THE PHILADELPHIA BAR
him for four hours for nothing.” Ker won the case. Dougherty had a fine presence, side whiskers and a persuasive voice.
The most eccentric character at the bar was Lucas Hirst. He had offices on Walnut Street above Sixth, and ate his meals and kept a woman at the same place. Thin, with sandy complexion and red hair, he had a high, rasping voice. Other lawyers kept away from him as much as possible. Not only had he ability and readiness for the encounter, but papers had a habit of disappearing and sometimes they did not remain at the end of the suit as they had been at the beginning. On one occasion he went to the library of the Law Association to examine a report. The attendants were distrustful and hesitated to let him have it. “I will fix you,” he threatened, in his shrillest tones. When he died he bequeathed a considerable estate for the purpose of founding a free law library and no doubt, as years go by and his form and idiosyncracies are forgotten, his reputation will be assured as a philanthropist and public benefactor. In fact, we find as we examine the mysteries of life that even the worst of men do more good in the world than they do harm. The money which the gambler has cheated to secure and hoarded to preserve goes finally to the building of a chapel. Even if impelled by an unworthy motive, Hirst will have done more in the end to give practical assistance to the lawyers of the future than the most credited, capable and upright of his contemporaries. Moreover, the impulses of the human heart are both complicated and inscrutable, and in all probability Hirst had long been pondering over some method by which he could aid his fellows and gain their good will.
During the course of my practice three men whom I pursued for debt committed suicide—one shot himself, one leaped into the Delaware from a steamboat, and the third was found hanging in a barn.
I declined to take cases in the criminal court. My chief
