Vickeinsteighner keeps a small grocery, a few doors below:  that is, Von, in a place scarcely large enough to turn his fat sides without coming in contact with the counter, sells onions, lager-beer, and whiskey; the last-named article is sure to be very bad, inasmuch as his customers are principally negroes.  Von is considered a very clever fellow, never a very bad citizen, and always on terms of politeness with a great many squires, and other members of the legal profession.  A perfect picture of the good-natured Dutchman is Von, as seen standing his square sides in his doorway, stripped to his sleeves, his red cap tipped aside, a crooked grin on his broad fat face, and his hands thrust beneath a white apron into his nether pockets.  Von has a great relish for squires and police officers, esteems them the salt of all good, nor ever charges them a cent for his best-brewed lager-beer.  There is, however, a small matter of business in the way, which Von, being rather a sharp logician, thinks it quite as well to reconcile with beer.  The picture is complete, when of a morning, some exciting negro case being about to be brought forward, Fetter and Von may be seen, as before described, standing importantly easy in their respective doors; while Felsh paces up and down the side-walk, seemingly in deep study.  On these occasions it is generally said Von makes the criminal “niggers,” Felsh orders them caught and brought before Fletter, and Fetter passes awful judgment upon them.  Now and then, Felsh will prosecute on behalf of the state, for which that generous embodiment of bad law is debtor the fees.

The city clock has struck twelve; Fetter stands in his doorway, his countenance wearing an air of great seriousness.  Felsh saunters at the outside, now and then making some legal remark on a point of the negro statutes, and at every turn casting his bleared eye up the street.  Presently, Nicholas is seen, his hands pinioned, and a heavy chain about his neck, approaching between two officials.  A crowd follows; among it are several patriotic persons who evince an inclination to wrest him from the officials, that they may, according to Judge Lynch’s much-used privileges, wreak their vengeance in a summary manner.  “The boy Nicholas is to be tried to-day!” has rung through the city:  curious lookers-on begin to assemble round the squire’s office, and Hanz Von Vickeinsteighner is in great good humour at the prospect of a profitable day at his counter.

“Bring the criminal in!” says Squire Fetter, turning into his office as Nicholas is led in,—­still bearing the marks of rough usage.  Rows of board seats stretch across the little nook, which is about sixteen feet wide by twenty long, the floor seeming on the verge of giving way under its professional burden.  The plaster hangs in broken flakes from the walls, which are exceedingly dingy, and decorated with festoons of melancholy cobwebs.  At the farther end is an antique book-case of pine slats, on which