flashed as an unconscious aurora on a polar night and their friendship was of the most deep and lasting quality. At her request his letters and the little souvenirs he had given her were burned at her death, held by her too sacred for other fate. Says the formal biographer appointed to draw up the resolutions upon his death for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts: "In him the people lost a fearless, vigorous, upright magistrate of great learning and unquestioned integrity and purity; a man of marked individuality and power. His fame belongs to the Commonwealth. For nearly a quarter of a century he served it as a judge of its highest tribunal with distinguished ability; a positive force in the administration of justice." Pompous in manner, elegant in speech, he was to the younger generation the embodiment of the Supreme Court. His face was haughtily handsome, and beneath his slow, awe-inspiring reserve of manner lay a sense of humor to which his little friend Emily pierced unceasingly. Her approach was sure on the high themes of Shakespeare, his favorite author re-read and known by heart by them both, but their enjoyment of the comedy of every day was also broadly akin. They saved scraps of current nonsense for each other, and these clippings flew back and forth between the grim court-house in Salem and the little desk by her conservatory window, where Emily oftenest sat.
There was a certain kind of wit she labelled "the Judge Lord brand." One specimen of it especially relished by both remains still pinned to her tiny workbox. It is yellow with age, in a type quite bygone and evidently cut from the county paper. It is marked in her own handwriting—"Returned by Judge Lord with approval!"
