g attorney,
as far into the night as possible, in hopes that he might, in his rage,
commit some indiscretion that would help their case. Lincoln began, but
to save his life he could not speak one hour, and the laboring oar fell
into Linder's hands. "But," said Lincoln, "he was equal to the occasion.
He spoke most interestingly three mortal hours, about everything in the
world. He discussed Benedict from head to foot, and put in about
three-quarters of an hour on the subject of Benedict's whiskers."
Lincoln said he never envied a man so much as he did Linder on that
occasion. He thought he was inimitable in his capacity to talk
interestingly about everything and nothing, by the hour.

But if Lincoln had not General Linder's art of "talking against time,"
his wit often suggested some readier method of gaining advantage in a
case. On one occasion, a suit was on trial in the Circuit Court of
Sangamon County, in which Lincoln was attorney for the plaintiff, and
Mr. James C. Conkling, then a young man just entering practice, was
attorney for the defendant. It was a jury trial, and Lincoln waived the
opening argument to the jury, leaving Mr. Conkling to sum up his case
for the defense. The latter spoke at considerable length, in a
sophomoric style, laboring under the impression that unless he made an
extraordinary exertion to influence the jury he would be quite eclipsed
by Lincoln in his closing speech. But he was completely taken back by
the unlooked-for light manner in which Lincoln treated the case in his
closing. Lincoln proceeded to reply but, in doing so he talked on
without making the slightest reference to the case on hearing or to the
argument of Mr. Conkling. His summing-up to the jury was to the
following effect: "Gentlemen of the jury: In early days there lived in
this vicinity, over on the Sangamon river, an old Indian of the Kickapoo
tribe by the name of Johnnie Kongapod. He had been taken in charge by
some good missionaries, converted to Christianity, and educated to such
extent that he could read and write. He took a great fancy to poetry and
became somewhat of a poet himself. His desire was that after his death
there should be placed at the head of his grave an epitaph, which he
prepared himself, in rhyme, in the following words:

"'Here lies poor Johnnie Kongapod;
Have mercy on him, gracious God,
As he would do if he were God
And you were Johnnie Kongapod.'"

Of course all this