do in his absence.

Cartwright was not only an able pioneer preacher, but he was a
loyal Democrat, too. He believed in Democracy, and was ready to
run on the Democratic ticket, or to advance the party's cause in
any other way. He was nominated for Congress as against Mr. Lincoln,
the only time Lincoln ever ran for Congress.

Some persons disapproved of Cartwright's activity in politics,
questioning the propriety of it on the part of a minister. Among
these was Judge Treat, then our Federal Judge in the Springfield
district. The story goes that the Judge signified to Mr. Lincoln
his dislike of Cartwright, and his willingness to lend a helping
hand in case Lincoln should need help and would let him know the
fact. He thought he could get a good many votes for Lincoln, and
the latter thanked him and told him if he found need of his help
he would let him know. On one occasion during the campaign Lincoln
was walking along one side of the street when he saw Treat on the
farther side, proceeding in the opposite direction, toward his
home. Lincoln called out to him: "Judge, I won't need your help.
I have got the better of the old Methodist preacher, and I will
beat him; so I will not have to call upon you for help." This so
embarrassed the judge, lest some one should hear what was being
said, that he almost ran, in his hurry to get into his house.

It so happened that some of Peter Cartwright's grandchildren were
somewhat reckless boys, and one of them killed another young man.
Mr. Peyton Harrison, the father of the slayer, was a friend of Mr.
Lincoln and also of Judge Logan, and had grown to be a good friend
of mine, I being a young lawyer. The two and I were employed in
the defence of the young man. I did the running about, and other
things necessary to be done until the time arrived for the trial.
I had the accused man in my house part of the intervening time.
When the Circuit Court convened he, having been previously indicted,
was delivered up and the trial came on. It lasted some ten or
twelve days. In the meantime, Peter Cartwright, and his daughter
Mrs. Harrison, the mother of the young man on trial, were at my
house most of the time. They drove into town from where they lived,
some ten or twelve miles out, every day, and remained until nearly
night, going back and forth as long as the trial lasted. Cartwright
became somewhat attached to me on account of my efforts in the
young man's behalf.

The tria