Another face to be seen for many successive years at the meetings of the society, and at its annual dinners, was that of Peter S. Du Ponceau, the French lawyer and philologist, who lived here for so many years. He has left behind him pictures of some of his learned associates that prove to us that these gentlemen, whose faces look down upon us gravely from century-old portraits, were, on occasions, as full of quips and quirks and fun and frolic as the most jovial collegian of our day. Of his frequent journeys to Washington to attend the sessions of the Supreme Court of the United States, in company with Mr. Ingersoll, Mr. William Rawle, Mr. Lewis, and Mr. Edward Tilghman, he says,-- “As soon as we were out of the city and felt the flush of air, we were like school-boys in the playground on a holiday; and we began to kill time by all the means that our imagination could suggest. Flashes of wit shot their coruscations on all sides; puns of the genuine Philadelphia stamp were handed about; old college stories were revived; macaroni Latin was spoken with great purity; songs were sung,--even classical songs, among which I recollect the famous Bacchanalian of the Archdeacon of Oxford, _Mihi est propositum in tabernâ mori_; in short, we might have been taken for anything else but the grave counsellors of the celebrated bar of Philadelphia.” Mr. Du Ponceau it is who is accredited with the well-known story of the lawyer whose client came in and deposed that “his brother had died and made a will.” A gentleman who read law with the facetious Frenchman relates that it was only when a fee was placed in Mr. Du Ponceau’s hand that he translated the phrase into, “Ah! you mean that your brother made a will and died.” We can imagine the laugh with which the philosophers would greet this most practical of jokes.