Jj ' 4 r- ''J tf The whole art of Government consists in the art of being honest. Jefferson. VOL 9. STRO UDSBURG, MdNROE COUNTY; PA., THURSDAY; MARCH 1, 1849. No. 32. published by Theodore Schoeh. tprMS Two dollars per annum in advance Two dollars 1V, ouarter, half vearly and if not paid before the endof thr vcar Two dollars and a half Those who receive their inoer'hy a carrier or stage drivers employed by the proprie tor will be charged 37 1-2 cents, per year, extra. No papers discontinued until all arrearages are paid, except atthc 'option of the Editor. rrr advertisements not exceeding one square (sixteen lines) wrl be inserted three weeks for one dollar, and twenty-five ren'sfJr every subsequent insertion. The charge for one and ,hrcs insertions the same. A liberal discount made to yearly rjyAlflcUcrs addressed to the Editor must be post-paid. JfOJS PRINTING. Hiring a general assortment of large, elegant, plain andoma menlal Type, we are prepared to execute every description of C.irdSf Circulars, Bill Heads, Notes, Blank Receipts, JUSTICES, LEGAL AND OTHER BLANKS, PAMPHLETS, &c. Printed with neatness and despatch, on reasonable tctms AT THE OFFICE OF THE Jcffer.Nouiaii Republican. From Grahanfs Magazine. The Young lawyer's First Case. BY JOHN TODD. In one of those long, low, one-story unpainted houses which succeeded the log-houses in Ver mont as the second generation of human habita tions, lay a sick woman. She knew, and all her friends knew, that her days were numbered, and that when she left that room it would be in her winding-sheet for the grave. Yet her face and her spirit were calm, and lhe tones of her voice, like those of the dying swan, were sweeter than those of life. She had taken an affectionate leave of all her children, in faith and hope, save one her eldest son a mother's boy and a mother's pride. By great ecomomy and unwearied industry this son had been sent to college. He was a mild, in offensive pale-faced one ; but the bright eye did not belie the spirit that dwelt in a casket so frail. He had been sent for, but did not reach home till the day before his mother's death. As soon as she knew of his coming, she immediately had him called to her room, and left alone with her. Long and tearful was their conversation. Sweet and tender was this last interview between a mother and son who had never lacked any degree of con fidence on either side. "You know, my son, that it has always been my must earnest wish a'rfJ pra'yer that you should be a preacher of the gospel, and thus a benefac tor to the souls of men. In choosing the law, you are aware you have greatly disappointed these hopes." "I know It, dear mother; and I have done it, sot because I like the law so much, but because Idare not undertake a work so sacred as the min istry, conscious as I am that I am not qualified in mind, or body, or spirit, for the work. If I dared Jo it, for your sake, if for no' other reason, I would do it." , 41 In God's lime, my dear son, fn God's time, I trust you will. I neither urge it, nor blame you. Hut promise me now, that you will never under take any cause that is unjust, and that you" will never aid in screening wrong from coming to light and punishment." The son said something about every man's hav ing a right to have his case presented in the best 1-ght he could. ' I know what you mean," said she: "but I know 'at if a man has violated the laws of God and man, lie has no moral right to be shielded from punish ment. If he has confessions and explanations to tiler, it is well. But for you to take his side, and far money to shield him from the laws, seems to me no better than If, for money, you concealed t".m from the officers of justice, under the plea that ery man had a right to get clear of the law if ie could. But I am weak and cannot talk, my "an ; and yet if you will give me the solemn prom ise, it seems as if I should die easier. But you must do as you think best." The young man bent over his dying mother, and ith much emotion, gave her the solemn promise which she desired. Tender was the last kiss she gave him, warm the thanks which she expressed, and sweet the smile which she wore, and which was left on her countenance after her spirit had gone up to meet the smiles of the Redeemer. Some months after the death of his mother, the joung man left the shadows of the Green Moun tains 2? toward a more sunny region, in a large tad thrifty 7,iage ne Pened his office ; the sign Save his name, and under it, the words " Attorney a Law." There he was foL'ad early and late, his "See clean and neat, and his fev books studied wer and over again, but no business;. Tne "rst fs which he took was lor writing a s&ort letter fr his black wood-sawyer, and for that h5 con scientiously charged only a single sixpence J People spoke well of him, and admired the yoJjng wan, but still no business came. After waiting fl) 11 hope deferred made the heart sick," one bright morning a coarse-looking,, knock down sort uf a young man was seen making toward the of- fro U .t i . .TiUn ii.umr Intvvor linnnrlorl v. auw me near, ui ine yuuii?; w aifte sight of his first client ! What success, and raes,and fees danced in the vision in a moment! " Are you the lawver 1" said the man, hastily taking off his hat. Yes. sir. that's mv business. W hat can I co for vou?" - " Whv. something of a iob1. 1 reckon. The fact ls I have got into a little trouble, and want .a bit crhelp." And he took out a five dollar bill, and iaid it on the table. The young, lawyer tnado no lotion toward taking it. " Why don't you take it 1" said lie. "'I don't (all it pay, but to begin with kind of wedge "ai do you call it?" " .Retention-fee, 1 presume you mean." "Just so, and bx.your taking .it, -you ate my tawver. So tnbo ;. " Kot quite so fast, if you please State sy,our and then I will toll vou whether or not I take the retention-fee." The coarse fellow stared. 1. tITI . A Any, mister, the case is simply this. Last spring 1 was doing a little business by way of sell ing meat. So I bought a yoke of oxen of old Ma jor Farnsworth. I was to have them for one hun dred dollars." " Very well what became of the oxen 1" " Butchered and sold out, to be sure." " By you !" " Yes." " Well, Where's the trouble ?" " Why, they say, that as I only gave my note for them, I need not pay it, arid-I want you to help me to get clear of it." ;' How do you expect me to do it ?" Plain as day, man ; just say, gentlemen of the jury, this young man was not of age when he gave Maj. Farnsworth the note, and therefore, in law, the note is good for nothing that's all !" And was it really so !" " Exactly." u How came Major Farnsworth to let you have the oxen!" " Oh, the godly old man never suspects that I was under age." 41 What did you get for the oxen in selling them out!" " Why, somewhere between one hundred and thirty-one and one hundred and forty dollars they were noble fellows !" " And so you want me to help you cheat that honest old man out of those oxen, simply because the law, this human imperfection, gives you the opportunity to do it ! No, sir ; put up your reten tion fee. I promised my dying mother never to do such a thing, and 1 will starve first. And as for you if I wanted to help you to go to the state's prison, I could take no couise so sure as to do what you offer to pay me for doing. And, depend upon it, the lawyer who does help you, will be your worst enemy. Plead minority ! No ; go, sir, and pay lor your oxen honestly and live and act on the principle, that let what will come, you will be an honest man." The coarse young man snatched up his bill, and muttering something about seeing Squire Snapall, left the office. So he lost his first fee and his first case. He felt poor and discouraged, when left alone in the office; but he felt that he had done right. His mother's voice seemed to whisper, " RighC my son, right." The next day he was in old Major Farnworth's, and saw a pile of bills lying upon the table. The good old man said he had just re ceived them for a debt which he expected to lose, ! but a kind Providence had interposed in his be half. The young lawyer said nothing, but his mother's voice seemed to come again, " Right my son, right." Some days after this a man called in the even ing, and asked the young man to defend him in a tiral just coming on. ' What is your case V "They accuse rne of stealing a bee-hive." " A bee-hive ! surely that could not be worth much!" No, but the bees and the honey were in it." "Then you ieally did steal it ?" " 'Squire are you alone here nobody to hear?" " I am all alone.". , . , . w Are you bound by oath to keep the secrets of your clients ?" " Certainly I am " 44 Well, then, 'twixt you and me, I did have a dab at that honey. There was more than seventy pounds! But you can clear me." " How can 1 ?" " Why . Ned Hazen has agreed to swear that I was with him fishing at Squanicook Pond that night." 41 So, by perjury, you hope to escape punish ment. What can you afford to pay a lawyer who will do his best ?" The man took out twenty dollars. It was a great temptation. The young lawyer staggered for a moment but only for a moment. 44 No, sir, I will not undertake your case. I will not try to shield a man whom I know to be a villain from punishment which he deserves. I will starve first." The man with an oath bolted out of the office, and made his way to Snapall's office. The poor lawyer sat down alone, and could have cried. But a few dollars were left to him in the world, and what to do when they were gone, he knew not. In a few moments the flush and burning of the face were gone, as if he had been fanned by the wings of angels, and again he heard his own mother's voice, 44 Right, my son, righU" Days and even weeks passed away, and no new client mude his appearance. The story of his hav ing refused to take fees and defend his clients got abroad, and many were the gibes concerning his folly. Lawyer, Snapall declared that such weak ness would ruin any man. The multitude went against the young advocate. But a few noted and remembered it in his favor. On entering his office one afternoon, the young .man found a note lying on his table. It read thus 44 Mrs. Henshaw'8 compliments to Mr. Loudon, and requests,, if it be not too much trouble, that he would call on her at his earliest convenience, as she wishes to consult him professionally, and with as much privacy as may be. Rose Cottage, June 25th." How his hand trembled while he read the note. It might lead to business it might be the first fruits of an honorable life. But who is Mrs. Henshaw ? lie only knew that a friend by that name, a widow lady, had lately arrived on a visit to the family who resided at that cottage. 44 At his earliest convenience." If he should go at once, would it not look as if he were at perfect leisure ? If he delayed, would it not be a dishon esty which he had vowed never to practice ? He whistled a moment, took up his hat, and went to ward 44 Rose Cottage." On reaching the house, he was received by a young lady of modest, yet easv manner. He inquired for Mrs. Henshaw, (and the young lady said, ' My. mother is not well, but I will, call: hen- Shall I carry your name, sir ; . 44 Loudon, if you please." . , The young lady casta searching, surprised look at-him, and, left the room. I a few moments the mother a graceful, well-bred lady of about forty, entered the room. She had a mild, sweet face, arid a look that brought his own mother so vividly to mind, that the tears almost started in his eyes. For some reason, Mrs. Henshaw appeared em barrassed. 44 It is Mr. Loudon, the lawyer, I Suppose," said she. 44 At your service, madam." : t 41 Is there any other gentlemen at the Bar of your name, sir? 4 None that I know of. In what way can you command my services, madam ?" 44 The lady colored. 44 1 am afraid, sir, there is some mistake. I need a lawyer to look at a dif ficult.case, a man of principle, whom I can trust You were mentioned to me but I expected to see. anolde.r man." "If you will admit me," said Loudon, who be gan to grow nervous in his turn, 44 so far into your conhdence as to state the case, I think I can prom ise not to do any hurt, even if I do no good. And if on the whole, if you think it best to commit it to older and abler hands, I will charge you nothing and engage not to be offended." .iit The mother looked at the daughter, and saw on her face the look of confidence and hope. y. , ihe whole alternoon was spent in going over the case, examining papers, and the like. As they went along, Loudon took notes and memoranda with his pencil. 4,He will never do," thought Mrs. Henshaw. Ho takes every ihingfor granted and unques tioned : and though I don't design to mislead him, yet it seems to me, as if he would take the moon to be green, cheese, were. I tell him so. He will never do ;Vtand she felt that she had wasted time and strength. How great then was her surprise when Loudon pushed aside, the bundles of papers, and looking athis notes, again went over the whole ground, sifting and scanning every point, weighing eyery circuriv stance, pointing out the weak places, tearing and throwing off the rubbish, discarding what was irrelevant, and placing ihe whole affair in a light more luminous and clear than even she had ever seen it before. Her color came and went as her hopes rose and fell. After he had laid it open to her, he added, wilh unconscious dignity. , . 44 Mrs.- Henshaw, I think yours is a cause of right and justice. Even if there should be a failure to convince a jury so that law would de cide in your favor, there are so many circum stantial proofs, that I have no doubt that jus tice will be wilh you. If you please to entrust it to me, I will do the. best I. can, and am. quite sure I shall work harder than, if I were on the opposite side." t 44 What do you say, Mary ?" saiot the moth er to the daughter. 44 You are as much inter ested as I. Shall we cprnmit it to Mr. Loudon?" " You are the best judge,' but it.aeems to me tfral he .understands .the case belter than any one you have ever talked with." Loudon thanked Mary with his eyes, but for some reason or other hers were cast down upon the figures of the carpet, and she did riot see him. 44 Well, Mr. Loudon, we. will commit the whole affair to you. If you succeed we shall be able to reward you ; and if you do hot, we shall be no poorer than we have been." For weeks and months Loudon studied his case. He was often at Rose Cottage to ask questions on some point not quite so clear. He found they were very agreeable trie moth er and the daughter aside from the law-suit, send I am not sure that he did not find occasion lo ask questions oftener than he would have done, had it been otherwise. The case, briefly was this. Mr. Henshaw had been an active, intelligent and highminded man of business. He had dealt in iron, had large furnaces at different places, and did busi ness on an average wilh three hundred differ ent people a day. Among others, he had deal ings with a man by the name of Brown a plau sible, keen, and as many thought, and unprin cipled man. But Henshaw, without guile him self, put all confidence in him. In reverse of times such as occur in about ten years, let who will be President their affairs became embarrassed and terribly perplexed, fn order to extricate his business, it was necessary for Henshaw to go to a distant part of ihe land, in company with Brown. There he died leav ing a young widow, and an only child, Mary, then about ten years old, and' his business in a condition as bad as need be By the kindness of the creditors their beautiful home called Elm Glen, was left to Mrs. Henshaw and her little girl, while the rest 6f the property went to pay the debts. The widow and hef orphan kept the place of their joys and hopes in perfect or demand everybody said "ft didn't took like a wid ow's house.1' But within four years of the death of Mr. Henshaw, Brown returned. He had been detained by broken limbs and business, he said. What was the amazement of the widow to have him set up a claim for Elm Glen, as his properly ! He had loaned Mr. Henshaw money, he said he had been with him in sick ness and in death ; and the high-minded Hen shaw had made his will on his deathbed, and bequeathed Elm Glen io Brown, as a payment for debts. The will was duly drawn, signed wiih Mr. Henshaw!s own signature, and also hy two competent witneses. Every one was astonished at the claim at ihe will at every thing pertaining to it4 It was contested in court, but the evidence was clear, and the will was set up and established. l?oorMrs. Henshaw was stripped of every thing. With a sad heart she packed up Her simple wardrobe, and taking her child left the village and went lo a distant Slate to teach school. For six years she had been absent, and for six years had Brown en joyed Elm Glen. No, not enjoyed it. for he enjoyed nothing. He lived in it ; but the hag gard lookthe frequent appeal to the bottle the jealous feelings which were ever upper most and his course, profame conversation, showed that lie was wretched. People talked too, of -his lonely hours, his starling up in his sleep, his clenching his first in his dreams and defying 44all hell" to prove it, and the like. Suddenly and privately, Mrs. Henshaw re turned to her bnce.loved .vjllage. She had ob tained some information by which she hoped to bring truth to light, for she had never be lieved that her husband ever made such a will in favor of Brown. To prove that this will was a forgery was what Loudon was now. to attempt. An aciion was commenced, and Brown soon had notice of the warfare now to be carried on against him. He raved and swore, but he also laid aside his cups, and went to work to meet the storm like a man in the fulj consciousness of the justice of his cause. There was writing and riding, posting .and sending writs for both sides had much at stake.v .It was the first case for young Loudon. It was victory or State's prison for Brown. The community, one and all took aides with Mrs. Henshaw. If a bias could reach a jury, it must have been in her favor. Mr. Snapall was engaged for Brown, and was delighted to find that he only had that ''white faced boy," to contend with ; and the good pub lic felt sorry that the widow had not selected a man of some age and experience ; but then theySsafti, "women will have their own way." The day of the trial came on. Great was the excitement to hear the great 44 will case, " and every . horse in the region was hitched somewhere near the court-house. .In rising to open the case, young Loudon was, embarrassed.; .but modest always meets wiih encouragement. The court gave him patient-attention, and soon, felt, that it was deser ved. In a clear, concise, and masterly man ner, he laid open the case just as it stood in his own mind, and proceeded with the evi dence to prove the will to be a forgery. It was easy to show the character of Brown to be one of great iniquity, and that for him lo do this was only in keeping with that general charac ter. He attempted to prove that the will could hot be genuine, because one of his witnesses on his death-bed had confessed that it was a forgery, and that he and his friend had been hired by Brown to testify and swear to its be ing genuine. Here he adduced the affidavit of a deceased witness, taken in full before James Johnson, Esq., Justice of the Peace, and ac knowledged by him. So far all was clear, and when the testimony closed it seemed clear that the case was won. But when it came Mr. Snapall's turn, he demolished all the hopes by proving that though James Johson, Esq. had signed himself Justice of the Peace, yet he was no magistrate; inasmuch as his commission had expired the very day before he signed the paper, and although he had been re-appointed, yet he had not been legally qualified to act as a magistrate that he might or might not have supposed himself to be qualified to lake an affi davit ; and that the law, for very wise reasons, demaded that an affidavit should be taken only by a sworn magistrate. He was most happy, he said, to acknowledge the cool assurance of his young brother in the law ; and ihe only diffi culty was thai he had proved no'ihing, except that his lender conscience permitted him to offer as ah affidavit a paper that was in law not worth a straw, if any belter than a forgery itself. There was much sympathy felt for poor Lou don, but ho took it very coolly and seemed no way cast down. Mr. Snapall then brought for ward his other surviving witness a gallows looking fellow, but his testimony was clear, de cided and consistent. If he was committing perjury, it was plain thai he had been well dril led by Snapall. Loudon kept his eye upon him with the keenness of the lynx. And while Snapall was commenting upon the case with greal power, and while Mrs. Henshaw and Mary gave up all for lost, it was plain that Loudon, as he turned over the will, and looked at it again and again, was thinktng;of something else besides what Snapall was saying. He acted something as a dog does when he feels sure he is near the right track of the game, though he dare not yet bark. When Snapall was through, Loudon reques ted that the witness might again be called to the stand. But he was so mild, and kind, and timid, that it seemed as if he was the one about to commit perjury. 44 You take your oath that this instrument, pur porting to bo the will of HenryfHenshaw, was signed by him in your presence V "I do." : "And you signed ii with your own hand, as witness hi th time." 44 1 did." " What .is. the date of the will 44 June 18, 1830. " 44 When did Henshaw die V1 44 June 22, 1830." "Were you living in the village wriere ha died at the time ?" "I was." "How long had. yoti lived there ?" r "About four years, I believe, or somewhere thefceabouts." ' Here Loudon handed the judge a paper, which the judge unfolded audJatd before him on the bench. " Was that village a large or a small one I " 44 Noi very large perhaps fifty houses.!' " You knew all these houses well, I pre- stime ?" 44 I did." ''Was the house in which Mr. Henshaw died, one story or two ?" 44 Two, 1 believe." 44 But you know, don't you ? Was he in the lower story or in the chamber when you went to witness ihe deed ?" Here ihe witness tried lo catch the rye of Snapall, but Loudon very civilly h'rUl Imn 'ti ihe point. At length he.said, "In the hauiber." "Will you inform the court what was ihe: color of the house ?" 44 1 think, feel sure, it wash painted, but didn't lake particular notice." 44 But you saw it every day for four. years, and don't you know 1" . "It was not painted." " Which side of the street did it stand ?" "I can't remember." "Can you remember which way ihe street 'ran ?" "It ran east and west." "The street ran east and west the house two atory, and unpaimed, and Mr. Henshaw was in the chamber when you witnessed he will. Well, I have but two things more which I will req uest you to do. The first is io take that pen and write your name on that piece of paper oh the table." The witness demurred, and so did Snapall. But.LdUdon insisted upon it. "I can't my had trembles so," said the 'wit ness. "Indeed I but you wrote a bold, powerful hand when you signed that will. Come, you must try, just to oblige us." After much haggling and some bravado, it came out thai he couldn't write, and never lear ned, and that he had requested Mr. Brown to sign the paper for him ! "Oh, ho !" said Loudon. 44 I thought you swore that you signed it yourself. Now one thing more, and I have done with you. Just let me take the pocket-book in your pocket.- I will open it here before the court, and neith er steal nor lose a paper." Again the witness refused, and appealed to Snapall ; but that worthy man was grinding his. teeth and muttering something about the wit ness going to the devil ! The pocket-book came out, and in it was a reg ular discharge of the bearer, John Ordin, from, four years imprisonment in the Pennsylvania JEeniieiuenirry, and dated Juno 15,1831, and signed by Mr. Wood, ihe worthy warden. The young advocate now took the paper which he had handed to the judge and showed the jury, thai the house in which Mr. Henshaw died was situated in a street running north and south that it was a one-story house- lhai it was red, the only red house in the village, and moreover that he died in a front room of the lower story. There was a moment's silence, and then a stifled murmerof joy all over the room. Brown's eyes looked blood-shot ; the witness looked sullen and dogged, and Mr. Snapall tried to look very indifferent. He made no defence. . The work was done. A very brief, decided charge was given by the judge, and, without leaing their seats, the jury convicted Brown of forgery 44 The young dog is keen, any how said Snapall. : 4lWhen his conscience tells him he is on the side of justice," said Loudon, overhearing the remark. It was rather late in the evening before Lou don called on his clients to congratulate them on the termination of their nuit, and the recov ery of Elm Glen. He was met by Mary, uho frankly gave him her hand, and with tears thanked and praised him, and felt ure they could never sufficiently reward him. Loudon colored, and soemed more troubled than when in the court. Ai length he said abrubily, "Mis Henshaw, you and your mother can now aid me. There is a friend of yours a young lady, whose band I wish to obtain. 1 am alone in the world, poor and unknown. This is my first law case, and when I may have another is more ihan I know." Mary turned pale and fainily promised that ahe and her mother would aid him to the extent of their power. Then there,? was a pause and sho felt as if she, the onlyone who wasMip posed to be unagiiaied and cool, must spak "Who is this foriunam friend of mintiT 1 "Don'i you r uspect " lit .:. "Indeed, I do not." 1 t it 9 ) ' ' 1 it - .
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