The Judicial Terror of Chehalis

Early yesterday morning a little gray-bearded man, wearing a flannel shirt and a low, rusty slouch hat, entered Columbia Hall while yet the court bailiffs were making the fires, smoothly bedding the floor with shavings and otherwise preparing for the proper administration of justice. The stranger was hailed jocularly by the bailiffs, who looked upon him as a farmer and made some sport of his early arrival from the country. The visitor went forward and adjusted himself to the judge's seat. After advising the old gentleman that Judge Hunter would send him to jail for contempt if he found him usurping the judicial bench, the bailiffs were dumbfounded with the information that the visitor was none other than Judge Hunter himself, the judicial terror of Oysterville and Chehalis. The judge, who has the reputation of beginning court at daylight in the counties in which he presides, proceeded to express amazement because the hour for opening court in this county had been fixed at 9:30 o'clock. He awaited the time of opening impatiently, and when it came at length he stated, as he directed attention to the Temple Baptist church organ within the bar, that while Judge Robinson apparently opened court with hymn-singing and prayer, he would dispense with the exercises. The attorneys were on their very best behavior in the court yesterday. Whenever they ventured to address the court their voices had a deferential tremolo. If they found it necessary to pass in front of the judgment seat, they tiptoed over the shavings, bowing like reverential Hindoos before a shrine. The saucy spirit of the bar was tamed into gentle submissiveness, and even the most courageous of the lawyers betrayed a shrinking dread of contact with the court, as though a buzz-saw were running on the bench.