LAW AND LATIN.

In the beginning of the settlement of the Minnesota valley, in the early fifties, a man named Tom Cowan located at Traverse des Sioux. His name will be at once recognized by all the old settlers. He was a Scotchman, and had been in business in Baltimore. Financial difficulties had driven him to the West, to begin life anew and grow up with the country. He was a very well read and companionable man, and exceedingly bright by nature, and at once became very popular with the people. His first venture was in the fur trade, but not knowing anything about it, his success was not brilliant. I remember that he once paid an immense price for a very large black bearskin, thinking he had struck a bonanza. He kept it on exhibition, until one day John S. Prince, who was an experienced fur buyer, dropped in, and after listening to Cowan's eulogy on his bear skin, quietly remarked: "He bear; not worth a d—n," which decision induced Tom to abandon the fur trade.

There being no lawyer but one at Traverse des Sioux, and I having been elected to the supreme bench, Mr. Cowan decided to study law, and open an office for the practice of that profession. He accordingly proposed that he should study with me, which idea I strongly encouraged, and after about six weeks of diligent reading, principally devoted to the statutes, I admitted him to the bar, and he fearlessly announced himself as an attorney and counselor at law. In this venture he was phenomenally successful. He was a fine speaker, made an excellent argument on facts, and soon stood high in the profession. He took a leading part in politics, was made register of deeds of his county, went to the legislature, and was nominated for lieutenant governor of the state after its admission into the Union; but, of course, in all his practice he was never quite certain about the law of his cases. This deficiency was made up by dash and brilliancy, and he got along swimmingly.

One day he came to my office and said: "Judgey, I am going to try a suit at Le Sueur to-morrow that involves $2,500. It is the biggest suit we have ever had in the valley, and I think it ought to have some Latin in it, and I want you to furnish me with that ingredient." I said: "Tom, what is it all about? I must know what kind of a suit it is before I can supply the Latin appropriately, and especially as I am not very much up in Latin myself."

He said the suit was on an insurance policy; that he was defending on the ground of misrepresentations made by the insured on the making of the policy, and he must have some Latin to illustrate and strengthen his point.

I mulled over the proposition, looked up some books on maxims, and finally gave him this, "Non haec in federe veni," which I translated to mean, "I did not enter into this contract." He was delighted, and said there ought to be no doubt of success with the aid of this formidable weapon, and made me promise to ride down with him to hear him get it off. So the next day we started, and in crossing the Le Sueur prairie, Cowan was hailed by a man who said he was under arrest for having kicked a man out of his house for insulting his family, and he wanted Tom to defend him. The justice's court was about a mile from the road, in a carpenter shop, the proprietor of which was the justice. Tom told him to demand a jury, and he would stop on his way back and help him out.

When we arrived at Le Sueur we found that the case could not be heard that day, and, starting homeward, about four o'clock we reached the carpenter shop. There we found the jury awaiting us. We hitched the team, and I spread myself comfortably on a pile of shavings to witness the legal encounter. The complaining party proved his case. Cowan put his client on the witness stand, and showed the provocation. Then he addressed the jury. His defense was, want of criminal intent. He dwelt eloquently on the point that the gist of the offense was the intent with which the act was committed, and when it appeared that the act was justified, there could be no crime. Then, casting a quizzical glance at me, he struck a tragic attitude, and thundered out: "Gentlemen of the jury, it is indelibly recorded in all the works of Roman jurisprudence, 'Non haec in federe veni,' which means there can be no crime without criminal intent." The effect was electrical; the jury acquitted the prisoner, and we drove home fully convinced that the law was not an exact science. With what effect Tom utilized his Latin in the insurance suit I have forgotten, or was never advised.

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