are promiscuously thrown sundry venerable-looking works on law, papers, writs, specimens of minerals, branches of coral, aligators’ teeth, several ship’s blocks, and a bit of damaged fishing-tackle.  This is Felsh’s repository of antique collections; what many of them have to do with his rough pursuit of the learned profession we leave to the reader’s discrimination.  It has been intimated by several waggishly-inclined gentlemen, that a valuable record of all the disobedient “niggers” Fetter had condemned to be hung might be found among this confused collection of antiquities.  A deal table, covered with a varnished cloth, standing on the right side of the room, and beside which a ponderous arm-chair is raised a few inches, forms Fetter’s tribune.  Hanging from the wall, close behind this, is a powder-horn and flask, several old swords, a military hat somewhat broken, and sundry other indescribable things, enough to make one’s head ache to contemplate.

The office is become crowded to excess, the prisoner (his hands unpinioned, but the heavy chain still about his neck!) is placed in a wooden box fronting the squire’s table, as a constable is ordered to close the court.  It is quite evident that Fetter has been taking a little too much on the previous night; but, being a “first-rate drinker,” his friends find an apology in the arduousness of his legal duties.  In answer to a question from Felsh, who has been looking at the prisoner somewhat compassionately, the serving constable says two of the jury of “freeholders” he has summoned have not yet made their appearance.  Fetter, who was about to take his seat in the great chair, and open court, politely draws forth his watch, and after addressing a few words to the persons present, on the necessity of keeping order in a court with such high functions, whispers a few words in Felsh’s ear, holding his hand to his mouth the while.

“Maintain order in court!” says Fetter, nodding his head to the official; “we will return in five minutes.”  Soon they are seen passing into Von’s crooked establishment, where, joined by a number of very fashionable friends, they “take” of the “hardware” he keeps in a sly place under the counter, in a special bottle for his special customers.  Having taken several special glasses, Fetter is much annoyed at sundry remarks made by his friends, who press round him, seeming anxious to instruct him on intricate points of the “nigger statutes.”  One hopes he will not let the nigger off without a jolly good hanging; another will bet his life Felsh takes care of that small item, for then his claim on the state treasury will be doubled.  And now, Fetter finding that Felsh, having imbibed rather freely of the liquid, hath somewhat diminished his brilliant faculties, will take him by the arm and return into court.  With all the innate dignity of great jurists they enter their sanctum of justice, as the usher exclaims, “Court!  Court!-hats off and cigars out!”