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WITH deep regret we record the death, on October 26, of Horace W, Fuller, the editor of THE GREEN BAG for twelve years, from its start until the beginning of the present volume. Mr. Fuller was born in Augusta, Maine, in 1844, but came to Boston at an early age. Studious and scholarly in his tastes, he was especially fitted for the literary and editorial work which he assumed in addition to his practice. Brought by his editorial duties into pleasant relations with many of the brightest and most prominent lawyers here, in Canada and in England, Mr. Fuller was widely known and highly esteemed by his professional brethren, to whom the news of his death comes as a sad shock. NOTES.
JUDGE ROBERT C. GRIER, one of the associ ate justices of the Supreme Court of the United States from 1846 to 1870, was possessed of a very caustic wit, which he did not hesitate to use on the bench upon frequent occasions. At one time he was holding a session of the United States District Court at Williamsport, Pa. The officers of the Court, with their records and papers, had come from Pittsburg two hundred miles distant and jurors and witnesses had been summoned from all over the western part of the state, at a very large expense to the government. When court convened, it was found that there was but one case for trial, that of a man charged with robbing the United States niails. He had no counsel and so the judge appointed to defend him a young member of the bar, Andrew G. Curtin, afterwards the great war governor of Pennsylvania and United States Minister to Russia. There was no doubt of the man's guilt, but Curtin made an impassioned speech in his defense and when the jury came in, to the surprise of everybody in the court room, the verdict was not guilty.
Judge Grier glared at the jury with a look of disgust and then drawled out in his squeaky voice, " Humph, gentlemen, this is like ordering out a regiment of United States soldiers to shoot at a pigeon and then miss the pigeon." AN assistant judge had dropped asleep on the bench. The presiding judge, who was collect ing the votes, asked him for his. Rubbing his eyes, the latter said, " Hang himl" "But it is a meadow we are dealing with." "Ah? Well, mow ix, then." AT the recent Webster celebration at Dart mouth College, Rev. Dr. Edward Everett Hale told the following anecdotes : Mr. Webster was very fond of children, and got along excellently well with them. I am always proud to tell this story of a child's game of speculation or commerce at which at some birthday party we were all playing in his own library. The great library table was cleared for us, and, as it happened, I sat by Mr. Webster's side. In the exigencies of the game, perhaps from my own imprudent playing, I had lost all my counters, and I cried out : " I have nothing left. Have I no friend who will lend to me?" With perfectly characteristic generosity, Mr. Webster pushed half his stock in front of me and said : " Edward, as long as I live you shall never say you have not a friend." I was a child, but I treasured those words, and they always proved true. Senator Lodge may well express his surprise that anyone who knew Mr. Webster at all thought he had no sense of humor. His humor cropped out always when he was at ease. I have a child's poem which he and other lawyers wrote to my father and mother for me, to enter tain me in sickness. It was the trial of the Sparrow for the murder of Cock Robin. I have always guessed that Mr. Webster furnished these lines, because they were the best in the
