it were the authority of a great reputation, or of party, or of public sentiment, or of the established and settled opinions of mankind. He went on the Supreme Bench in 1853. Dissenting opinions were rare in the Massachusetts Supreme Court in those days. In this I think the early Judges were extremely wise. Nothing shakes the authority of a court more than the frequent habit of individual dissent. But Judge Thomas dissented from the judgments of his court on several very important occasions. His dissenting opinions were exceedingly alike. I think it would have been better if they had not been delivered. I think he would have been much more likely to have come to the other conclusion if the somewhat imperious intellect of Shaw had not been put into the prevailing scale. When all Massachusetts bowed down to Webster, Judge Thomas, though he respected and honored the great public idol, supported Taylor as a candidate for the Presidency. At the dinner given to the Electoral College after the election, where Mr. Webster was present, Judge Thomas shocked the meeting by saying: "Some persons have spoken of our candidate as their second choice. I am proud to say that General Taylor was not only my last, but my first choice." So, when Judge Thomas was in Congress, while he was as thoroughly loyal, patriotic, and brave a man as ever lived, he opposed the policies of the Republican Party for carrying on the war and putting down the Rebellion. He was thought to be inspired by a great dislike of submitting to party authority or even to that of President Lincoln. He was very fond of young men. When he was Judge they always found that they had all the consideration that they deserved, and had no fear of being put at a disadvantage by any antagonist, however able or experienced. The Judge seemed always to be stirred by the suggestion of an intellectual difficulty. When I was seeking some remedy at his hands, especially in equity, I used to say that I thought I had a just case, but I was afraid his Honor might think the legal difficulties were insuperable and I did not know whether I could get his Honor's approbation of what I asked. He would instantly rouse himself and seem to take the suggestion as a challenge, and if it were possible for human ingenuity to find a way to accomplish what I wanted he would do it. He preserved the sweetness and joyous spirit of boyhood to the day of his death. It was delightful to catch him when he was at leisure, to report to him any pleasant story that was going about, and to hear his merry laugh and pleasant voice. He was a model of the judicial character. It was a delight to practise before him atnisi prius.I have known a great many admirable lawyers and a good many very great Judges. I have known some who had more learning, and some, I suppose, though very few, who had greater vigor of intellect. But no better Judge ever sat in a Massachusetts court-house. Dwight Foster felicitously applied to him the sentence which was first uttered of Charles James Fox, that "his intellect was all feeling, and his feeling all intellect."
Dwight Foster came to the Bar just a week after I did. But I ought not to omit him in any account of the Massachusetts lawyers or Judges of my time. He rose rapidly to a place in the first rank of Massachusetts lawyers, which he held until his untimely death. He was graduated the first scholar in his class at Yale in 1848. Before he was graduated he became engaged to a very admirable and accomplished lady, daughter of Roger S. Baldwin, Governor of Connecticut and United States Senator, then head of the Connecticut Bar. This lady had some tendency to a disorder of the lungs and throat which had proved fatal to two of her brothers. Dwight Foster was very anxious to get her away from New Haven, where he thought the climate and her habit of mingling in gay society very unfavorable to her health. So he set himself to work to get admitted to the Bar and get established in business that he might have a place for her in Worcester. He was examined by Mr. Justice Metcalf, after studying a little more than a year, and found possessed of attainments uncommon even for persons who had studied the full three years and had been a good while at the Bar. Judge Metcalf admitted him, and on some other Judge criticising what he had done, the Judge said, with great indignation, "If he thinks Foster is not qualified, let him examine him himself."
Mr. Foster's first employment had very awkward consequences. The people in Worcester had the old Puritanic dislike to theatrical entertainments, and had always refused to license such exhibitions. But a company of actors desired to obtain a theatre for the season and give performances in Worcester. There was a great opposition, and the city government ordered a public hearing of the petition in the old City Hall. Foster was employed by the petitioners. The hall was crowded with citizens interested in the matter, and the Mayor and Aldermen sat in state on the platform. When the hearing was opened, the audience were struck with astonishment by the coming forward of Dwight Foster's father, the Hon. Alfred D. Foster, a highly honored citizen of great influence and ability. He had been in the State Senate and had held some few political offices, but had disliked such service and had never practised law, having a considerable property which he had inherited from his father, the former United States Senator. He made a most eloquent and powerful appeal to the aldermen to refuse the petition, in the name of morality and good order. He stated the deplorable effect of attending such exhibitions on the character of the youth of our city of both sexes, cited the opinion and practice of our ancestors in such matters, and made a profound impression. He then warned his hearers against the young man who was to follow him, whom, he said, he loved as his life, but he was there employed as a lawyer with his fee in his hand, without the responsibility which rested upon them of protecting the morals and good order of the city. It was very seldom that so powerful a speech was heard in that hall, although it was the cradle of the Anti-slavery movement, and had been the scene of some of the most famous efforts of famous orators. Everybody supposed that the youth was crushed and would not venture to perform his duty in the face of such an attack. But he was fully equal to the occasion. He met his father with a clear, simple, modest, but extremely able statement of the other side; pointed out the harmlessness of such exhibitions when well conducted, and that the strictness which confounded innocence and purity with guilt and vice was itself the parent and cause of vice. He did not allude to his father by name or description, but in replying to his arguments said: "It is said in some quarters," or "An opposition comes from some quarters" founded on such-and-such reasons. He got the sympathy of his audience and carried his point. And from that time nobody hesitated to trust Dwight Foster with any cause, however important, from any doubt of his capacity to take care of his clients.
He had been brought up as a Whig. But when the Nebraska Bill was passed, he became a zealous and earnest Republican. He was candidate for Mayor, but defeated on a very close vote by George W. Richardson. He held the office of Judge of Probate for a short time, by appointment of Governor Banks; was elected Attorney-General in 1860 when Governor Andrew was chosen Governor, and soon after was appointed Judge of the Supreme Court, an office which he filled with great distinction, then left the Bench to resume his practice, and died of a disease of the heart which he inherited from his ancestors. He was Governor Andrew's Attorney-General during the War, who said of him that "he was full of the fire and hard-working zeal of Massachusetts." He was the organ of the patriotism and energy of Worcester at the seat of government during the war, looking out for the interests of her soldiers, and always urging the brave and vigorous counsel. I lost a stanch friend by his death. I can sum up his qualities in no better way than by the word "manliness." He never uttered an ignoble word, thought an ignoble thought, or did an ignoble act. His method of speech was clear, simple, spirited, without much pathos or emotion, but still calculated to stir and move his hearers.
I had more intimate relations with Judge Thomas L. Nelson than with any other member of the Worcester Bar except those with whom I formed a partnership. We were never in partnership. But after I went to Congress in 1869, he moved into my office until his appointment to the Bench. So when I was at home we were in the same room. He had been accustomed for a long time before to employ me to assist him in important trials before the jury and in arguments before the Supreme Court. I suppose I am responsible for his appointment to the District Court, although the original suggestion was not mine. After the death of Judge Shepley, there was a general expectation that Judge John Lowell, of the District Court, would be made Circuit Judge. One morning one of the Boston papers suggested several names for the succession, among them that of Mr. Knowlton, of Springfield, and Mr. Nelson. I said nothing to him. But he observed: "I see in a paper that I am spoken of as District Judge." I replied: "Yes, I saw the article." Neither of us said anything further on the subject. When I got to Washington I met Mr. Devens, then Attorney-General, who said, "We shall have to appoint a District Judge, I suppose. I think your friend Nelson is the best man for it. But I suppose he would not accept it." I said: "No, I don't believe he would accept it. But, if you think he is the best man for it, the question whether he will accept it ought to be determined by him, and not by his friends for him." I had no thought that Mr. Nelson would leave his practice for the Bench. But I thought it would be a very agreeable thing to him to have the offer. I wrote to him a day or two afterward that I thought it likely he would be offered the place. He answered by asking me, if it were to be offered to him, how much time would be given to him to consider the matter. Soon after I was informed by Attorney-General Devens that the President had offered him the place on the Circuit Bench, and that he very much desired to accept it. But he thought that, although the President had put the place at his disposal, he was very unwilling to have any change in the Cabinet, and doubted whether he ought to accept the offer unless he were very sure the President was willing to spare him. One day soon after, President Hayes sent for me to come to see him. I called at the Attorney- General's office, told him the President had sent for me, and that he probably wished to speak about the Circuit Judgeship, and I wanted to know what he would like to have me say. Devens said that he should prefer that way of spending the rest of his life to any other. But the President had done him a great honor in inviting him to his Cabinet, and he did not wish to leave him unless he were sure that the President was willing. I went to the White House. When President Hayes opened the subject, I told him what was the Attorney-General's opinion. The President said that if he could be sure that were true, it would relieve his mind of a great burden. I told him he could depend on it. The President said he did not know anybody else whom he should be as willing to have in his Cabinet as Devens, unless I myself would consent to accept the place. He gave a little friendly urging in that direction. I told him that I had lately been elected to the Senate after a considerable controversy, and that I did not think I could in justice to the people of the State make a vacancy in the office which would occasion a new strife. I called on Devens on my way back, and reported to him what the President had said. He immediately went to the White House, and they had a full understanding, which resulted in Devens keeping his place in the Cabinet through the Administration.
It was then suggested that while Judge Lowell was a most admirable District Judge, and in every way an admirable lawyer, yet that it would be better if it were possible to get one of the leaders of the Bar, who would supply what Judge Lowell lacked—the capacity for charging juries on facts, and presiding at jury trials, and to leave him in the District Court, where his services were so valuable. The office of Circuit Judge was accordingly offered to Mr. William G. Russell. I wrote to Nelson, asking him to consider my first letter on the subject as not having been written. Mr. Russell replied, declining the place, and saying, with great emphasis that he was sorry the President should hesitate a moment about offering the place to Judge Lowell, whom he praised very highly. But the President and the Attorney-General thought that it should be offered to Mr. George O. Shattuck, a very eminent lawyer and advocate. On inquiry, however, it turned out that Mr. Shattuck, who was in poor health, was absent on a journey, and it was so unlikely that he would accept the offer that it was thought best not to diminish the value and honor to Judge Lowell of the place by offering it further to another person. Accordingly the place was offered to Judge Lowell and accepted by him.
General Devens than said to me: "I have been thinking over the matter of the District Judge, and I think if a man entirely suitable can be found in the Suffolk Bar, that the appointment rather belongs to that Bar, and I should like, if you have no objection, to propose to the President to offer it to Mr. Charles Allen." Mr. Allen was later Judge of the Supreme Court of Massachusetts. I assented, but said: "If Mr. Allen refuses it, I hope it will then be offered to Mr. Nelson, in accordance with your original opinion." The Attorney- General agreed. The offer was made to Mr. Allen, and by him declined. When the letter of refusal came, the Attorney- General and I went together to the White House and showed the President the letter. In the meantime a very strong recommendation of Mr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., now of the Supreme Court, had been received by the President. He felt a good deal of interest in Holmes. I think they had both been wounded in the same battle. But, at any rate, they were comrades. The President then said: "I rather think Holmes is the man." I then gave him my opinion of Mr. Nelson, and the President said to Devens: "Do you agree, Mr. Attorney-General?" Devens said: "I do." And the President said: "Then Nelson be it." Mr. Nelson, to my surprise, accepted the appointment.
Judge Nelson was a master of equity and bankruptcy. No doctrine was too subtle or abstruse for him. The matter of marshalling assets, or the tacking of mortgages, and such things which require a good deal of the genius of the mathematician, were clear in his apprehension. He was one of the two or three men in the State who ever understood the complications of the old loan-fund associations. He was especially a master of legal remedies. He held on like a bull-dog to a case in the justice of which he believed. When you had got a verdict and judgment in the Supreme Court against one of Nelson's clients, he was just ready to begin work. Then look out for him. He had with this trait also a great modesty and diffidence. If anybody put to him confidently a proposition against his belief, Nelson was apt to be silent, but, as Mr. Emerson said of Samuel Hoar, "with an unaltered belief." He would come out with his reply days after. When he came to state the strong point in arguing his case, he would sink his voice so it could hardly be heard, and look away like a bashful maiden giving her consent. Judge Bigelow told me, very early in Nelson's career, that he wished I would ask my friend to make his arguments a little longer, and to raise his voice so the court could hear him better. They always found his arguments full of instruction, and disliked to lose anything so good a lawyer had to say. His value as a Judge was largely in consultation and in his sound opinions. I suppose that, like his predecessor, Judge Lowell, he was not the very best of Judges to preside at jury trials, or to guide juries in their deliberations. Indeed, Nelson had many of the intellectual traits—the same merits and the same defects that Lowell had. Lowell was a man of great wit, and a favorite with the Boston Bar when he was appointed. So they made the best of him. They were not inclined to receive Nelson's appointment very graciously. It was some years before he established a high place in their confidence and esteem. But it was established before his death. Gray and Putnam and Webb, all in their way lawyers of the first class, found Nelson a most valuable and acceptable associate, and have all spoken of him in most enthusiastic terms. He was a good naturalist. He knew the song-birds, their habits, and dwelling-places. He knew all the stars. He liked to discuss difficult and profound questions of public policy, constitutional law, philosophy, and metaphysics. Sometimes, when I came home from Washington after a period of hard work, if I happened to find Nelson in the cars when I went to Boston, it was almost painful to spend an hour with him, although his conversation was very profound and interesting. But it was like attempting to take up and solve a difficult problem in geometry. I was tired, and wanted to be humming a negro melody to myself. He was a man of absolute integrity, not caring whether he pleased or displeased anybody. He had a good deal of literary knowledge, was specially fond of Emerson, and knew him very thoroughly, both prose and verse. He had a good deal of wit, one of the brightest examples of which I will not undertake to quote here. He was a civil engineer in his youth, and was always valuable in complicated questions of boundary, or cases like our sewer and water cases, which require the application of practical mathematics. He was a friendly and placable person so far as he was concerned himself, but resented, with great indignation, any unkindness toward any of his friends or household. His friend and associate, Judge Webb, after his death spoke with great beauty and pathos of Nelson's love of nature and of his old county home: