WE are at court. The case is on. Poor Jobe, he is so worried and troubled and downhearted that he dont seem to enthuse when the officeseekin canderdates and polerticians are shakin of his hand and tellin him that “we got there, and are now ready for ’96,” &c., &c.

Jobe he jist takes it, and says: “Is that so?”

Not one of all them polerticians or canderdate fellers seems to know that one of their “old and respected citizens” is about to be foreclosed out of house and home. Not one of them seems to care if he does know. The leadinest idea in their minds is gittin office and enthusin over the election. But I notice some of them dident come near, but seem kinder cold toward Jobe. I spect they have heerd of the foreclosin and dont want to be seen in our company.

Well, we got to town this mornin and come strait to court. I jist felt as though the house would fall on me; I was so out of place.

But them lawyers and fellers what okepy that field over the fence from the common herd, they jist walked around and whispered, and tiptoed, and laffed, as though they was raised right there in that field all their useless lives. Some of them even had nice tables to put their feet on, and carpet and soft cheers and sich. Well, I spect the poor things were brought up tender like, and it would hurt them to git along with common things like taxpayers git along on.

Well, arter a while the judge come, and the officer opened court.

Then the case of

was called.

I felt like as if Ide faint—gone like.

The judge asked if the parties to the case were in court and ready for trial.

The lawyer for Congressman Richer got up and said he was “there and ready.”

Then the court called for the “defendant, Gaskins.”

Poor Jobe he jist sot still and looked as white as a ghost. He never moved.

I hunched him, and told him to “git up and answer.”

He said he couldent; he was sick.

The court, kinder mad like, called for “Gaskins” agin, when I riz up and says:

“Mistur Court, Gaskins is here, and I am Betsy Gaskins, the lawful wife of Jobe Gaskins, the defendant.”

“Whose your lawyer?” says the court.

“We haint got any,” says I.

“Youd better git counsel,” says the court, “if you desire to contest this case.”

“Will counsel keep us from bein foreclosed?” says I.

The judge said the case would be decided on the law and evidence.

“Then,” says I, “what do we need of counsel? You have the law, and we will give you the evidence, and if the court please, if our side needs any pleadin, Ile do it myself.”

I hadent them words out of my mouth till up jumped Mr. Richer’s lawyer and says:

“I ’bject.”

The court said that I could not do the pleadin, as I was not a party to the case, nor had I a license to practice before the court.

I riz up agin.

“Mistur Judge,” says I, “what difference does it make who I am or what I am, so long as I treat the court with respect, and know as much, or nearly as much, about this case as any lawyer we could hire?

“If the case, Mistur Judge, is to be decided on the law and evidence, and not on the pleadin, why cant I do what pleadin we need, as well as some lawyer?”

I sot down.

The judge looked at me a minit over his specks.

“Well, Mrs. Gaskins,” says he, “if we allowed anybody and everybody to come into our courts and represent a neighbor or friend, half our lawyers would have nothin to do. The law prohibiting this privilege is made so as to afford our attorneys a livelihood. While it sometimes proves a hardship to litigants, it would be a greater hardship on our lawyers if they dident have sich a law in their favor. However, Mrs. Gaskins, as this is a case of small importance, if the bar is willing I will permit you to say what you desire in behalf of the defendant.”

TurninTurnin to the lot of high-toned cattle over the fence from us, says he: “What do you say, gentlemen?”

They kind a hemmed and hawed and whispered together, and looked disgusted and disappinted and contemptible, and finally one of them says:

“We shant ’bject.”

And four or five of em got up and left, lookin like as if they had lost somethin.

Well, the judge invited us over into the field.

We went in, and I sot down by a table. The lawyer for Mr. Richer got up and stated his case. He said that he would prove that a number of years ago one Jobe Gaskins purchased from the Honorable D. M. J. Richer certain lands and tenements to the value of $3,800; that there has been but $1,700 paid on the amount; that there remains due and unpaid some $2,100, which is secured by mortgage. And he was there to pray for the foreclosure of said mortgage and sale of the premises to satisfy said claim.

He sot down.

I got up.

I says, says I: “Mistur Judge, this here case haint just exactly like that there lawyer said. We claim there haint no $2,100 still due Mr. Richer, although he has our notes and a mortgage for that amount. We claim that he has got nearly full value for all we got from him. We have paid him $1,700 of the principal and over $2,200 in interest. The land, for some cause, haint worth now as much as we paid for it, and we expect to prove that Jobe haint done anything to cause the land to fall in value. The land may now be worth $2,500, if we could find some one that had the money and wanted to buy land. If we are foreclosed and forced to sell it, it may not bring more than the $2,100 that he claims we owe him.

“Now, we want to be fair with Congressman Richer, Mistur Judge, and all we ask is that Mr. Richer and his likes what lends money be treated by the law and the courts the same as Jobe and his likes what owes money is treated.

“Now, as I said before, Mistur Judge, the farm is the same size as it was the day we bought it; the land is jist as good; the improvements are better. We have paid Mr. Richer his interest every year for sixteen years, and $1,700 besides.

“Now, Mistur Judge, wouldent it be fair for Mr. Richer to take the farm back and give us our $1,700? He would have jist what he had before we bought it, and he would have $2,212 interest money for the use of it, and we would have the $1,700 we have paid him over and above the interest.

“Or, if he dont want to do that, Mistur Judge, we will value the farm at $2,500, which is all or more than its worth to-day, and will pay him the difference between the $1,700 we already have paid and the $2,500, or $800, in cash.

“Now, Mistur Judge, this would be honest and fair, and he can take his choice, while if you foreclose us, and the farm at sheriff sale only brings $2,100, and Mr. Richer buys it in, he will have the farm he had at fust, our $1,700 principal and the $2,212 interest money we have paid him, or he will have the farm and $3,912 in money, and we in our old age will have nothin.”

When I was through the other lawyer got up and said sich argament was all bosh and contrary to law; that the court had too good sense to be governed by sich anachristic talk from a rattle-brained woman. At that, it bein noon, the court dismissed for dinner, without explainin why this was “a case of small importance.” It looks to me that its a purty tolerable important case to Jobe and me.