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THE GREEN BAG

witness from Crestline, an old German by the name of Schneider, had in his broken language given a very damaging bit of testi mony. Tyler sought to confuse the old gen tleman, and started in to make him ridiculous. He glared at the witness for a moment and then shouted at him: ' What's your name? ' Meekly came the answer, ' Schneider." ' Oh, your name vas Schneider,' mimicking the broken German of the old man. ' Well, Schnei der, don't you vant to buy a dog? ' ' Vy, no; was you for sale? " Hardly had the laugh, which the court was powerless to suppress, died away, when Tyler rejoined, ' No, I'm sold,' with such a look of whimsical innocence on his face that he turned the laugh in his favor." "Yes," said the other, " a lawyer has to think pretty quickly sometimes, and about as good an example of the quick retort that I now think of was given in a trial before a justice, in which the attorneys engaged were two young lawyers, one of whom, being pretty well off had already purchased a very fine library of which he was exceedingly proud. The other not being blessed with a super abundance of this world's goods, had not yet been able to acquire any library to speak of. During the trial the attorney minus the library had at every conceivable opportunity emphasized the fact that the ' law of the case ' was in his favor, and in his opening argument made a long effort to prove that the law was with his client. In answering the argument the other attorney said: ' What does he know about the law? What law books has he ever read? Why, he hasn't even a single text-book in his office. All the law books he has are a few annuals that he got at the auditor's office for nothing, and an old copy of " Swan's Treat ise" that some kind friend gave him.' He then argued his side of the case and sat down. In reply to the opening of the answer, his oppo nent said: ' Yes, if it please the court, I admit that I am a poor man. I had no rich father to buy me law books and line the walls of my office with volumes of legal lore, but ' — with a dramatic gesture, laying his hand upon his forehead, ' my library is here," and seeking to produce a deeper effect, he paused, but alas, the pause was fatal, as immediately came the response, ' Yes, bound just like mine, in calf.'

"Speaking about law books reminds me of a little incident that happened in our circuit court here, Judge Beer presiding. A young lawyer was about to argue his first case in that court, and before beginning he dragged a big table out in front of the judges' bench and simply covered it with law books. After he had them all arranged to suit, the court meantime looking on in silence, he cleared his throat and began: ' May it please the court, in support of my position, I desire to cite a few authorities,' and as he turned to reach a volume and open it at the place previously marked, Judge Beer said, ' Young man, are you going to read to us from all those books? ' ' Yes, sir, your Honor.' ' If you do we'll beat you sure,' was the comment of the presiding judge, and evi dently heartily concurred in by the entire bench, if their confirmatory nods were any indication of their feelings. At any rate the young man was wise enough to skip the books and argue his point directly to the court. "Speaking of Judge Beer reminds me of one that he tells on himself. You know that the judge served several terms on the common pleas bench, and afterwards was elected to the circuit court, where he was recognized as an able jurist and an affable, courteous gen tleman. The judge, as the years went by, grew not only in legal wisdom but also in girth measurement, until he was, and still is, an ideal ' Shakespearian justice.' Well, re cently, the judge made a visit to the home of his boyhood, Ashland, Ohio, where he called upon an old German shoemaker that he had not seen for many years. The old shop was there, as it had been when the judge was a boy, but as the judge weighs considerable over two hundred pounds, he very nearly occupied all the available space in the little cobbler shop. The old German was pegging away at a pair of cowhide boots, as the judge entered, and looking up, he gave the judge a careless greeting and kept on with his work. Finally the judge said: ' Jake, you do not seem to know me.' ' No. I don't; who vas you?' ' Why I am Tom Beer, that used to come into your shop years ago, a little barefooted boy.' ' Oh, you vas Tom Beer, vas you? Veil, vat you doin', Tom? ' ' I am on the bench,' re sponded the judge. ' On the bench, hey?' You was a shoemaker too, vas you? ' 'No,