single virtue can be
proved by no man.

"This was another reason why I was sometimes unwilling to prosecute
a fellow-creature; it might be a case in which he alone would
actually know whether he were innocent, but his simple word would
not be taken, and his simple word would be the only proof that he
could give. I ask you, as you care for my memory, never to take
advantage of the truth that the man before you, as the accused, may
in the nature of things be unable to prove his innocence. Some day
you are going to be a judge. Remember you are always a judge; and
remember that a greater Judge than you will ever be gave you the
rule: 'Judge as you would be judged.' The great root of the matter
is this: that all human conduct is judged; but a very small part of
human conduct is ever brought to trial."

He had many visitors at his office during these idle summer days.
He belonged to a generation of men who loved conversation--when
they conversed. All the lawyers dropped in. The report of his
failing strength brought these and many others.

He saw a great deal of Professor Hardage. One morning as the two
met, he said with more feeling than he usually allowed himself to
show: "Hardage, I am a lonesome old man; don't you want me to come
and see you every Sunday evening? I always try to get home by ten
o'clock, so that you couldn't get tired of me; and as I never fall
asleep before that time, you wouldn't have to put me to bed. I
want to hear you talk, Hardage. My time is limited; and you have
no right to shut out from me so much that you know--your learning,
your wisdom, yourself. And I know a few things that I have picked
up in a lifetime. Surely we ought to have something to say to each
other."

But when he came, Professor Hardage was glad to let him find relief
in his monologues--fragments of self-revelation. This last phase
of their friendship had this added significance: that the Judge no
longer spent his Sunday evenings with Mrs. Conyers. The last
social link binding him to womankind had been broken. It was a
final loosening and he felt it, felt the desolation in which it
left him. His cup of life had indeed been drained, and he turned
away from the dregs.

One afternoon Professor Hardage found him sitting with his familiar
Shakespeare on his knees. As he looked up, he stretched out his
hand in eager welcome and said: "Listen once more;" and he read the
great kindling speech of King Henry to his En