Part 3

It seems while stooping down to untie her gaiters, she saw a man under the bed. With rare presence of mind, she excused herself to her fellow servant as having forgotten some duty, and reported her discovery to the landlord. Boniface at once called for volunteers to secure the interloper. So eager were they for fun, that all volunteered. They surprised and captured the man, and brought him down to the bar-room; but what to do with him? was the next question. Springfield then had no vagabonds who made fees out of misfortunes--i.e. policemen--and it was determined to treat him with the prompt justice peculiar to that era. A court was therefore got together at once, all expectant of fun but the unfortunate culprit.

Judge Thomas Brown was decided upon to act as Judge; Melborn, the talented, but eccentric State Attorney, was detailed to prosecute; and Lincoln and Douglas to defend the prisoner. Dr. Wallace acted as Sheriff, and upon the jury were Dr. Merriman, * Gen. Shields, John Calhoun (of Lecompton memory,) Uri Manly, and many other well known personages.

Lawborn, though a regularly-educated and talented lawyer, took occasion not only to be as "funny as he could," but to imitate the prevailing style of oratory too common in Illinois--a style in which the Hard-shell-Baptist devil mingled with the rough dialect of the back-woodsman.

"_May it please your Honor, and you, gentlemen of the Jury_: The Legislature of Illinois, though it has legislated upon every subject it could think of, has omitted to pass any act against a man being born as ugly as he pleases. If such an idea ever occurred to my friend Lincoln here, when in the Legislature, I know he would at once dismiss it, not only as too personal, but as repugnant to his honest heart. As for myself, I like ugly men. An ugly man stands up on his own merits. Nature has done nothing for him, and he feels that he must labor to supply the deficit by amiability and good conduct generally. There is not an ugly man in this room but has felt this. A pretty man, on the contrary, trusts his face to supply head, heart and everything. He is an anomaly in nature, as though the productions had been at fault as to sex, and sought to correct it when too late. They are girl's first loves, and doting husband's jealous bane. I confess I don't like pretty men half so well as I do pretty women.

* Afterward murdered and robbed on the Pacific.

"No, gentlemen, ugliness is nothing. It is manners that is everything. The ugliest man that ever lived, never intentionally frightened a woman--nay, never was so unfortunate as to do so. But this creature, gentlemen of the Jury, this mendacious wretch whom you set in judgment upon--this creature, who would doubtless enter for a prize of beauty at a vanity fair--how has he failed in his duty to society? Why, gentlemen, by crawling under the bed upon which two fair damsels were about to expose their loveliness to Diana's envious gaze. Did he wish to woo them? Petruche's was rough in his wooing--this man was mean! Woman loves not surprises. Their hearts are fond of open sieges. This is the case of all women-kind. Maugre the slander of Hudibras:=

``"He that woos a maid,

``Must lie, love, and flatter."=

"It is a _mystery_ that adds to beauty, and the woman who surrenders that to importunity or surprise, has lost half her vantage ground. The story of Guyges and Candaules' queen, if not paralleled here, is not without its moral. What else meant this wretch, gentlemen of the Jury, but to surprise these charming damsels when only armed with the light shield that the Huntress and the cotton plant throws over earthly beauty? Or, perhaps he meant more--his own guilty heart can only accuse him there.

"Gentlemen of the Jury, the failure of our Legislature to provide a specific punishment for such miscreants, as this--lecherous creatures, who steal upon woman amid the mysteries of the bed-room--is no reason why society should fold its arms and leave woman's hidden beauties to be anatomized by guilty eyes. No, gentlemen of the Jury, outraged decency cries for its victim, and here he tremblingly, guiltily stands.

"Gentlemen of the Jury, where are the spirits of the fathers of the Constitution? Are they not hovering over us in the air of the still summer day? Are they not wailing upon the winds that sweep over our prairies? Are they not heard in the sigh of the mountain pine? Are they not abroad in all lands, whispering to earth's downtrodden millions like a voice of hope? Yes, gentlemen of the Jury! and where was this creature then? Why, creeping under the bed of two girls, hazzarding the chance of overturning--well, it matters not."

--And much more, in a view that needed to be heard to be appreciated.

Lincoln followed, illustrating with anecdotes meet for the place and occasion, of which I recollect only the opening. "Gentlemen of the Jury," said he, "the remarks of my friend Lawborn about ugly men, comes home to my bosom like the sweet oders of a rose to its neighboring great sister, the cabbage. It was a grateful, a just tribute to that neglected class of the community--ugly men, I wish to say something for my client, although it must in candor be admitted, that he had 'gone to pot.' I don't see why we should throw the kettle after him; he may be the victim of circumstances; he looks very bashful now, and it may be the girls scared him; who knows? At least I claim for him the benefit of a doubt.

"Why, gentlemen, many of us have, or might have suffered from a concatenation of circumstances as strong as that under which my client labors. Let me relate a little personal anecdote in illustration. When I was making the secret canvass of this country, with my friend Cartwright, the Pioneer Preacher, we chanced to stop at the house of one of our old Kentucky farmers, whose log-cabin parlor, kitchen and hall were blended in one, and only separated at night by sundry blankets hung up between the beds. As we were candidates for the august Legislature of Illinois, our host treated us with the privacy of a blanket room. During the night I was awakened by some one throwing their leg over me with some force. I thought it was neighbor Cartright, and took hold of it to give it a toss back; but it didn't feel like one of his white oak legs, and while I was feeling it to ascertain the correctness of my half-awake doubts, a stifled scream thoroughly awakened me, and the leg was withdrawn. Why, gentlemen, would you believe me? It was the leg of our host's daughter! Imagine my position if you can! What an _apparent_ breach of hospitality! While I was imagining an excuse for my conduct, the 'old folks' struck a light, and the blanket between our bed and that of the buxom damsel, was discovered to have been pulled down! More damning proof, thought I. I feigned sleep, but kept one corner of my left eye open for observation. The blanket was soon fixed up, and I was greatly relieved to hear the damsel explain to her mother that she herself had invaded our bed while dreaming, caused by some un-digestable vegetables she had eaten for her supper. Our host was serene and affable in the morning, and I had no need to apologize; but, gentlemen, imagine what an escape I had, and have mercy on my client."

Uncle Abe made a side splitting speech all through, and Douglas followed with a "constitutional" argument.

The Jury returned a verdict of "guilty of scaring the girls," and the Judge sentenced the culprit to be whipped in the back yard, by the girls he had scared.

Dr. Wallace, the acting Sheriff, (no, a paymaster in the army,) went out and bought a cow hide, and the fellow was soon tied up to a post, and the girls made per force to give him thirty-nine well laid on.

The whole affair was a rich evening's divertisement, and cost nothing more than a few lost vest buttons and strained button holes.

It is needless to say that the fellow became a _non est_ man from that day thenceforth.

"Thank God for the Sassengers."

Most of the readers of this have perhaps read a good story of Oliver Ditson, the celebrated Boston Music publisher. After he had been in business several years, his New Hampshire friends invited him to open his Thanksgiving in his native town, he accepted the invitation and started with some of his friends. On the way Ditson was the great man of the occasion, and was therefore placed at the head of the table, when it devolved upon him to ask the blessing. Now Oliver practiced more religion than he knew the exact forms for, and he was in a sad dilemma; but he essayed boldly the task. He thanked God for all the 'creature comforts' there were upon the table--for all there ever had been--for all that was expected. But how to quit? He went on, thanking and trying to think at the same time how 'blessings' ended, but to no purpose. Knives rattled, plates moved, and Oliver saw the hungry people were getting impatient, and he came to the end in a real business like style, with--"Yours, respectfully, OLIVER DITSON."

Almost as good an anecdote is told by Uncle Abe of one of his old friends, a Mr. Sawyer, who merchandized either in Macon or Champaign County. Sawyer, was a Yankee, and distinguished for little besides an immoderate liking for "sassingers," as he called that "linked sweetness" which polite people call sausages. When Uncle Abe was stumping the Sangamon District for Congress, it befell that he and Sawyer met at the same country hotel, which was kept by a hardshell Baptist, whose foible was long prayers and blessings at table. They--Lincoln and Sawyer--happened to be going to the same town by the same coaches. So they were up betimes and ready, but breakfast was delayed. They at last got to the table, and the Deacon was just closing his eyes preliminary to the blessing, when the stage horn blew.

"Bless me, Deacon, there's the stage ready," cried the Sawyer; "thank God for the sassengers, and let us fall too."

I hardly need say the Deacon's blessing--and perhaps his breakfast were spoiled. But Sawyer had his "sassengers."

Was'nt Murder After All.

When the present State House of Illinois, was being built--and it's a passable edifice, baring it is too low in the ground, and the _summer house_ up on its top is too low to catch the cool breezes--it chanced that among the workmen engaged upon it was a New Yorker named Johnson. This man had a sovereign contempt for most of the shinplasters then circulating in Illinois; nor was he much amiss in this, for if it was now in existence, it would be exchangable at par with Jeff Davis' shinplasters. But through the instrumentality of Col. Thornton's negotiations in New York with McAlister of Stebbins, (a claim, by the way, that has never been settled but came near _settling_ the State _a la_ Mattoon,) a large amount of the bills of the New York _Metropolitan Bank_ were put into circulation about Springfield. For this currency Johnson conceived so great a partiality that the passion of avarice soon turned it into a mania. He bought all these notes his means permitted, and stored them away about his person with miserly care.

One Sunday Johnson was invited to ride out to the Cut off by a man (Smith for the nonce) and accepted. They did'nt stop at the Cut-off, but went direct to Sangamon River. Here, they were overheard quarrelling.

Smith came home without Johnson, who was soon missed, and as he was known to have gone away with Smith, that individual was soon put in that log building still standing (it did in '62) back of Carrigan's Hotel, and which has since served as a hen house etc. (Why don't Butler take a picture of it, to show the "rising generation" what a small house used to hold all the _known or taken_ rogues of old Sangamon?)

The examination of Smith, did not take place until the river bank had been examined. There were signs of a struggle on the bank, and to the water's edge, which gave force to the evidence of the man who heard them in dispute, and all felt convinced that Johnson had been murdered. Although a careful examination and dredging of the river failed to produce the body, Smith was committed for trial.

Uncle Abe was engaged as counsel for Johnson, but had little hopes of being of any earthly aid to him.

At last the day of trial came, and the prisoner plead "not guilty."

I think it was Melborn who was the prosecuting Attorney; before the prosecution had opened the case Uncle Abe rose and said:

"May it please the Court, I have a motion to make before the prosecution opens; and as it may save the Court some unnecessary labor, I hope it will be entertained. _I move that the indictment be quashed and the prisoner discharged!_"

The astonishment of the crowded Court room was immense, shared alike by Judge, bar and spectators. As soon as the Judge recovered his equanimity he asked:

"Upon what grounds is so extraordinary a motion made?"

"Why the man Johnson, was not murdered at all, and I have the pleasure of introducing _him to the presence of the Court_."

Johnson was led forward. Hundreds recognized him immediately, The excitement was so great that the Judge adjourned the Court.

It seems that the parties had quarreled, Johnson had been pushed into the river, but had got out and wandered off in a state of partial aberation of mind and had been working on a farm. His passion for Metropolitan Bank Notes and his name suggested an idea that he was the missing man, and he was opportunely produced in time to save a man from being hung.

Joe Reed's Mule Hunt.

One of the best natured fellows in the world, when he is not mad, is Joe Reed, of Logan County, Illinois, Joe is a staunch Republican--a real rip-rarer in the cause, and has given Uncle Abe the lift of a mighty broad pair of shoulders more than once, although at first he had a poor opinion of the rail-splitter. Thereby hangs a tale.

In 18--, (the date is forgotten on account of the coldness of the weather that winter,) Joe lost a couple of mules. After they had been gone for a long time, he chanced to hear of them in a settlement somewhere within the present bounds of Macon County. Illinois. At the first opportunity Joe started on a mule hunt, determined to find either the mules or some _trace_ of them. On reaching the neighborhood in question, Joe was satisfied that an old fellow named Bosby Sheel, had his mules; and when he went in person, and saw them, the assurance of his eyes made "assurance double sure." He at once made claim, but the old fellow had heard that possession was nine points of the law--he declined to surrender them; Joe immediately appealed to old Squire P------, who at once summoned the holder of the mules to his Court. The Squire informed Joe that he would have to prove property; but Joe said he would only have to swear to his property. In this dilemma, the Squire adjourned Court till after dinner and remarked to Joe that he had better get a lawyer.

"There is young Abe Lincoln, he don't live far from here, and he'll be at my house after dinner."

As he was the only lawyer immediately thereabouts, Joe thought he had best employ him, in order to "have the law on his side."

Soon after dinner a stranger arrived, and the Justice (who was landlord of the only hotel in the settlement,) whispered to Joe, that that was the lawyer.

"What!" exclaimed Joe, "that lean, lank gawky? Why, I'll bet both of them mules I know more law nor he does, for I'm a 'Squire at home myself--I am."

"But his looks is mighty deceivin', I tell you," said Boniface. "He's gin out to be one of the piertest young fellows short o' Sangamon."

But Joe was decided, and the 'Squire re-convened his Court, he having the meantime laid the case before his young friend, the lawyer, and got his opinion.

Acting his own lawyer, Joe felt it due to his course to give a concise statement of the law. As he stood up, he still continued to read from a green-covered book that had engaged his attention most of the day It was one of Cooper's latest novels. As Joe gave his version of the law, it seemed to 'Squire P------ that he was _reading_ the law.

"Is that really the law?" said he, as Joe finished his version of the law--not the book. "Let me see that book."

Joe mechanically handed it to him.

After pouring over it for some time, he handed it back, with an air of disappointment, remarking:

"Drat me! if I see any sich law in that book."

"Well, it ain't no wonder ye don't--that's the _Red Rover_, a novel and not a law book, and you've been and lost my place too," Joe found his place, and continued: "what I told you is what the law says, and I know it's so."

"Well, as you're a 'Squire, too, I reckon you ought to know. As the mules don't belong to old man Bosby Sheel and you swear they are you'rn, I hold he's bound to give'em up."

Joe rallied the old Squire rather hard about looking over the _Red Rover_ for extra law, but finally "give a treat" and left the Squire and his friend in the best of humors.

Said Uncle Abe when he had the small-pox, "I now can give something to every one who calls."

Has no Influence with the Administration.

Judge Baldwin, an old and highly respectable and sedate gentleman, called a few days since on Gen. Halleck, and presuming upon a familiar acquaintance in California formerly, solicited a pass outside of our lines, to see a brother in Virginia, not thinking that he would be met with a refusal, as both his brother and himself were good Union men.

"We have been deceived too often," said General Halleck, "and I regret I can't grant it."

Judge B. then went to Stanton, and was very briefly disposed of with the same result. Finally he obtained an interview with Uncle Abe, and stated his case.

"Have you applied to Gen. Halleck?" inquired the President.

"And met with a flat refusal," said Judge B.

"Then you must see Stanton," continued Uncle Abe.

"I have, and with the same result," was the reply.

"Well, then," said Uncle Abe, with a smile of good humor, "I can do nothing; for you must know _that I have very little influence with this Administration_."

A Touching Incident.

The following incident, which occurred at the White House, will appeal to every heart. It reveals unmistakably the deep kindness of Uncle Abe's character:

"At a reception recently at the White House, many persons present noticed three little girls poorly dressed, the children of some mechanic or laboring man, who had followed the visitors into the house to gratify their curiosity. They were passed from room to room, and were passing through the reception room with some trepidation, when Uncle Abe, called to them: 'Little girls, are you going to pass me without shaking hands?' Then he bent his tall, awkward form down, and shook each little girl warmly by the hand. Everybody in the apartment was spellbound by the incident, so simple in itself, yet revealing so much of Uncle Abe's character."

A Lincoln Man Ducked.

During the canvass between Uncle Abe, and Peter Cartright, the celebrated Pioneer Preacher, it chanced that Cartright, was returning to his home from the Williamsville and Wiggins Lane settlement. The nearest crossing of the Sangamon was at Carpenter's Mills, where there was the convenience of a ferry instead of a bridge, as is now the case. Upon the hill on the western side of the river, Cartright saw a man elevated upon a barrel in front of a little grocery--and on nearing him, he discovered that he was giving the Democrats in general, and Uncle Peter Cartright in particular, a perfect fusilade of small shots of slang and abuse.

"I tell you, boys, I'm a Whig,--a real Harrison Tippacanoe and Tyler too, Whig," said he. "I'm for putting down all these cuss'd locofocos, and if we can't vote'em down, why I go for lickin'em' down. There's long Abe Lincoln that's runnin' for the Legislature--he's the chap to vote for. He's one of the people--split rails and got his edycation by moonlight. He don't go round the country prayin' and preachin' like that mean Methodist cuss, Peter Cartright, that's runnin' agin him. I'd like to know what we wants of a parson to make laws for us? Just elect him, and fust you know he'll have a bill into the Legislature, to fine us for not goin' to meetin' or for drinkin' a glass of whisky. I'll tell you what, if he ever comes round here, I'll just pass him inter the Sangamon--certain--sure."

Just here Uncle Peter Cartright enquired for "the ferryman.

"I'm the ferry-man, old hoss," sung out the rustic orator, "and ken put ye cross the river in no time." Uncle Peter signified his desire to cross, and the twain started towards the ferry boat. The Preacher stepping into the boat, hitched his horse to the side, while the ferryman shoved out into the stream.

"So you are a Lincoln man?" queried Uncle Peter. "I'm that hoss."

"And so I presume you would douse a Cartright man if you had a chance?"

"I mought do it stranger."

"Certainly you would douse Mr. Cartright?"

"Sure's winkin', old fellow."

"Well Sir, I am Peter Cartright at your service," and before the ferryman recovered from his surprise Uncle Peter pitched him into the river, took the pole and put himself across the river.

The ferryman did'nt vote for Uncle Peter but he altered his opinion of Methodist preachers in general and Uncle Peter in particular.

A Comparison.

One day as Uncle Abe, and a friend were sitting on the House of Representatives steps, the session closed, and the members filed out in a body. Uncle Abe looked after them with a serious smile. "That reminds me," said he, "of a little incident when I was a boy; my flat boat lay up at Alton on the Mississippi, for a day, and I strolled about the town. I saw a large stone building, with massive stone walls, not so handsome though, as this, and while I was looking at it, the iron gateway opened, and a great body of men came out. 'What do you call that?' I asked a bystander. 'That,' said he, 'is the State Prison, and those are all thieves going home. Their time is up.'"

"There's Enough for All."

Uncle Abe was terribly bored by the office seekers, even before the Presidential house-warming had scarcely began. The Illinois politicians were the most ravenous pap-Suckers of all.

"Just wait a little," said Uncle Abe, "I can assure you, as L------d S------t did the swine, 'there's enough for all.'"

"Let us have the story, Uncle Abe," said one of the crowd, who evidently expected something rich.

"Why, you see," began Uncle Abe, "I attended court many years ago at Mt. Pulaski, the first county seat of Logan County, and there was the jolliest set of rollicking young Lawyers there that you ever saw together. There was Bill F------n, Bill H------n, L------d S------t, and a lot more, and they mixed law and Latin, water and whisky, with equal success. It so fell out that the whisky seemed to be possessed of the very spirit of Jonah. At any rate, S------t went out to the hog-pen, and, leaning over, began to 'throw up Jonah.' The hogs evidently thought it feed time, for they rushed forward and began to squabble over the voided matter.

"'Don't fight (hic),' said S------t: 'there's enough (hic) for all.'"

--The politicians couldn't see anything to laugh at, although the "snubbin" was plain enough.

Making a President.

Uncle Abe, in elucidating his estimate of Presidential honors, tells a clever story, as he always does, when he sets about it. It seems that Windy Billy, who is a politician of no ordinary pretensions, was a candidate for the Consulship of Bayonne, and he urged his appointment with the eloquence of a Clay or a Seward. He boasted vociferously of his activity in promoting the success of the Republican ticket, and averred with his impassioned earnestness that he and he alone had made Uncle Abe President.

"Ah!" exclaimed Uncle Abe, "and it was you who made me President, was it?" a twinkle in his eye all the time.