"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 homicide. 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 of 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 to the navel, was perforated with 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 hypothesis of innocence. The prisoner was ably defended by Judge Wyche, James McNaught, Irving Ballard and Gov. Wallace. The Honorable C. M. Bradshaw was the prosecuting attorney, and he was ably assisted by the 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 is 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 her 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?' '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 smooth 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 that 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 admisability of the testimony, admitting that the authorities were in conflict, but claiming 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 melancholly condition. His emotion 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 an 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 melancholly picture; then 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 shots, 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 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 called '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 other than Statutes, Blackstone's Commentaries and Kent's Lectures. His knowledge of Statutory law was comprehensive and wonderfully accurate, both in a historical and constructive sense. He often said that we were too much inclined to go far from home for our law; that we were fond of legal exotics. While reports were useful, their abuse was greater than their proper use. He claimed that their use had changed the members of the legal profession from a body of original and stalwart thinkers, to a body of sickly book-worms. Their inquiry was not, what was the reason of the thing, but what had some Court said?
"It was a frequent saying of his that the principal difficulty that he met with in the practice of the law was to get the Court to see the law as it was; a difficulty that many of us, no doubt, have thought at times obstructed our success; but which, with that modesty and discretion so characteristic of the profession, we have failed to voice.
"Mr. Hall was the acknowledged wit of the Bar of Western Washington. I might give many instances of his ability as a wit, but one must suffice.
"It was the last day of a term of Court at Port Townsend. My practice was to read over the docket on the last day of Court in the presence of the attorneys, so that I could correct on my docket any omissions or mistakes. I was about to adjourn Court when Mr. Hall said he desired to have a demurrer heard. I told him to proceed. He made a brief yet clear and plausable argument in favor of the demurrer. It involved a point of statutory construction. When he had concluded, the opposing counsel rose to reply. I told him that I did not desire to hear him; that the point presented so ably by Mr. Hall was not new to me; that my mind was against the construction contended for, and that I would have to overrule the demurrer. Mr. Hall, who had arisen to his feet, and who was manifestly a little disappointed at the ruling of the Court, said that he would like to have an exception. I said: 'The Court will grant you an exception with pleasure; but,' I said, 'this very question has been up before my Brother Greene and my Brother Lewis, and we all agree in our views; now, you know that we three constitute the Supreme Court, and, while I give you the exception with the greatest pleasure, I fear you will not make much by it.' He stood in a reflective attitude for a moment, then said: 'May it please your Honor, I believe I will take the benefit of the exception, anyhow, for the tenure of office is very uncertain in this Territory.'
"I have heard the incident related with this sequel, that he took the case to the Supreme Court, that the Judges mentioned were all off the Bench, and the demurrer was sustained. I cannot vouch for the correctness of this sequel, however.
"Now, Mr. President and brothers, I owe you an apology for detaining you so long with this unsubstantial matter, this unwritten poetry of the profession. I am inclined to believe, however that the actual intellectual and moral tone of a given period, as well as the social status, has no truer index than its current anecdotes. Every new and formative community is marked with distinctive individualities. In the onward sweep of development and civilization, and in the largeness of population, individuality becomes fused in the general mass, and loses its salient characteristics."
From an address before the same Association at its annual meeting in Ellensburg in 1902 I cull these extracts.