“Nirum Coger _vs._ Jacob Kettle”—plea, slander. “For that whereas the said defendant did on divers days and times, to wit, on the 4th day of July, A. D. 1847, being then and thereunder the influence of strong drink, and at the instigation of the devil, did, with sticks, staves and stones, to wit, with a sharp instrument commonly called the tongue, say, utter and publish, in the presence and hearing of divers respectable persons of the village, and to their great scandal, that he (meaning the said Nirum) was an infernal thief, and that he (meaning the said defendant) could prove it; and furthermore, that he (meaning the said Nirum) had stole a sheep and hid its ears in a stump,” &c. &c. &c. Here’s fun enough in prospect for the greatest stoic in the universe. “I will be there! At eleven o’clock—and it is within a few minutes of the time now. So I’ll e’en take a seat.” In a few minutes Nirum comes stumping over, on his crutches, from his little saddler’s shop opposite, and after him, mimicking his gait in the most ludicrous manner, comes his opponent, the most incorrigible vagabond in the whole village, not excepting “Loafing Joe” himself. Abe Kettle is certainly the very personification of blackguardism. “You are as great a vagabond as Abe Kettle,” is a perfect proverb throughout the place. This will be a rich trial, depend upon it. By and by the jury (the standing one of the village,) come stringing in, looking very solemn and important. Esquire Loop takes his seat at his desk, “spectacles on nose,” and calls over the case. “Nirum Coger.” “Here.” (Propping himself up on his crutches.) “Abraham Kettle.” “Here.” (Suddenly overtaken with lameness himself, and limping up to the desk.) “Gentlemen, are you ready to proceed?” “Yes, your honor,” squeaked little “Blackberry,” who was counsel for the plaintiff, and popping up from his chair. “I aint, your honor,” interrupts Abe. “Why not pray?” asks the justice, looking over his spectacles at him with a magisterial frown. “I haint got no witness.” “That’s your own fault, not mine. Constable, call the jury.” “I’ll make affidavy that it weren’t no lachees on my part, your honor. I hope Mr. Coger wont take no advantage nor nothen.” “You needn’t set there and lie, Abe Kettle,” says Nirum. “You haint got no witness anyhow, and you knows it.” “Well, heave ahead!” says Abe, taking his seat at the desk. “All I want is to criss-cross your witnesses, to show that this here suit is a spite suit. All spite and malice, your honor, _and_ nothen else.” “Constable call the jury,” again commands the justice, blowing his nose with a snort like that of a Pleasant Pond bull-frog.