There they are, all of them related except Swaim and Duckworth and Taylor; and Duckworth, he is in the tie business along with Eddy. There is the family tree. All growing on the same tree, and there is a wonderful likeness in the fruit. Why, that Glasgow has as good a memory as Sconce. He remembers that this is the same will he saw—paper like that, and he swears—I think it is Sam Glasgow—that he did not read the contents or see a signature. And yet he comes here, twenty-five years afterwards, and swears it is the same paper. And then the paper was clean and now it is covered with all kinds and sorts of stains.

Now, gentlemen, take the signature of A. J. Davis, and I want you all to look at it. I say it is made of pieces. I say it is a patchwork. It is a dead signature. It has no personality—no vitality in it, and I want you to look at it, and look at it carefully. I say it is made of pieces. Of course every counterfeit that is worth anything, looks like the original, and the nearer it looks like the original the better the counterfeit. All the witnesses on the side of the proponent who have sworn that it is his signature, also swear that he wrote a rapid, firm hand—nervous, bold, free, and that he scarcely ever took his pen from the paper from the time he commenced his name until he finished; and I want you to look at that name. I will risk your sense; I will risk your judgment—honest, fair and free—whether that is a made signature, or whether it is the honest signature of any human being.

And now, gentlemen, one word more. I contend, first, that the evidence shows beyond all doubt that Job Davis did not write this will. Second, that it is shown beyond all doubt, that James R. Eddy did write this will, and that that evidence amounts to a demonstration. I claim that the will of 1880 was made precisely as E. W. Knight and Mr. Keith swear; that that will was utterly inconsistent with the will of 1866, even if that had been genuine; that it revokes that will, that its provisions were inconsistent, and that afterwards that will was destroyed, and that there is not one particle of evidence beneath the canopy of heaven to show that it was not made and to show that it was not destroyed.

And the Court will instruct you that the will of 1866, even if genuine, is not revived.

This is the end of the case. So I claim that the probabilities, the reason, the naturalness, are all on the side of the contestants in this case—all. And I tell you, that if the evidence can be depended on at all, A. J. Davis went to his grave with the idea that the law made a will good enough for him. Do you believe, if he were here, if he had a voice, that he would take this property and give it to John A. Davis; that he would leave out the children of the very woman who raised him; that he would leave out his other sisters, that he would leave out the children of his sisters and brothers? Do you believe it? I know that not one man on that jury believes it.

This case is in your hands. That property is in your hands. All the millions, however many there may be, are in your hands; they are to be disposed of by you under instructions from the Court as to the law. You are to do it. And, do you know, there is no prouder position in the world, there is no more splendid thing, than to be in a place where you can do justice. Above everybody and above everything should be the idea of justice; and whenever a man happens to sit on a jury in a case like this, or in any other important case, he ought to congratulate himself that he has the opportunity of showing, first, that he is a man, and second, of doing what in his judgment ought to be done, and there will never be a prouder recollection come to you hereafter than that you did your honest duty in this case. Say to this proponent: "If you wanted to show us that you got this will honestly, why didn't you swear it; if you wanted us to believe it was a genuine will, why didn't you have the nerve to take your oath that it is a genuine will?"

Now, you have the opportunity, gentlemen, of doing what is right. Your prejudice has been appealed to, but I say that you have the manhood, that you have the intelligence, and that you have the honesty to do exactly what you believe to be right; and whether you agree with me or not, I shall not call in question your integrity or your manhood. I am generous enough to allow for differences of opinion. But when you come to make up your verdict, I implore you to demand of yourselves the reasons; to be guided by what is natural; to be guided by what is reasonable. I want you to find that this will was found in the possession of Eddy in April or March, next in the hands of John A. Davis; and that John A. Davis dare not tell how he came in possession of it. John A. Davis, on the edge of the grave—for this world but a few days, and according to the law without that will he could have had an income of over fifty thousand a year. He was not satisfied with that. He wanted to take from his own brothers and sisters, wanted to leave his own blood in beggary.

He never saw the time in his life that he could earn five thousand a year—never. And he was not satisfied with fifty thousand—he wanted four and a half millions for himself. .

Gentlemen, I want you to do justice between all these heirs. I want you to show to the United States that you have the manhood, that you are free from prejudice, that you are influenced only by the facts, only by the evidence, and that being so influenced, you give a perfectly fair verdict—a verdict that you will be proud of as long as you live. How would you feel, to find a verdict here that this is a good will, and afterwards have it turn out to be what it is—an impudent, ignorant forgery?

Now, all I ask of you is to take this evidence into consideration. Don't be misled even by a Christian, or by a sinner, for that matter. Let us be absolutely honest with each other. We have been together for several weeks. We have gotten tolerably well acquainted. I have tried to treat everybody fairly and kindly, and I have tried to do so in this address.