And now—being assigned, or otherwise engaged, what shall the _honest_ lawyer do? He must be faithful to his client, happen what may—but is he required to lie for him? to foreswear himself? As “the indiscriminate defender of right and wrong,” to borrow the words of Jeremy Bentham, “seeking truth in the competition of opposite analogies,” according to Blackstone, shall he undertake to get the fellow clear—to bring him off—against law, and against evidence? If such be the meaning of that faithfulness to his client, what becomes of his faithfulness to God?—to his fellow man—to himself? And yet, where is the great Advocate who does not glory in doing just this? and who has not gained his whole reputation by just such cases, and no others? There stands the murderer, with garments rolled in blood. There stands his counsel, giving him aid and comfort, under the sanction of law, with his right hand lifted to Heaven, and swearing to a belief in the utter groundlessness of the charge, and calling upon Jehovah himself to witness for him, that he speaks the truth! Such things have happened, and are happening every day; and these honest lawyers are still suffered to go at large, unrebuked and unappalled: nay, worse—for by these very practices they get famous and grow rich and secure the patronage—that’s the very word—the _patronage_ of all the inexorable and shameless villains and cut-throats in the community. But if the lawyer may not do these things _honestly_, what may he do for the help of his client? He may lay his hand reverently upon the statute book. He may show that the law does not reach the case charged upon the prisoner at the bar, and that he must therefore go free—though his right hand be dripping and his garments be stiffened with blood. He may show that the only witness against him is unworthy of belief, on account of self-contradictions, or utter worthlessness; or that he has become disqualified, by the commission of some offense that incapacitates him for life; and, by producing the record of his conviction, he may oblige the court to let the prisoner go free. All this he may do, and still be an honest man. Yet more. Having satisfied himself of the innocence of the accused; or of the probability that the witnesses are mistaken, or dishonest, or that they have conspired together to destroy a fellow creature, doomed to death by public opinion without proof; he may put forth all his strength, and appear in “panoply complete,” heedless of all consequences, to save him—provided only that he sticks to the truth, and is honest in what he says or does. I care not how eloquent he may be, nor how able or ingenious—the more eloquent and able and ingenious the better, and I shall reverence him all the more as an Advocate and as a Man.