In the course of my conversation with him upon the occasion first mentioned, I inquired whether he had ever met either Webster, Clay, or Calhoun. He replied that it was a matter of deep regret to him that he had never seen either Clay or Webster, but that he had in his early manhood heard a masterful speech from Mr. Calhoun. Mr. Trumbull had then just been graduated from an eastern college; and on his way to Greenville, Georgia, to take charge of a school, he spent a few days in Charleston, South Carolina. This was in 1833, and the speech of Mr. Calhoun was in vindication of his course in the Senate in voting for the Compromise Bill of Mr. Clay, which provided for the gradual reduction of the tariff. The alleged injustice of the tariff law then in force had been the prime cause of the "nullification" excitement precipitated by South Carolina at that eventful period. The proclamation of President Jackson, it will be remembered, proved the death-blow, and the nullification excitement soon thereafter subsided. Mr. Trumbull told me that he distinctly recalled John C. Calhoun, his commanding presence and splendid argument, as he addressed the large assemblage. As a clear-brained logician—whose statement alone was almost unanswerable argument—he thought Mr. Calhoun unsurpassed by any statesman our country had known. Mr. Trumbull added that at the close of Mr. Calhoun's speech before mentioned, amid great enthusiasm, "Hayne! Hayne!" was heard from every part of the vast assemblage. For an hour or more he then listened spell-bound to Robert Y. Hayne, the formidable antagonist even of Webster in a debate now historic. Mr. Trumbull said that of the two generations of public men he had heard, he had never listened to one more eloquent than Hayne.
During a sojourn of some weeks on the western coast of Scotland, I was the guest for a time of Mr. Stewart, the head of what remained of a once powerful clan in the Highlands. My host was a distinguished member of the London Bar, but spent his Summers at the home of his ancestors a few miles out from Alpin. Here, in as romantic a locality as is known even to the Highlands, with his kindred about him he enjoyed a full measure of repose from the distracting cares of the great metropolis. At the time of my visit his brother, an officer of the British army, just returned from India, was with him. Both gentlemen wore kilts for the time; and all the appointments of the house were reminders of bygone centuries when border warfare was in full flower, forays upon the Lowlands of constant occurrence, and the principle of the clans in action,
"Let him take who has the powerAnd let him hold who can."
At the bountifully furnished board of my Highland host there was much "upon the plain highway of talk" I will not soon forget. And then, with the gathering shadows in the ancestral hall, with the rude weapons of past generations hanging upon every wall, and the stirring strains of the bagpipe coming from the distance, it was worth while to listen to the Highland legends that had been handed down from sire to son.
Not far away was the old castle of Dunstaffnage, which in its prime had been the scene of innumerable tournaments and battles that have added many pages to Scottish annals. Within the enclosure of the old castle sleeps the dust of long ago kings—the veritable grave of Macbeth being readily pointed out to inquiring travellers.
The conversation around the hearthstone of my host turned to the famous island of the Inner Hebrides, Iona, with its wonderful history reaching back to the sixth century. The ruins of the old monastery, built fourteen hundred years ago by the fugitive Saint, Columba, are well worth visiting. The dust of the early kings of Norway, Ireland, and Scotland rest within these ancient walls, and it is gratifying to know that here even the ill-fated Duncan
"After life's fitful fever sleeps well."
It would have been passing strange, with host and guests all of Scottish lineage, if there had been no mention of Robbie Burns, for in old Scotia, whether in palace or hovel, the one subject that never tires is the "ploughman poet of Ayr." A little incident of slightly American relish which I related the evening of my departure needed no "surgical operation" to find appropriate lodgment.
Senator Beck of Kentucky was a Scotchman. He was in the highest sense a typical Scotchman—lacking nothing, either of the brawn, brain, or brogue, of the most gifted of that race. It is needless to say he was a lover of Burns. From "Tam O'Shanter" to "Mary in Heaven," all were safely garnered in his memory—to be rolled out in rich, melodious measure at the opportune moment. The close friend and associate of Senator Beck, when the cares of State were for a time in abeyance, and the fishing season at its best, was "old Smith," superintendent of the Botanical Gardens, also a Scotchman, and likewise in intense degree a devotee of Burns. The bond of union between the man of flowers and the Kentucky statesman was complete.
Now, it so fell out that a newly elected member of the House, from the Green River district, one day called upon his distinguished colleague of the Senate, and requested a note of introduction to the superintendent of the Botanical Gardens, as he wished to procure some flowers to send a lady constituent then in the city. "Certainly, certainly," replied the ever-obliging statesman: "I will give you a line to old Smith." Just as the delighted member was departing with the letter in hand, Senator Beck remarked, in his peculiarly snappy Scotch accent, "Now, Tom, if you will only tell old Smith that you are a great admirer of his countryman, Robbie Burns, he will give you all the flowers in the conservatory." The member, who knew as little of Burns as he did of the "thirty-nine articles," departed in high feather.
Almost immediately thereafter, presenting his letter, he was received with great cordiality by the superintendent and assured that any request of Senator Beck would be cheerfully granted. Just as he was reaching out for the fragrant bouquet the superintendent was graciously presenting, the closing words of the Senator were indistinctly recalled, and in a manner indicating no small measure of self-confidence, the member remarked, "By the way, Mr. Smith, I am a great admirer of your countryman,JimmyBurns." "Jimmy Burns! Jimmy Burns! Jimmy Burns!" exclaimed the overwhelmingly indignant Scotchman,"JimmyBurns!Depart instantly, sir!"
The member from Green River districtdepartedas bidden, taking no thought of the flowers; delighted—as he often asservated—to have escaped even with his life.
No better place can be found for studying that most interesting of all subjects, Man, than in our courts of justice. Indeed, what a readable book that would be which related the best things which have occurred at the bar!
Judge Baldwin conferred an inestimable blessing upon our profession when he wrote "The Flush Times," a book that will hold a place in our literature as long as there is a lawyer left on earth. To two generations of our craft this book has furnished agreeable and delightful entertainment. To the practitioner "shattered with the contentions of the great hall," its pages have been as refreshing as the oasis to the travel-stained pilgrim.
The late Justice Field, long his associate upon the supreme bench of California, told me that Judge Baldwin was one of the most genial and delightful men he had ever known, and certainly he must have been to have written "Cave Burton," "My First Appearance at the Bar," "A Hung Court," and "Ovid Bolus, Esq., Attorney-at-law and Solicitor in Chancery."
Almost every Bar has some tradition or incident worth preserving —something in the way of brilliant witticisms or repartee that should not be wholly lost. Of the race of old-time lawyers—of which Mr. Lincoln was the splendid type—but few remain. Of the survivors, I know of no better representative than Proctor Knott of Kentucky. The possessor of ability of the highest order, and of splendid attainments as well, he is of all men the best story-teller this country of ours has known. Among his delighted auditors in and out of Congress have been men from every section and of exalted public station. For some of the incidents to be related I am indebted to Governor Knott. The obligation would be much greater if the stories could be retold in manner and form as in the days gone by, and upon occasions never to be forgotten when they fell from his own lips.
If, however, even fairly well I might garner up and hand down some of the experiences of the generation of lawyers now passing, I would feel that I had, in some humble measure, discharged that obligation that Lord Bacon says, "every man owes to his profession."
What lawyer has not, at some time, in the trial of a case asked justone questiontoo many? I know of nothing better along that line of inquiry than the following related by Governor Knott. He was attending the Circuit Court in one of the Green River counties in Kentucky, when the case of the "CommonwealthversusWilliam Jenkins" was called for trial. The aforesaid William was under indictment for having bitten off the ear of the prosecuting witness. Fairly strong but by no means conclusive testimony against the defendant had been given when the State "rested."
A lawyer of the old school, who still carried his green bag into Court, and who never wearied of telling of his conflicts at the bar with Grundy, Holt, and Ben Hardin, in their palmiest days, was retained for the defence. His chief witness was Squire Barnhouse, who lived over on the "Rolling Fork." He was the magistrate for his precinct, deacon in the church, and the recognized oracle for the neighborhood. Upon direct examination, in the caseat bar,he testified that "he knowed the defendant William Jenkins; had knowed him thirty year or more; knowed his father and mother afore him." Inquired of then as to the general reputation of the defendant, as to his being "a peaceable and law-abiding citizen," he was found to be all that could be reasonably desired.
Squire Barnhouse was then asked whether he was present at the Caney Fork muster, where it was alleged that the defendant had bitten off the ear of the prosecuting witness. It turned out that he was present. Further questioned as to whether he had paid particular attention to the fight, he replied that he did; that he "had never seed Billy in a fout before, and he had a kind of family pride in seein' howhe would handle himself."Further questioned as to whether he saw the defendant bite off the ear of the prosecuting witness he replied, "No, sir, nothin' uv the kind, nothin' uv the kind." This was followed by the inquiry as to whether his opportunities were such that he would most probably have seen it, if it had occurred. "In course I would, in course I would," was the emphatic reply.
The witness was here turned over to the Commonwealth's attorney, who declined to cross-examine, and Squire Barnhouse was in the act of leaving the stand when in an evil hour it occurred to defendant's counsel to ask one question more.
"By the way, Squire,just one more question,just where you stand; now I understood you to say"—repeating the answers already given; "now just this question, did you see anything occur while the fight was going on, or after it was over, that would lead you to believe that this defendant had bitten off the ear of the prosecuting witness?"
The Squire, half down the witness stand, answered, "No, sir, nothing uv the kind," then, slowly and thoughtfully, "nothing uv the kind." A moment's pause. "Well, since you mention it, I do remember that just as Billy rizened up offen him the last time, I seed him spit out a piece of ear,but whose ear it was,I don't pertend to know."
In the good County of Scotland, in the State of Missouri, back in the ante-bellum days there lived one Solomon Davis, whose chronic horror was card-playing. The evils of this life were in his judgment largely to be attributed to this terrible habit. It was his belief that if the Grand Jury would only take hold of the matter in the right spirit, a stop could be put to the "nefarious habit ofcard-playing,which was ruining the morals of so many young men in Scotland County." This was the burden of his discourse in and out of season. His ardent desire that he himself should be called on the Grand Jury to the accomplishment of the end mentioned was at length gratified. At a certain term of court he was not only summoned upon the Grand Jury, but duly appointed its foreman.
Upon the adjournment of court for dinner, immediately thereafter, one Ben Mason, the wit of the bar,—and not himself whollyunacquaintedwith the pastime that involved spades, kings, and even queens,— ardently congratulated the new foreman upon his appointment, assuring him that now his opportunity had come to put to an end, by the omnipotent power of the Grand Jury, "to the nefarious habit of card-playing which was ruining the morals of so many young men in Scotland County."
"And now, Squire," continued Ben, "I can give you the name of a gentleman who doesn't play himself, but is always around where playing is going on, and he can tell you who plays, where they play, how much is bet, and all about it."
Delighted at this apparently providential revelation, the Squire had a subpoena forthwith issued for the witness mentioned, one Ranzey Sniffle, a half-witted fellow who had never taken or expected to take a part in the game himself, but whose cup of happiness was full to the brim when, in return for punching up the fires, mixing the drinks, and snuffing the candle, he was permittedto see the play actually going on.
Trembling with apprehension at the dread summons to appear before the "Grand Inquest"—if it had been three centuries earlier at Saragossa it could scarcely have appeared more alarming—the witness was ushered into the immediate presence of the awful tribunal over which Squire Davis was now presiding. After taking the customary oath, and telling his name, age, and where he lived, Mr. Sniffle was questioned by the foreman as to his personal knowledge of any game or games of cards being played for money, or any valuable thing, within one year last past, within the said County of Scotland, and solemnly warned, if he had any such knowledge, to proceed in his own way, and tell all about it; to tell when and where it was,who were present,and what amount, if any, was bet.
Recovering himself a little by this time, the witness began:
"The last time I seed them playin', Squire, was at Levi Myers's sto'; they sot in about sundown last Saturday night, and never loosened their grip until Monday mornin' about daylight."
"Now, Mr. Sniffle," interrupted the Squire with great dignity, "will you proceed in your own way, to give to the gentlemen of this Grand Jurythe namesof the persons who were thus engaged not only in violating the statute law of Missouri, but in violating the law of God by desecrating the holy Sabbath?"
"Well, Squire," continued the witness, slowly counting off on his fingers, "thar was Levi Myers, Sammy Hocum, Moss Johnson, Josiah Davis,"—"Suspend, Mr. Sniffle,suspend,"commanded the Squire with great indignation, and turning to his official associates, he continued, "I am aware, gentlemen of the Grand Jury, that my son Josiah is sometimes present when cards are being played, but he assures me on his honor as a gentleman, that he nevertakes part,and doesn't even know one card from another. Now, Mr. Witness, do you undertake, under the solemn sanction of an oath, to say that my son Josiah wasengagedin the game? By the way, Mr. Sniffle, do you understand the nature of an oath?"
"No, Squire," slowly replied the witness, "I dun know as I do."
"Don't you knowwhat will become of you,Ranze, if you swear to a lie?" quickly asked a juryman from a back seat.
"Yas, in course, if I swar to a lie, they'll send me to the penitentiary, and then I'll go to hell afterwards," replied Mr. Sniffle.
Thecompetencyof the witness thus appearing, the foreman proceeded:
"Now, Mr. Sniffle, do you, under the solemn sanction of an oath, undertake to say that my son Josiah wasengagedin that game?"
"I dun know as I adzackly understand the meanin' of bein' engaged in the game; but I seed Josiah a-dealin' the papes, when his time come to fling a card he flung it, and uv'ry now and then,he rech out and drug in the chicerokum.I dun know as I adzackly understand 'bout bein' engaged in the game, but ifthatwere bein' engaged, then Josiah wereengaged!"
Seldom have more significant words been uttered than those of John Randolph of Roanoke, when told that a certain man had been denouncing him. "Denouncing me," replied Randolph, with astonishment, "that is strange,I never did him a favor."
The voice of but one John Randolph of Roanoke has mingled in the contentions of the Great Hall. That was no cause for regret, as for a lifetime he was the dread of political foes and friends alike.
A colleague from "the valley" probably remembered him well to the last. That colleague, recently elected to fill a vacancy caused by the death of a member of long service, signalized his entrance into the House by an unprovoked attack upon Mr. Randolph. The latter, from his seat near by, listened with apparent unconcern to the fierce personal assault. To the surprise of all, no immediate reply was made to the speech, and the new member flattered himself, no doubt, that the "grim sage" was for once completely unhorsed.
A few days later, however, Randolph, while discussing a bill of local importance, casually remarked: "This bill, Mr. Speaker, lost its ablest advocate in the death of my lamented colleague,whose seat is still vacant!"
It will be remembered that the will of Stephen Girard of Philadelphia, after a splendid bequest for the establishment of the great University which bears his name, provided that no minister of the Gospel should ever be permitted to enter the grounds of the institution.
It so happened upon a time, that Horace Greeley, wearing white hat and cravat, and with his ministerial cast of countenance well in evidence, sauntered up to the gate of the Girard institution and was about to enter. He was instantly stopped by the keeper, who bluntly told him that he could not enter.
"What the hell is the reason I can't?" demanded Greeley.
"Oh! I beg your pardon," apologized the astonished gate-keeper,"walk right in, sir; you can."
Judge Allen of southern Illinois, a leading member of Congress a half-century ago, during a recent address to the old settlers of McLean County related an incident of early days on the Wabash. Population was sparse, and the common school was yet far in the future. The teacher who could read, write, and "cipher" to the "single rule of three" was well equipped for his noble calling. Lamentable failures upon the part of aspirants to attain even the modest standard indicated, were by no means of rare occurrence.
Back in the thirties, an individual of by no means prepossessing appearance presented himself to Judge Allen's father, the Magistrate, Ruling Elder, andex-officioschool director for his precinct, and asked permission "to keep school." Being interrogated as to what branches he could teach, the three R's—readin', 'ritin', and 'rithmetic—were, with apparent confidence, at once put in nomination.
"Have you ever taught geography and English grammar?" was the next inquiry.
With a much less confident tone, as he had probably never heard of either, he replied:
"I have teached geography some, but as for English grammar, I wouldn't 'low one of 'em to come into my school-house.'Merican grammar is good enough for me!"
A touching scene occurred in the House of Representatives a number of years ago, when an aged member from New Jersey arose, and for the first time addressed the Speaker. All eyes were turned in his direction as he stood calmly awaiting recognition. He was tall, spare, and erect. His venerable appearance and kindly expression, coupled with most courteous manners, at once commanded attention. As in husky tones he again said, "Mr. Speaker!" there came from the farthest end of the Great Hall in a whisper but distinctly heard by all, the word, "Sweet Alice, Ben Bolt." A moment later, and from the floor and gallery many voices blended in the familiar refrain, "Don't you remember sweet Alice Ben Bolt?"
The ovation which immediately followed was such as is rarely witnessed in the Great Hall. Business was suspended for the moment, and the hand of the new member warmly grasped by the chosen representatives of all parties and sections. It was an inspiring tribute, one worthily bestowed. The member was Thomas Dunn English, author of the little poem, sung in palace and cottage, which has found its way into all languages, and touched all hearts.
The mention of the "Maine Law" recalls a little episode that occurred in the early days in the good county of McLean. One Duncan—no kinsman to him who had been
"So clear in his great office"—
was again a candidate for the Legislature. The temperance question, in some of its many phases, was then giving much trouble to aspirants to public place. In the midst of his opening speech at the old courthouse, the candidate was interrupted by one of the inquisitive men who always appear when least wanted, with the question: "Mr. Duncan, are youin favorof the Maine Law?" "Yes, yes," quickly replied the candidate, "I am coming to that very soon." Shying off to the tariff, the improvement of Western rivers, and the necessity of rigid economy in all public expenditures, our candidate was about to close when the same troublesome inquiry, "Mr. Duncan,are you in favorof the Maine Law?" again greeted his unwilling ears. "Oh, yes," exclaimed the orator, in tone and manner indicating much thankfulness. "I am glad you called my attention to his subject; I was about to forget it. My fellow-citizens have a right to know my views upon all public questions, and I have nothing to conceal. I have no respect for candidates who attempt to dodge any of these great questions. I have given you fully, my views upon the tariff, upon a general system of internal improvements, and something of my own services in the past; and now thanking you for your attention, will ——" "Mr. Duncan, are youin favor of the Maine Law?"were the words that again escaped the lips of the importunate inquisitor.
Fully appreciating his dilemma—with constituents about equally divided upon the dangerous question—the candidate at once nerved himself for the answer upon which hung his hopes and fears and boldly replied; "Yes, sir, I am in favor of the law, buteverlastingly opposed to its enforcement!"
One of the candidates upon the ticket with Mr. Tilden when he was elected Governor of New York, was the late William Dorshemer. Judge Maynard told me that he was present in the library of Mr. Tilden when Dorshemer called, immediately after the full election returns had been received. Tilden's popularity at the time was very great —growing out of his successful prosecution of the noted Canal ring,—and resulted in the triumph of the ticket of which he was the head. Mr. Dorshemer, the Lieutenant-Governor elect, was greatly delighted that his own majority exceeded that of the more distinguished candidate for the Chief Executive office. During the conversation, Dorshemer remarked to Tilden: "Your majority is only fifty thousand, while mine is fifty-one thousand, five hundred." "Yes, yes," quickly remarked Tilden; "you got the fifteen hundred;I gave you the fifty thousand!"
The generation now passing has known no man of keener wit than the late William R. Travers, of New York. An impediment of speech not infrequently gave zest and vim to his words, when they finally found utterance. He was for a lifetime steeped in affairs of great concern and among his associates were prominent factors in the commercial and political world.
On his revisiting Baltimore some years after his removal to NewYork, an old acquaintance remarked, "You seem to stutter more inNew York than you did here, Mr. Travers." To this the brief replyat length came, "Have to—it's a bigger place."
Back in the days when Gould and Fisk were names to conjure with in the mart and on the board; when railroads and gold mines were but pawns upon the chessboard of "money changers and those who sold doves"; when "Black Friday" was still fresh in the memories of thousands, this incident is said to have occurred.
To weightier belongings, Gould and Fisk had added by way of pastime a splendid steamer to ply between Fall River and New York. Upon its trial voyage, Travers was the guest of its owners. The appointments of the vessel were gorgeous in the extreme, and in the large saloon were suspended life-size portraits of Gould and of Fisk. After a promenade of an hour in company with the originals, Travers suddenly paused in front of the portraits, gazed earnestly at each in turn, and then—with eyes fixed on the intervening space —slowly ejaculated:"Where's Christ?"
The following, told with happy effect by Colonel W. D. Haynie of the Chicago Bar, probably has no parallel in theological literature. A colored brother who felt called upon to preach, applied to the Bishop of his church for license to exercise the sacred office. The Bishop, far from being favorably impressed by the appearance of the candidate, earnestly inquired whether he had read the Bible, and was familiar with appropriate stories to relate, as occasion might require, to his Sunday school and congregation. The answer was, "Boss, I has read dat book from led to led." In response to the request of the good Bishop that he would repeat a Bible story, the applicant for Holy Orders began:
"One time dar wus a wicked ole King, an' his name was Ahab; an' he live in Babylon; an' he wus a mighty warrior; an' one day he wuz marchin' along at de head uv his army fru de streets of Babylon, an' he seed Bersheby standin' up on de house-top; an' he said to his soldiers, 'Bring me Bersheby fur my wife'; an' day brung him Bersheby fur his wife. An' ole Ahab he march a long ways off, and fit a big battle, an' tuk a hull lot of prisoners; an' cum a-marchin' back fru de streets of Babylon, wid de brass bans a-playin', and de stars an' stripes a-floatin'; an' Bersheby she wuz a-standin' on de house-top, and she holler out,
"'How did you cum out wid' em, old Ahab?'
"An' it make him powerful mad you know, an he say to his soldiers, 'Frow her down to me.' And dey frowd her down to him; and den he say, 'Frow her down to meseventimes'; and dey frowd her down seven times; and den he say, 'Frow her down to meseventy times seven times!'and dey frowed her down to him seventy times seven times; an' po' ole Bersheby, she crawl away and lay down at de rich man's gate, and de dogs come and lick her wouns, and when dey gevered he up, dar was 'leven basketfuls left, an'whose wife will she be in de resurrection?"
As we well know, lawyers generally entertain an exceedingly exalted opinion of their profession. Textbooks, opinions of courts, addresses innumerable to graduating students, all bear witness to the fact that our noble profession is the most honorable of human callings, the safeguard of society, the palladium of our liberty.
True, some uncharitable layman has suggested: "Yes, all this, and more, has been said a thousand times,but always by lawyers."
There are persons yet in life, who, practically at least, hold with Aaron Burr, that "law is that which is boldly asserted and plausibly maintained," and that lawyers, like the Roman augurs of old, always smile when they meet one another on the street. The by no means exalted opinion of two men as to "our noble profession" will appear from the following.
A few days after Knott was admitted to the bar, he was sitting alone in his office, waiting for clients, when a one-gallowsed, awkward-looking fellow from the "brush" walked in without ceremony, dropped into the only vacant chair, and inquired: "Air you a lawyer, mister?" Assuming the manner of one of the regulars, Knott unhesitatingly answered that he was. "Well," said the visitor, "I thought I would drap in and git you to fetch a few suits for me." Picking up his pen with the air of a man with whom suing people was an everyday, matter-of-course sort of affair, Knott said: "Who did you wish to sue?" To which—with a prolonged yawn—the prospective client drawled out: "I ain't particular, Mister, I jest thought I'd get you to pick out a few skerry fellowsthat would complemise easy!"
The remaining incident is an experience of my own, when, at the age of twenty-two, I had hung out my sign in the then county-seat of Old Woodford.
My first client had retained me to obtain a divorce because of abandonment during the two years last past by the sometime partner of his joys and sorrows. The bill for divorce was duly filed; but on "the coming in of the answer," a continuance of the suit, for cause shown, was granted to the defendant.
At an early hour on the morning thereafter, my client called, and I soon discovered he was in a frame of mind by no means joyous. The disappointment he expressed at the continuance of his suit was evidently sincere. My explanation of the impossibility of preventing it, and the confident hope I held out that he would certainly get his divorce at the next term, evidently gave him little relief. He at length intimated a desire to have a confidential talk with me. I took him into my "private office" (that has a professional sound, but as a matter of fact my office had but one room, and that was "open as day" to everybody) and assured him that whatever he said to me would be in the strictest confidence. Feeling that I was on safe ground, I now spoke in a lofty tone of the sacred relation existing between counsel and client, and that any communication he desired to make would be as safe as within his own bosom, "or words to that effect." Relieved, apparently, by the atmosphere of profound secrecy that now enveloped us, he "unfolded himself" to the effect that some years before he had been deeply in love with an excellent young lady in his neighborhood, but for some trifling cause he could now hardly explain, he had in a pique suddenly turned his attentions to another to whom he was soon united in the holy bonds that he was now so anxious to have sundered by the strong arm of the law.
A deeply drawn sigh was here the prelude to the startling revelation, that since his present sea of troubles had encompassed him about the old flame had been rekindled in his heart. I now candidly informed him that I was wholly inexperienced in such matters, but as his counsel I would take the liberty to advise him of the monstrous impropriety of any visible manifestation or expression of the newly revived attachment. This was followed by the comforting assurance upon my part, however, that when divorced, he would be lawfully entitled to re-enter the matrimonial lists in such direction, and at whatever gait seemed to him best. The sigh to which the above was the prelude, hardly prepared me for the startling revelation that another fellow was now actually keeping company with the young lady. My client's feelings here overcame him for a moment, and he complained bitterly of his hard fate in being "tied up," while the coast was clear to his competitor. After a moment of deep study, he expressed the opinion in substance, that if his rival could only be held in check until the divorce was granted, he was confident all would be well.
I here told him that this was all beyond my depth, and along a line where it would be impossible for me to render him any service. Hitching his chair up a little closer, and looking at me earnestly he said: "You are a good-looking young fellow, and rather a glib talker, and I will give you this hundred dollars if you will cut that fellow out until I get my divorce!" Declining with some show of indignation, as well as surprise—for I wasyoungthen in the practice—I assured him that his proposal was out of the domain of professional service, and could not be thought of for a moment. In a tone indicating deep astonishment, he said: "Why, I thought a lawyer would do anything for money!"
"Yes," I replied, "most anything, but this is the exception; and besides, if the young lady is as beautiful as you say she is, you would bein greater danger from meat the end of your probation than from the other fellow." "Oh, Lord, I hadn't thought of that," he exclaimed, as he pocketed his hundred dollars, picked up his hat, and left my office.
Near the close of the following term of court, as the decree was being signed granting the divorce aforementioned, I approached my client as he sat solitary in the rear of the court-room, and earnestly congratulated him upon the fact that he was now free and at liberty to fight his own battles. "Yes," he replied, with a groan that touched the heart of the tipstaff near by, "but it's too late now;she married that other fellow last Thursday."
Upon a time, far back, Ballou, of happy memory, was Judge of the Woodford Circuit Court. A young lawyer, after diligent preparation and exhaustive argument, confidently submitted his first case to the tender mercies of the Court. To his utter dismay, His Honor promptly rendered a decision adverse to the contention of the youthful barrister. Deeply humiliated by his defeat, the latter exclaimed: "I amastonishedat such a decision!" The admonition of a brother, to patience, failing to accomplish its charitable purpose, the irate attorney asservated more excitedly than before, his astonishment at such a decision. Whereupon the judge ordered the clerk to enter up a fine of five dollars against the offending attorney for contempt of court. Silence now reigned supreme, and the victim of judicial wrath sank back into his seat, utterly dismayed. The strain of the situation was at length relieved in part by an old lawyer from the opposite side of the trial table, slowly arising and solemnly remarking: "Something might be said, Your Honor, in extenuation of the conduct of my young friend. It is his first case, one in which he felt the deepest interest, and upon the successful issue of which, he had founded his fondest hopes. I trust Your Honor, upon due reflection, will remit this fine. It is true, he has with much vehemence expressed his astonishment at the decision of the Court. But his youth and inexperience must surely be taken into account. Ah, Your Honor, when our young brother has practised before this court as long as some of us have,he will not be surprised at any decision Your Honor may make!"
Sydney Smith is credited with saying that it required a surgical operation to get a joke into a Scotchman's head. And not a bad reply is that of the Scotchman: "Yes, anEnglishjoke."
It is unnecessary, however, to cross the Atlantic in order to find a few well authenticated cases where the surgical operation would have been required. The Hon. Samuel H. Treat, United States Judge of Southern Illinois, was one of the ablest and most upright of judges, and possibly—on or off the bench—the most solemn-appearing of all of the sons of men.
This little incident was related by Judge Weldon. Soon after the close of the War, he one day told Judge Treat a story he had heard upon a recent visit to Washington. McDougall, formerly of Illinois, but at that time a Senator from California, had become very dissipated near the close of his term. At a late hour one night a policeman on the Avenue found him in an utterly helpless condition—literally in the gutter. As the officer was making an ineffectual attempt to get the unfortunate statesman upon his feet, he inquired: "Who are you?" The reply was: "This morning I was Senator McDougall, but now I amSewered!"
A few moments later Mr. Hay came into the office and Judge Treat said: "Hay, Weldon has just told me a good story about our old friend McDougall. Mac was in the gutter, and a policeman asked him who he was, and Mac told him, 'This morning I was Senator McDougall, but now I am the Hon. William H. Seward!'"
Upon the occasion of the celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the organization of the City of Bloomington, the oration was delivered by the Hon. James S. Ewing, late Minister to Belgium. In the course of his address, he related the following incident:
"In the early history of this county, two boys one day went into the old courthouse to hear a lawsuit tried. There were assembled eight young lawyers, not all of them engaged in the trial, but giving strict attention to the proceedings. It was not a suit of great importance.
"The Court was presided over by Samuel H. Treat, who afterwards became a United States District Judge and one of the most distinguished lawyers and jurists in the State.
"One of the lawyers was David Davis, first a noted lawyer, thena circuit judge, then a judge of the Supreme Court of the UnitedStates, then a United States Senator and acting President of theSenate; a citizen of State and national fame whom the people ofBloomington loved and delighted to honor.
"Another was John T. Stuart, a brilliant lawyer, several times a member of Congress, and one of the most lovable of men.
"Another one was David B. Campbell, then the prosecuting attorney and afterwards a prominent lawyer and citizen of Springfield.
"Another was Edward D. Baker, who was afterwards a United State Senator from Oregon; a famous orator who immortalized himself by his marvellous oration over Senator Broderick.
"Another was James A. McDougall, a brilliant Irishman, afterwards aUnited States Senator from the State of California.
"And Abraham Lincoln, who has passed beyond the domain of human praise into the pantheon of universal history.
"I might add that one of those boys afterwards became the Vice-President of the United States; and the other is your speaker.
"Speaking to any audience in America, I might say in the world, I doubt if such an incident could be truthfully related of any other gathering."
It is rarely the case that a Court is called upon to decide questions of a purely theological character. Of necessity, however—property interests being involved,—controversies, measurably of a religious character, sometimes arise for judicial determination.
The case to be mentioned is probably the only one where "baptism"— the true mode and manner thereof—has ever come squarely before an American judge. A man under sentence of death for murder was awaiting execution in the jail of one of the counties in northern Kentucky. Under the ministrations of the pastor of the Baptist Church, the prisoner at length made "the good confession" and desired to be baptized. To this end, the faithful pastor applied to the circuit judge before whom the prisoner had been tried, for permission to have the rite observed in the Kentucky River near by. The judge—more deeply versed in "Blackstone" and "Ben Monroe" than in theological lore—declined to have the prisoner removed from the jail, but gave permission to have him baptized in the cell. The physical impossibility of the observance of the solemn rite in the prisoner's cell was at once explained. "Certainly," said the judge in reply, "I know there is no room in there to baptize him that way; but take a bowl of water and sprinkle him right where he is confined." "But," earnestly interposed the man of the sacred office, "our church does not recognize sprinkling as valid baptism. We holdimmersionto be the only Scriptural method." "Is it possible?" exclaimed the judge, greatly surprised. "Well, this Court decides that sprinklingisvalid baptism; and I tell you once for all, that that infernal scoundrel will be sprinkled,or he will be hung without being baptized at all!"
Inasmuch as this decision has never beenoverruledby a higher court, it stands as the only judicial determination of the long-controverted question.
Mr. Clark was the leader of the Metamora Bar when I located there—and so continued.My first case, and the compliment of somewhat doubtful significance bestowed upon its termination, came about in this wise. I was retained for the plaintiff before Squire Fairchild in a suit involving the ownership of a calf of the alleged value of seven dollars. It being my first case, and having the aforementioned leader as my professional antagonist—and what was of far greater consequence, a contingent fee of two dollars and a half trembling in the balance—it may well be supposed that no effort was spared upon my part. I won the case, of course—what lawyer ever told about a case that he had not won?
The same evening a little group in the village store were discussing the merits of the case, and comparing the forensic effort of the new lawyer with that of the old-time leader already mentioned. At length one Tobias Wilson, as he slid down from his accustomed perch upon the counter, significantly observed, "Men, you may say what you please, but for my part, I had ruther hear Stevenson speaktwominutesthan to hear old Clark all day!"
Mr. Clark—whose early advantages had been none of the best—was once counsel for the proponent in a closely contested will case. The testator, passing by the next of kin, had left his entire estate to a personal friend, a man not of his own blood.
In attempting to impress upon the jury the reasonableness of this disposition, Clark said: "This, gentlemen of the jury, is another striking illustration of the power of human friendship. All history—sacred and profane—is full of instances of strong personal attachments. Who can ever forget the undying affection of David and Jonathan, of Damon and Pythias,of Scylla and Charybdis?"
Judge Baldwin has left of record the witty reply of Jo Heyfron, an Irish lawyer, to a Mississippi judge. The judge, having rendered a very ridiculous decision in a cause in which Heyfron was engaged, the latter slowly arose as if to address the Court. The judge, exceedingly pompous and a poor lawyer withal, in imperative tone said: "Take your seat, Mr. Heyfron; you have practised at this bar long enough to know that when this Court renders a decision, its wisdom can only be called in question in a higher Court."
"If Your Honor plase," replied Jo in deprecatory tone, "far be it from me to impugn in the slightest degray the wisdom of Your Honor's decision. I only designed to rade a few lines from the book I hold in my hand, in order that Your Honor might parsavehow profoundly aignorant Sir William Blackstone was upon this subject!"
It is difficult, at this day, to realize that such scenes could ever have been enacted in an English Court, as were not infrequent during the era embracing the celebrated "State Trials." While one of these was in progress, and Curran in the midst of his argument, the judge contemptuously turned his back upon the advocate, and began fondling a favorite dog at his side. The argument was at once suspended. "Proceed, sir," were the words which at length broke the stillness that had fallen upon the vast assemblage. "Ah!" exclaimed Curran, "I was only waiting for Your Lordshipto conclude your consultation with your learned associate!"
Possibly the most solemn book in the world, not excepting Burton's"Anatomy of Melancholy," or even "Fearne on Contingent Remainders,"is an English publication of a half-century or so ago, entitled"Jokes about Great Lawyers."
Of several hundred alleged jokes, two or three will bear transplanting.
"My Lord," began a somewhat pompous barrister, "it is written the book of nature ——" "Be kind enough," interposed Lord Ellenborough, "to give me thepagefrom which you quote."
To the opening remark of an equally pompous barrister:
"My Lord, the unfortunate client for whom I appear ——" "Proceed sir, proceed," hastily observed the judge,"so far the court is with you!"
Ellenborough, when at the bar, after protracting his argument to the hour of adjournment, said that he would conclude when it should suit His Lordship'spleasureto hear him.
The immediate reply was: "The Court will hear you, sir, to-morrow; but as to the pleasure,thathad long been out of the question."
Gibbon has somewhere said, that one of the liveliest pleasures which the pride of man can enjoy is to reappear in a more splendid condition among those who have known him in his obscurity.
A case in point is a lawyer of prominence in one of the Western States, who soon after his appointment to a seat in the Cabinet revisited his early home. Meeting an acquaintance upon his arrival at the railway station, the visitor, with emotions akin to those described by Gibbon, ventured to inquire what his old neighbors said when they heard of him being appointed to a place in the Cabinet.
The unexpected reply was: "Oh, they didn't say nothin';they just laughed!"
The late Colonel Lynch was for many years the recognized wit of the Logan County Bar. His repeated efforts, upon a time, to collect a judgment against a somewhat slippery debtor, were unavailing; the claim of the wife of the debtor, to the property attached, in each instance proving successful. Immeasurably disgusted at the "unsatisfied" return of the third writ, the Colonel indignantly exclaimed: "Yes, and I suppose if he should get religion, he would holdthat, too,in his wife's name!"
The stinging retort of the Irish advocate Curran is recalled. At the close of his celebrated encounter with one of the most overbearing of English judges, the latter insultingly remarked to the somewhat diminutive advocate: "I could put you in my pocket, sir." To which, with the quickness of a lightning flash, Curran retorted: "If you did, Your Lordship would have more law in your pocketthan you ever had in your head!"
Fiercely indignant, the judge replied: "Another word, and I will commit you, sir." To which Curran fearlessly retorted: "Do, and it will be the best thing Your Lordshiphas committed this term!"
About every courthouse in the "Blue Grass" still linger traditions of the late Thomas F. Marshall. For him Nature did well her part. He was a genius if one ever walked this earth. Tall, erect, handsome, of commanding presence, and with intellectual endowment such as is rarely vouchsafed to man, no place seemed beyond his reach. Having in addition the prestige of family, that counted for much, and being the possessor of inherited wealth, it indeed seemed that to one man "fortune had come with both of her hands full." The successor of Clay and Crittenden as Representative for the Ashland District, a peerless orator upon the hustings, at the bar, and in the Great Hall, his life went out in sorrow and disappointment.
"Of all sad words of tongue or penThe saddest are these, 'It might have been!'"
His eulogy upon the gifted and lamented Menifee, the tribute of genius to genius, belongs to the realm of the loftiest eloquence, and seldom have words of deeper pathos been written than his own obituary —"Poor Tom's a-cold"—by George D. Prentice.
As to why that which seemed so full of promise "turned to ashes upon the lips," the following will explain. Meeting his kinsman, the Rev. Dr. Breckenridge, he said: "Bob, when you and I graduated, you took to the pulpit and I to the bottle, andI have stuck to my text a good deal closer than you have to yours!"
Not inaptly has hell been described as "disqualification in the face of opportunity."
Bearing in mind Marshall's invariable habit ofnotpaying his debts, the point of the closing remark of the judge in the incident to be related will appear. Marshall was engaged in the defence of a man charged with murder in a county some distance from his own home. Failing repeatedly in his attempt to introduce certain testimony excluded by the Court, he at length exclaimed:
"It was upon just such rulings as that that Jesus Christ was convicted."
"Mr. Clerk, enter up a fine of ten dollars against Mr. Marshall for contempt of court," was the prompt response of the judge.
"Well," said Marshall, "this is the first time in a Christian country I have ever heard of aman being fined for abusing Pontius Pilate!"
"Mr. Clerk," said the judge, with scarcely suppressed indignation, "enter up a fine of twenty-five dollars against Mr. Marshall for contempt of court, and the further order that he be imprisoned in the common jail of the county until the fine and costs are paid."
The death-like stillness that fell upon the assemblage was at length broken by Mr. Marshall arising and gravely addressing the Court.
"If Your Honor please, I am engaged in the trial of an important case, one where human life may depend upon my efforts. I have just been fined twenty-five dollars and ordered to be imprisoned until the fine is paid. Upon a careful examination of my pockets, I find that I have not that amountnor any other amountabout my person. I am more than one hundred miles from home and among strangers. In looking over this audience, I find but one familiar face, that of Your Honor. I am therefore constrained to request Your Honor, as an old and cherished friend,to lend methe amount necessary to discharge this fine."
Instantly the judge exclaimed: "Remit that fine, Mr. Clerk;the State is more able to lose it than I am."
Near two-thirds of a century ago, one of the best-known lawyers in Illinois was Justin Butterfield. He was one of the most eloquent of the gifted Whig leaders of the State when the list included such names as Lincoln, Stuart, Hardin, Browning, Baker, and Linder. He was the earnest champion of General Zachary Taylor for the Presidency in 1848, and his party devotion was rewarded by appointment to the commissionership of the General Land Office. The only appointment for which Mr. Lincoln was ever an applicant was that given to Butterfield soon after the inauguration of President Taylor.
Of few lawyers have brighter things ever been told than of Justin Butterfield. During the fierce anti-Mormon excitement— which resulted in the destruction of the Nauvoo Temple and the expulsion of the Mormons from the State—the "Prophet," Joseph Smith, was placed upon trial for an alleged felony. The Hon. Nathaniel Pope was the presiding judge, and Butterfield counsel for Smith. A large audience, including many elegantly dressed ladies, was in attendance.
When he arose to address the Court, Butterfield with great dignity began:
"I am profoundly impressed with the solemnity of the situation and the awful responsibility resting upon me. I stand in the presence of his Holiness the Pope, surrounded by angels,to speak in defence of the Lord's anointed Prophet!"
While in active practice, Butterfield was upon one occasion opposing counsel to the Hon. David A. Smith in the Supreme Court of the State. The latter had concluded his argument and with head resting upon the table in front, had fallen asleep while Butterfield was speaking. A gleam of sunlight which had found its way through the window opposite, had fallen upon the very bald head of Smith, causing it to shine with unwonted brilliancy. Suddenly pausing and with arm extended toward his sleeping antagonist, Butterfield solemnly observed:
"The light shineth upon the darknessand the darkness comprehendeth it not!"
As the Old State Bank was about to expire by reason of limitation, the General Assembly passed a bill extending its corporate life fifteen years. In litigation in which Butterfield was counsel, the legal effect of the Act mentioned being involved, the opposing counsel insisted that the legal effect of said Act was the creation of anewbank. Butterfield in reply insisted that "a new bank had not been created, but simply the life of the old one prolonged. A case in point, your Honor, precisely 'on all-fours' with this, is the well-authenticated one of the good Hezekiah when the Lord lengthened out his life fifteen years for meritorious conduct. Now, sir, did he thereby make anewHezekiah,or did he leave him just the same old Hezekiah?"
Soldier, lawyer, and wit was Colonel Phil Lee of Kentucky. When it is borne in mind that he was of exceedingly small stature the following incident—one he often related—will be appreciated.
Immediately upon attaining his majority he was a candidate for the Legislature. On election day he was quietly seated on a barrel in the room where the election for his precinct was being conducted, when an old Deacon from the Tan Bark settlement came in to vote. His choice for the State officers and for Sheriff was called out after some little parleying as to who were thebest men,and the voter was about to retire, when one of the judges said,
"Deacon, ain't you going to vote for a candidate for theLegislature?"
"Yas, of course, I like to forgot all about that; who is running for the Legislature?"
At which Phil, hopping down from the barrel, said, "Deacon, I am a candidate."
"Who,you?"inquired the Deacon—with half contemptuous gaze at the diminutive-looking aspirant; then turning to the judge he said,"Just put me down for the other fellow!"
Admitted to the bar at Shepherdsville in his native county of Bullitt, when barely of age, his first appearance was as attorney for the plaintiff in a breach-of-promise case of much local celebrity. His speech held the jury and by-standers literally spellbound, and it was confidently asserted that the classic banks of Salt River will probably never witness such flights of eloquence again. At its close Phil was warmly congratulated by an old Squire from the "Rolling Fork."
"Phil, that was a mighty fine speech, a mighty fine speech, Phil, now mind, I tell you. That speech reminded me of Henry Clay."
At the first mention ofthatname, the Squire was promptly invited out to take a drink. The first round of hospitality happily concluded, Phil was in readiness for any additional observations from the Squire.
"Yes, Phil, when you kinder rared back and throwed your right hand straight up, thinks I, Henry Clay, Henry Clay!"
Whereupon the Squire was without unnecessary delay invited to take another drink. This accomplished, the Squire still held the floor.
"Yes, Phil, yes, Phil, todes the last when you made that big swoop with both arms and 'peared like you was gwyen right up to the rafters, thinks I, Shore 'nough, Henry Clay come back from his grave!"
As flesh and blood could not stand everything, the old Squire was promptly invited to take another drink. Number three being property placed to his credit, the Squire continued:
"Yes, Phil, you peared to me to be Henry Clay right over againwith jist one leetle difference."
At this Mr. Lee, curious to know what could be theonepossible little difference, when there were so many points of resemblance between two such orators as himself and Henry Clay, ventured to inquire. "I think," said the Squire, "this, Phil,—you peared to kinder lack his ideas!"
And now comes the tragic ending of a brilliant career. Lee, while Commonwealth's attorney, was in the last stages of that dread disease, consumption. A murder case was on trial in which he felt a deep interest. The case was one of unusual atrocity, and the accused—a man of some local prominence—had been exceedingly defiant towards the wan and emaciated prosecuting attorney from its beginning. With much difficulty Colonel Lee succeeded in getting to the court-room in order to make the closing speech to the jury. Utterly exhausted,—after depicting the horrible crime in all its enormity and demanding the extreme penalty of the law upon its perpetrator,—at its close, in tones that touched the hearts of all who heard him, he exclaimed:
"Gentlemen of the jury, I have prosecuted the pleas of this Commonwealth until the blood has dried up in my veins, and the flesh has perished from my bones!"
These were hislastwords—and his life went out that same night just as the clock struck twelve. At the self-same hour the steps of the jury were heard slowly ascending to the court-room which had witnessed his last effort—their verdict,"Guilty, the penalty, death!"
McLEAN COUNTY'S READINESS TO WELCOME HER CHILDREN—HONOR TO THEEARLY SETTLERS—BEAUTY OF THE COUNTY—ITS PROGRESS—ITS ORGANIZATION—PRAISE OF JOHN McLEAN—HIS CAREER IN CONGRESS, IN THE ILLINOISLEGISLATURE, AND IN THE SENATE—McLEAN COUNTY'S HEROISM—REMINISCENCESOF THE OLD COURT-HOUSE—FRENCH EXPLORERS IN THE ILLINOIS COUNTRY—MARQUETTE AND JOLIET EXPLORE THE UPPER MISSISSIPPI—LA SALLEEXPLORES THE ST. LAWRENCE, THE OHIO, AND THE MISSISSIPPI TO ITSMOUTH—EXTENT OF FRANCE'S POSSESSIONS IN AMERICA—THE STRUGGLEBETWEEN FRANCE AND GREAT BRITAIN—GEORGE R. CLARK CAPTURES KASKASKIAFROM THE BRITISH—VIRGINIA CEDES TERRITORY, INCLUDING ILLINOIS, TOTHE UNITED STATES—THE LOUISIANA PURCHASE—ILLINOIS ORGANIZED—SUMMARY OF SUCCEEDING EVENTS IN THE HISTORY OF ILLINOIS.
The McLean County (Illinois) "Home-Coming" of June 15, 1907, was an event of deep significance to all Central Illinois. On that occasion I delivered the welcoming address, as follows:
"These rare days in July mark an memorable epoch in the history of this good county. The authoritative proclamation has gone forth that her house has been put in order, that the latch-string is out —all things in readiness—and that McLean County would welcome the return of all her children who have in days past gone out from her borders.
"In the same joyous and generous spirit in which the welcome was extended, it has been heeded, and from near and far, from the land of flowers and of frosts, from the valley of the Osage, the Colorado, and the Platte, from the golden shores of California, and 'where rolls the Oregon'—sons and daughters of this grand old county have gladly turned their footsteps homeward.
"'When they heart has grown weary and thy foot has grown sore,Remember the pathway that leads to our door.'
"As in the ancient days all roads led to Rome, so in this year of grace, and in this glorious month of June, all roads lead back to the old home; to the hearthstones around which cling the tender memories of childhood, and of loved ones gone—to the little mounds where sleep the ashes of ancestral dead.
"The 'Home-coming' to which you have been invited will leave its lasting impress upon all your hearts. The kindly words that have been spoken, the cordial grasp of the hand, the unbidden tear, the hospitality extended, have all given assurance that you are welcome. Here, for the time, let dull care and the perplexities that environ this mortal life be laid aside, let whatever would in the slightest mar the delight of this joyous occasion be wholly forgotten; so that in the distant future, to those who return and to those who stay, the recollection of these days will be one of unalloyed pleasure; and so that, when in the years to come we tell over to our children of the return to the old home, this reunion will live in our memories as one that, like the old sun-dial, 'marked only the hours which shine.'
"No place so fitting for this home-coming could have been selected as this beautiful park, where the springing grass, transparent lake, and magnificent grove—'God's first temple'—seem all to join in welcoming your return. How, from a mere hamlet, a splendid city has sprung into being during the years of your absence! No longer a frontier village, off the great highway of travel, with the mail reaching it semi-weekly by stage-coach or upon horseback,—as our fathers and possibly some who now hear me may have known it,—it is now 'no mean city.' Its past is an inspiration; its future bright with promise. It is in very truth a delightful dwelling-place for mortals, and possibly not an unfit abiding-place for saints. Whoever has walked these streets, known kinship with this people, called this his home—wherever upon this old earth he may since have wandered—has in his better moments felt an unconquerable yearning that no distance or lapse of time could dispel, to retrace his footsteps and stand once more within the sacred precincts of his early home. Truly has it been said: 'No man can ever get wholly away from his ancestors.' Once a Bloomingtonian, and no art of the enchanter can dissolve the spell. 'Once in grace, always in grace,' whatever else may betide! Eulogy is exhausted when I say that this city is worthy to be the seat of justice of the grand old county of which it is a part.
"Upon occasion such as this, the spirit of the past comes over us with its mystic power. The years roll back, and splendid farms, stately homes, magnificent churches, and the marvellous appliances of modern life are for the moment lost to view. The blooming prairie, the log cabin nestling near the border-line of grove or forest, the old water-mill, the cross-roads store, the flintlock rifle, the mould-board plough, the dinner-horn,—with notes sweeter than lute or harp ever knew,—are once more in visible presence. At such an hour little stretch of the imagination is needed to recall from the shadows forms long since vanished. And what time more fitting can ever come in which to speak of those who have gone before,—of the early settlers of this good county?
"It was from the beginning the fit abode for men and women of God's highest type—and such, indeed, were the pioneers. Their early struggles, their sacrifices, all they suffered and endured, can never be fully disclosed. But to them this was truly 'the promised land'—a land they might not only view, but possess. From New England, Ohio, the 'Keystone,' and the 'Empire' State, from the beautiful valley of the Shenandoah and the Commonwealths lying westward and to the south, came the men and women whose early homes were near the banks of the little streams and nestled in the shades of the majestic groves. Here they suffered the hardships and endured the privations that only the frontiersman might know. Here beneath humble roofs, their children were born and reared, and here from hearts that knew no guile ascended the incense of thanksgiving and praise. The early settlers, the pioneers, the men who laid the foundations of what our eyes now behold, builded wisely and well. Their descendants to-day are in large measure the beneficiaries of all that they so wisely planned, so patiently endured. These names and something of what they achieved will go down in our annals to the after times. Peace to their ashes; to their memory all honor! They were the advance guard—The builders—and faithfully and well they served their race and time. Upon nobler men and women the sun in all his course hath nowhere looked down.
"And where upon God's footstool can domain more magnificent than this good county be found; one better adapted to the habitation of civilized man? The untrodden prairies of three-quarters of a century ago, as if touched by the wand of magic, have become splendid farms. And groves more beautiful the eye of man hath not seen.
"Containing a population of less than two thousand at the time of its organization, there are more than seventy thousand souls within the bounds of this good county to-day. The log cabin has given way to the comfortable home. The value of farm lands and their products have increased beyond human forecast or dream. As shown by the last Governmental report, McLean County contains four thousand eight hundred and seventy-three farms, aggregating seven hundred thirty-seven thousand five hundred and seventy-eight acres. The corn product for the year 1899 exceeded fifteen millions of bushels, being near one-twentieth of that of the entire State. In the value of its agricultural products it is third upon the list of counties in the United States.
"The life of the farmer is no longer one of drudgery and isolation. Modern conveniences and appliances have in large measure supplanted the hard labor of human hands, lessened the hours of daily toil, and brought the occupant of the farm into closer touch with the outer world. More than all this, our schoolhouses, universities, churches, and institutions for the relief of the unfortunate and dependent, all bear witness to the glad fact that in our material development the claims of education, of religion, of charity, have not been forgotten. It is our glory, that in all that tends to human progress, in all that ministers to human distress, in whatever appeals to and develops what is best in man, or brings contentment and happiness to the home—in a word, in the grand march of civilization—McLean County moves in the van.
"Possibly no occasion more fitting can arise in which briefly to speak of the organization of McLean County, and something of important events of its history. At the session of the Legislature at Vandalia in the winter of 1830-31, a petition—borne to the State capital by Thomas Orendorff and James Latta—was duly presented, praying for the organization of a new county to be taken from Tazewell and Vermilion. The territory embraced in the proposed county included the present limits of McLean and large portions of neighboring counties organized at a later day. In accordance with the petition, a bill was passed, and its approval by the Governor on the twenty-fifth day of December, 1830, marks the beginning of the history of this good county.
"The name of 'McLean' was adopted upon the motion of the Hon. William Lee D. Ewing, some of whose kindred have for many years been residents of this city. Mr. Ewing had been the close friend of the man whose name he thus honored, and was himself in later years a distinguished Senator in Congress.
"By the terms of the bill mentioned, the seat of justice of said county was to be 'called and known by the name of Bloomington.' It was further provided that until otherwise ordered the courts of said county should be held at the house of James Allen. The first term of the Circuit Court was held in April, 1831, at the place indicated, the historic 'Stipp House,' but recently standing, a pathetic reminder of by-gone days. The presiding judge of that court was the Hon. Samuel D. Lockwood, of Springfield—an able and eminent jurist of spotless record. By legislative enactment, five times since its organization, valuable portions of McLean—aggregating nearly four-sevenths of its original territory—have been carved in the formation of the counties of Logan, Livingston, Piatt, De Witt, and Woodford. Notwithstanding all this, McLean County yet remains—and by constitutional inhibition and the wisdom of our people will for all time remain—the largest county in the State.
"A word now of the man whose name was upon every invitation to this home-coming, in honor of whom this county was named, John McLean, one of the ablest and most distinguished of the first generation of public men in Illinois. Born in North Carolina in 1791, his early years were spent in Kentucky. In the last-named State he studied law and was admitted to the Bar. He removed to Illinois in 1815 and located in Shawneetown upon the Ohio River for the practice of his profession. The county of Gallatin, his future home, was then one of the most populous in the Illinois Territory. In fact, at the time mentioned, and for some years after the organization of the State, there were few important settlements one hundred miles north of the Ohio River.