time from his office; and thereupon he went before the United States Grand Jury and complained of all four of us.  As the grand jury, after listening to his story for a while, dismissed him in disgust, be presented himself before their successors at a subsequent term and complained of them.  From the Federal Court he proceeded to the State tribunals; and first of all he went to the County Court of San Francisco with a large bundle of papers and detailed his grievances against the United States judges, clerks, district attorney and grand jury.  Judge Stanley, who was then county judge, after listening to Moulin’s story, told the bailiff to take possession of the papers, and when he had done so, directed him to put them into the stove, where they were soon burned to ashes.  Moulin then complained of Stanley.  At the same time, one of the city newspapers, the “Evening Bulletin,” made some comments upon his ridiculous and absurd proceedings, and Moulin at once sued the editors.  He also brought suit against the District Judge, District Attorney and his assistant, myself, the clerk of the court, the counsel against him in the suit with the steamship company and its agents, and numerous other parties who had been connected with his various legal movements.  And whenever the United States Grand Jury met, he besieged it with narratives of his imaginary grievances; and, when they declined to listen to him, he complained of them.  The courts soon became flooded with his voluminous and accumulated complaints against judges, clerks, attorneys, jurors, editors, and, in fact, everybody who had any connection with him, however remote, who refused to listen to them and accede to his demands.  By this course Moulin attracted a good deal of attention, and an inquiry was suggested and made as to whether he was compos mentis.  The parties who made the inquiry reported that he was not insane, but was actuated by a fiendish malignity, a love of notoriety and the expectation of extorting money by blackmail.  For years—­indeed until September, 1871—­he continued to besiege and annoy the grand juries of the United States courts with his imaginary grievances, until he became an intolerable nuisance.  His exemption from punishment had emboldened him to apply to the officers of the court—­the judges, clerks, and jurors—­the most offensive and insulting language.  Papers filled with his billingsgate were scattered all through the rooms of the court, on the desks of the judges, and on the seats of jurors and spectators.  It seemed impossible, under existing law, to punish him, for his case did not seem to fall within the class of contempts for which it provided.  But in September of 1871 his insolence carried him beyond the limits of impunity.  In that month he came to the United States Circuit Court, where Judge Sawyer (then United States Circuit Judge) and myself were sitting, and asked that the grand jury which was about to be discharged might be detained; as he proposed to have us indicted