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lawyer residing in western New York. This lawyer is so devoid of vanity that he would feel hurt if his name should be disclosed where all lawyers would read it, as in this magazine, and so we omit it. Be sides we like to imagine every lawyer in that part of the country, who regards himself in the light de scribed, running to his shelves and turning over the pages to see who thus complimented him and on what occasion. The pleasing words employed by the judge were substantially these: "The eminent counsel for the appellant has contended with all the adroitness and skill at his command — which is equivalent to saying, with all the adroitness and skill possible," etc. Nothing could be more honeyed and sugary and apparently desirable than these words, and the compliment is one of the most comprehen sive that has ever come to our notice. But alas! these words must be regarded in the light of the garlands with which the priests in the temples in classic times used to adorn the horns of the comely heifer led to sacrifice — they made the victim look pretty, but they meant death. So it was in this case. These were mere flowers of rhetoric. Perhaps the judge exceeded the conventional bounds in such mat ters for the reason that he lives in the same town with the eminent counsel and has to meet him on the street. After these soothing and comfortable words, the judge proceeded to slaughter the eminent, skill ful and adroit counsellor in the most ruthless and radical manner. After the soothing potion, he ripped him up. The Chairman has observed that this has always been the way of the Judges. They never compliment the successful attorney; he does not need it. It is his unsuccessful rival who gets all the fine words, while the other gets the judgment. Laocobn feared the Greeks the most when they offered presents. So when the lawyer takes up the opinion of the appellate court in his case, he may be doubtful how it is coming out until he comes to a compliment to himself. Then he may know that he is beaten. The fine words are but the purring of the tiger before it rudely lays its fatal claws on its pris oner, the gentle breath of wind which is the precur sor of the cyclone, the graceful scintillation of light before the deadly thunderbolt. There is only one difference between these judicial compliments and those kind-hearted tarradiddles which we hear at bar meetings in memory of a de ceased brother — the latter come after death, when the subject cannot hear them, the former come before, when he hears and has learned to dread them. There never was a truer or homelier proverb than " Fine words butter no parsnips," which in legal phrase ology may be paraphrased, "Judicial compliments sugar no adverse decision.'' The Chairman hopes that the eminent gentleman of whom the words in

question were spoken will take the result philosophi cally, and like another, and perhaps even more celebrated, member of his family, leave his vindica tion to posterity, and consider the fact that a great moralist said : " Woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you!" Applying this to the contests of the forum, brethren, you may read, " Woe unto you when the judge in your case speaks well of you!"

The Librarian. — Some time ago we felt moved to express in verse in this Chair, the feelings of the public librarian. Continued experience and observa tion have but served to strengthen the convictions thus metrically portrayed. If we could earlier have foreseen certain phases of this life, and thus been in duced to make memoranda of things that have occurred, a very amusing catalogue of queer cails for books might be compiled. For example, it would include " Wall's Reports," which were demanded by a lawyer past middle age, and "Albert's Law Jour nal," which was sought by a young law student. "T. R." is a standing puzzle to many, as it may well be, for it is an inconsequential title quite charac teristic of the English people. To treat such in quiries with due respect and gravity is a sore trial to the librarian. It is probable that every elderly man, however unsentimental and devoid of morbidness, has at times imagined the time, place and manner of his death. It is not good to dwell on such thoughts, but now and then they will intrude. One librarian at least has definitely settled and arranged these details for himself in his own mind, and now he offers the exposition of THE LIBRARIAN'S DEATH. I l'Ass my days in standing on a ladder And handing books down to the ignoble throng; The occupation makes me yearly madder To see those readers choosing always wron<*. Of Humboldt in the very same position I have a picture hanging on my wall; But he is in a pleasanter condition — He does not serve the populace at all. He stands upon his ladder absent-minded, His arms well filled and books between his knees, And to all outward circumstances blinded He reads another volume at his ease. And not infrequently I'm struck with wonder That I don't fall in an apoplectic fit At hearing people hesitate and blunder. Not knowing what they want a little bit. I know in inextinguishable laughter Some day I'll drop on hearing their queer terms, And 'mid the echoes rising to the rafter Become lit food for ravening book-worms.