No. 18

May 1926

The Eighth Judicial Circuit was composed of fourteen counties, stretching from Sangamon on the west, a distance of one hundred and twenty miles, to Vermilion on the east at the Indiana line. The country was sparsely settled and in winter the mud was deep, the rivers and creeks swollen and treacherous. But it was a merry and carefree company that forded these streams and galloped across the wide, rolling prairies in fair weather and foul.

Some members of the bar visited only a few of the most accessible county seats in the district, while others made nearly all of them. Only two men, however, Judge David Davis and Abraham Lincoln, a tall, angular lawyer from Springfield, rode the entire circuitDavis because he had to, Lincoln because he loved it.

Always scrupulously clean and close shaven, but clad in an illfitting suit, the coat sleeves and trousers several inches too short, his tall, battered "stove-pipe" hat looking "as if a calf had

gone over it with its wet tongue," carrying an old saddlebag filled with books, papers and change of linen, and a huge, faded, green cotton umbrella tied with a piece of twine to keep it from falling open, the knob gone from the handle, with "A. Lincoln" in large white muslin letters sewed inside, Lincoln was the drollest figure and the best liked man in all the fourteen counties. Yet with all his popularity as he jogged along on horseback or, later, drove his "pokey" horse to a rattling buggy, he would have been greatly surprised could he have known that to-day, on all the roads of the old district, granite slabs would mark the way he went with bronze tablets that read:

Abraham Lincoln
traveled this way, as he
Rode the Circuit
of the

Old Eighth Judicial District
1847
1859

The intimacy between David Davis, the presiding judge, a Yale graduate, stern and dignified on the bench, and Abraham Lincoln is graphically illustrated by Leonard Swett, one of Lincoln's closest friends, whose description of his first introduction to Lincoln has only recently come to light.

"I shall never forget," says Mr. Swett, "the first time I saw

Mr. Lincoln. I had expected to encounter him at Springfield, but he was absent from home, nor did our meeting occur till later. It was at the town of Danville. When I called at the hotel it was after dark and I was told that he was upstairs in Judge Davis' room. In the region where I had been brought up, the judge of the court was usually a man of more or less gravity so that he could not be approached save with some degree of deference. I was not a little abashed, therefore, after I had climbed the unbanistered stairway, to find myself so near the presence and dignity of

Judge Davis, in whose room I was told I would find Mr. Lincoln. In response to my timid knock, two voices responded almost simultaneously, 'Come in.'

"Imagine my surprise, when the door opened, to find two men undressed, or rather dressed for bed, engaged in a lively battle with pillows, tossing them at each other's heads. One, a low, heavy-set man who leaned against the foot of the bed and puffed like a lizard, answered to the description of Judge Davis. The other was a man of tremendous stature; compared to Davis he looked as if he were eight feet tall. He was encased

in a long, indescribable garment, yellow as saffron, which reached to his heels and from beneath which protruded two of the largest feet I had up to that time been in the habit of seeing. This immense shirt, for shirt it must have been, looked as if it had been literally carved out of the original bolt of flannel of which it was made and the pieces joined together without reference to measurement or ca

pacity. The only thing that kept it from slipping off the tall and angular frame it covered was a single button at the throat; and I confess to a succession of shudders when I thought of what might happen should that button by any mischance lose its hold. I cannot describe my sensation as this apparition, with the modest announcement, 'My name is Lincoln,' strode across the room to shake my trembling hand."

Hotel accommodations on the circuit were usually of the worst sort. The food was bad, the bedrooms small and often anything but clean, and so crowded during court week that four or five lawyers frequently slept in the same room, while defendants on trial, witnesses, lawyers, jurors and judge all ate at one long table in the dining-room. But Lincoln was never heard to complain of either food or lodg ing. All his life he seemed wholly indifferent to the creature comforts that meant so much to his associates. Once, after he had become the best known lawyer in Illinois, when the landlady explained that the coffee was cold because she had no wood with which to replenish the fire, Lincoln threw off his coat, seized an ax, hurried to the woodpile and soon the box in the kitchen was overflowing with fuel.

However, in spite of hardships and discomforts, the circuit had its compensating joys. In the evenings, after court had adjourned, in Judge Davis' room gathered perhaps the most remarkable group that the American bar has ever known. There was David Davis, the dignified

judge while on the bench, but off of it the affable companion who loved a laugh. There was Logan, the scholarly; Stuart, the shrewd and kindly; Swett, the clever; Browning, the handsome; Lamon, the amusing; Yates, the eloquent; and Ficklin and Baker and Usher and McClernand and Palmer and Trumbull and Oglesby, and always the droll, genial favorite of them allLincoln. Hour after hour would swiftly pass with song and story, and Judge Davis' fat sides would shake with laughter as Lincoln related some humorous incident in his inimitable way.

Then, after midnight, when the merry crowd had dispersed and gone to sleep, Lincoln, with a candle at the head of the bed, his long legs protruding over the foot, would read Shakespeare or Burns or a law book until far into the hours of the morning, apparently unmindful of the lusty snoring of Judge Davis and other room-mates.

Occasionally, Lincoln would rise earlier than the rest, dress, put fresh wood on the fire, and sit there gazing into the flames, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, lost in one of his fits of gloom. His companions never disturbed him at such a time, as they had seen it before and knew that after awhile he would shake it off. Later, perhaps at breakfast, somebody would crack a joke or refer to some amusing incident of the night before and then Lincoln would begin to emerge from the shadows. The lines of care in the rugged face would grow fainter; the gray eyes, dull and expressionless in those periods of dejection, would flash and twinkle, and Lincoln was himself again.

a

When in Decatur, Illinois, recently, the writer obtained copy of the "Personal Recollections of Jane Martin Johns," which relates an interesting Lincoln incident of the old circuitriding days. In 1849, Mrs. Johns was living at the Macon House, noted as the best hotel in central Illinois. One day her piano arrived, after a long journey by wagon, but there was nobody at

the hotel to help unload the heavy instrument. About this time court adjourned just across the public square and in a few moments the judges and lawyers crowded about the wagon. "A tall gentleman stepped forward," says Mrs. Johns, "and throwing off a big gray Scotch shawl, exclaimed, 'Come on, Swett, you are the next biggest man.' That was my first meeting with Abraham Lincoln." She then relates that with the help of Lincoln and his associates, the piano was unloaded and set up in the parlor and that, after supper, she gave a little concert which was attended by Judge Davis and the entire bar. Many songs were sung, the lawyers joining in the chorus, and Swett and Browning sang "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep," "Bonaparte's Grave," and "Kathleen Mavourneen." She continues: "I sang 'He Doeth All Things Well,' after which Mr. Lincoln, in a very grave voice, thanked me for the evening's entertainment and said: 'Don't let us spoil that song by any other music tonight.' Many times afterward I sang that song for Mr. Lincoln and for Governor Oglesby, with whom it was also a favorite."

The lawyers on the circuit had what was called "Orgamathorical Court," a mock tribunal, which held night sessions at the courthouse, where various members of the bar, with much pretended gravity and to the huge enjoyment of the whole countryside, were tried for sundry "high crimes and misdemeanors."

fee of $250. When the case was called for hearing, the preparation had been so thorough that Lincoln's argument won the decision of the court in less than an hour. Lamon says: "Our suecess was complete. Scott was satisfied and cheerfully paid over the money to me inside the bar, Mr. Lincoln looking on. Scott then went out and Mr. Lincoln asked him, 'What did you charge that man?' I told him $250. Said he, 'Lamon, that is all wrong. The service was not worth that sum. Give him back at least half of it.'

"I protested that the fee was fixed in advance, that Scott was perfectly satisfied and had so expressed himself. That may be,' retorted Mr. Lincoln with a look of distress and of undisguised displeasure, but I am not satisfied. This is positively wrong. Go call him back and return half of the money at least, or I will not receive one cent for my share.' I did go and Scott was astonished when I handed him back half the fee.

"This conversation had attracted the attention of the lawyers and the court. Judge John Davis, then on our circuit bench, called Mr. Lincoln to him. The judge never could whisper, but in this instance he probably did his best. At all events, in attempting to whisper to Mr. Lincoln, he trumpeted his rebuke in about these words and in rasping tones that could be heard all over the courtroom: 'Lincoln, I have been watching you and Lamon. You are impoverishing this bar by your picayune charges of fees, and the lawyers have reason to complain of you. You are now almost as poor as Lazarus, and if you don't make people pay you more for your services you will die as poor as Job's turkey!'

"Judge O. L. Davis, the leading lawyer in that part of the state, promptly applauded this malediction from the bench; but Mr. Lincoln was immovable: "That money,' said he, 'comes out of the pocket of a poor demented girl, and I would rather starve