Once, is a closely-contested civil suit, he found himself upon the wrong side of the case. His client had misrepresented the case, being “a slippery fellow.” Lincoln succeeded in proving an account for his client, when the opposing attorney then “proved a receipt covering the entire cause of action.” By the time he was through Lincoln had disappeared from the courtroom. The court sent to the hotel for him. “Tell the Judge,” said Lincoln, “that I can’t come: my hands are dirty, and I came over to clean them.”

In the celebrated Patterson trial, a case of murder, Lincoln and Swett were counsel for the accused. After hearing the testimony, Lincoln was satisfied that the accused was guilty, and calling his colleague into another room, he said,—

“Swett, the man is guilty.”

“No doubt about that,” Swett replied.

“And you must defend him; I can’t.”

Swett promised to do it, and he did it so well that he saved the guilty man from justice. They received a thousand dollars for services; but Lincoln declined to take a cent of it.

At another time he was defending a man indicated for larceny; and, being satisfied by the evidence that the accused was guilty, he called aside his colleagues, Parks and Young, and said: “He is guilty. If you can say anything for him, do it; I can’t. If I attempt, the jury will see that I think he is guilty, and convict him of course.”

He conducted a suit against a railroad company, and damages were awarded to him. The railroad company proved, and the court allowed, a certain offset; and when the court was footing the amount, Lincoln arose and stated that his opponents had not proved all that was justly due them in offset, and proceeded to prove and allow a further offset against his client. His purpose was to establish “exact justice.” Sometimes, however, his sympathy for a poor fellow who was in danger of the penitentiary or gallows caused him to overlook “exact justice,” as we have seen.

A woman called upon him to secure his services to prosecute a real-estate claim; and she put a cheque for two hundred and fifty dollars into his hand as a retaining fee.

“I will look the case over, and see what can be done,” said Mr. Lincoln. “You may call to-morrow.”

The woman called as requested on the next day. “I am obliged to say that there is not a peg on which to hang your claim,” Mr. Lincoln said to her.

“How so?” she inquired, with not a little disappointment.

He explained the case to her satisfaction, and she started to go.

“Wait a minute,” he urged, fumbling in his pocket; “here is the cheque you left with me.”

“But, Mr. Lincoln, that belongs to you; you have earned it,” she answered.

“No, no, no!” responded Mr. Lincoln; “that would not be right. I can’t take pay for doing my duty.” And he insisted that she should take the cheque.

The testimony of his legal associates, at this point, is interesting. Mr. Gillespie says: “Mr. Lincoln’s love of justice and fair play was his predominating trait. I have often listened to him when I thought he would state his case out of court. It was not in his nature to assume, or to attempt to bolster up, a false position. He would abandon his case first. He did so in the case of Buckmaster for the use of Denham vs. Beenes and Arthur, in our Supreme Court, in which I happened to be opposed to him. Another gentleman, less fastidious, took Mr. Lincoln’s place, and gained the case.”