Page:The Green Bag (1889–1914), Volume 24.pdf/580

 The Editor's Bag the Colonel sent the ex-Confederate surgeon $800 in gold. Some consider able time later, Watson was one day working away at his desk and among his books, when a fine looking gentleman stepped in and inquired for Colonel Watson. Turning to him the latter said, 'I am Colonel Watson, what can I do for you?' 'Well, sir, I am Major —, the Confederate surgeon, whom you knew in Libby prison.' Instantly Wat son sprang to him, grasped his hand, half embraced him and began to express his joy at the meeting. Suddenly he stopped, closed his desk with a bang, turned to his office mate, and saying, 'I shall be out of the office for a week,' went out with the Major. "Arm in arm they started on the week's entertainment; never entirely sober, never drunk, but mellow, talka tive, inseparable, at the theatres, in the Capitol, on the streets, at the club, in the restaurants, calling among the best families, at appropriate times and in proper condition, they fought the war over again, and especially their several and joint parts therein, including the phases of the prison episode and its connections and separations, until the final farewell and the Major's boarding the cars for his southern home. "The Colonel closed his desk forever a few years ago, leaving a record as soldier and lawyer and citizen untarnished. "Of the Major's later life, or his death, we have no information." REMINISCENCES OF AN OHIO LAWYER AS HE was "rummaging among old files the other day in search of the outline of an address delivered at an ex-soldier gathering, years ago," writes this same friend in Ohio, these two other anecdotes, "forgotten lore, turned up, dust-covered.

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"Many years ago, say in the '30's, a young lawyer removed from Wayne County to the capital county of Ohio. His career promised well and for a time was prosperous. He built a fine residence for that day; an interesting family was growing up around him, he had both legal and literary ability, and 'everybody was his friend.' "Gradually, however, a change came over his life. He lost his grip physi cally and to some extent mentally. His amiability remained after his clients were nearly all gone; some gleams of wit flashed out even after he had returned wholly to the jurisdiction of his first love, the justice of the peace. "As years crept on his nasal tone be came more pronounced, and a sort of judicial paralysis set in which impeded locomotion. The old man's clients had become like angel's visits and the capacity to take of those who came or remained was slender. "We had a shrewd, keen, hardheaded member of the bar whose early education had been neglected — he spelled his Creator's name with a small g — but who was well up in the value of old judgments, the methods of col lecting or compromising them, and the practice in 'the people's court.' "The old man brought suit for one of his clients against a client of the petti fogger. The bill of particulars was de fective and on appearance day D. at tacked it by motion to dismiss; the old man resisted in his earnest, feeble way, but he was over-matched and 'the Square' dismissed his case. "As he shuffled from the justice's room across the rotunda of the building to the head of the stairway on the way to the street, he consoled his client and relieved his own feelings by assailing his adversary's conduct. His climax,