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 The Editor's Bag An English judge named Day was not noted for the clearness of his intellect. "If a cause were tried before Day it would be tried in the dark." JUDICIAL CREDIT IN trying to collect a small claim recently in a distant state, the Green Bag received the following report from its local correspondent: — "This man is county judge here but is absolutely worthless for his debts. The saloon element keeps him in office to serve their interests. He owes every body who will credit him. I therefore return claim." P. S. — County judges reading this will please not think we mean anything personal. A STRANGER IN THE SUPREME COURT "rT*HE apparel oft proclaims the A man," said Polonius. He was judicious in not substituting always for "oft." For, not unfrequently, it has been found that the finest bird is not the one that wears the finest feathers. Years ago, the staid citizens of Wash ington were astonished one morning at the appearance of a strange figure in their streets. He was dressed in an old pair of corduroys, ripped at the ankle for convenience in rolling up, a drab overcoat much the worse for wear and furnished with several capes, hung at his heels. Worn-out, untied, unbuckled shoes, and a queer-looking old hat com pleted his costume. Solemnly he stalked through the streets, six feet in height, leading a little black, rough-haired filly, her tail matted with burs. A pair of small saddle-bags hung over the saddle, in which were stuffed papers, and gingerbread, and cheese. Stopping at an obscure tavern, he put up his mare and relieved himself

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of his big coat. Into one of the pockets of a short gray linsey roundabout he stuffed some bread and cheese, and into the other a bundle of law-papers, tied with a yarn string. Inquiring the way to the Supreme Court, he walked forth, the wonder of the negroes and idle boys. Arriving at the court, he sauntered within the bar, took a seat, and began munching bread and cheese. The lawyers and spectators smiled at the awkward coun tryman on his first visit to the capital. Soon a case was called which seemed to interest the countryman. It in volved the title to a large tract of land lying in the "Green River country" of Kentucky. A Mr. Taylor of Virginia, a leading lawyer, began his argument by a state ment of facts. All at once the country man stopped munching, and tapping the counsel on the back, corrected one of his "facts." The lawyer paused, frowned at the busybody, and continued. The country man resumed his munching, and in a few minutes again corrected the counsel. "I beg the court to protect me from the impertinence of that person," said Taylor, with much irritation. Taylor finished his argument, an able one, and then, to the amazement of the judges, the bar, and the spectators, the stranger rose to reply. His manner was wholly changed. He stood as if he had practised in that Court all his profes sional life. His argument was so clear and forcible, and his reply to the oppo sition so masterly, that the Court and bar looked as if they doubted their eyes and ears. Mr. Taylor seemed paralyzed. The perspiration rolled from his brow. The rustic he had sneered at seemed a legal giant. Everyone asked, "Who is he?" It was Joe Daviess, one of the best