poor Ryot has small chance of passing the
threshold: the very attempt to do so subjects
him to cruel, undying persecution. In other
places, Ceylon amongst the rest, matters are
widely different. There, so broad and open
is the highway to the law, that none are shut
out from it; but unfortunately the Cingalese
are fond of disputation in every shape: having
a natural dislike to do, they make up the
deficiency in talk. In addition to which, their
innate love of importance is gratified by the
reflection that for their sake, and at their
instance, the "great Europe master," as
they term the judge, is busily occupied,
wig and gown included, for days together.
So powerful has this Cingalese passion for
litigation become, that it is matter of
notoriety, in that country, that legal proceedings
are instituted in cases involving no
greater stake than the one-fourth part of a
cocoa-nut tree, or the sixteenth share of
a ricketty mud dwelling. Nor is this the
worst feature in this state of things: the
litigious spirit begets a host of evil passions in
family circles, leading not unfrequently to acts
of violence and even bloodshed. So strongly
has this passion for law taken hold of the
native population that there are very few
Cingalese who will not willingly risk their
little all to carry some frivolous point against
a neighbour, or a near and dear relation.
This state of society has raised up a race of
harpies of the law, whose name is truly
Legion, who thrive on the follies of the
litigants, and who too frequently fan the
slumbering embers into a blazing flame.

Of all the strange scenes which in the East
strike a new comer with their novelty, few
appear so remarkable as a Cingalese court of
justice. There is in it such an odd jumble of
western and eastern life—of European forms
and Oriental fashions, that the beholder,
gazing on the scene for the first time, feels
rather at a loss to know if he be in a court of
law, at a mock auction, or a debating club.

Nor is it only in externals that there is this
curious kaleidoscoping of things. The internal
condition of the law itself is a mass of patchwork,
made up of Kandyan law, Roman-Dutch
law, Scotch law, and English law. The judges
are often as perplexed as the advocates, to say
by which law a case should be tried,
consequently there is not a little curious pea-and-thimbling
amongst the sharp practitioners to
serve their own purposes, and perplex dame
Justice.

The Quarter-Sessions were on at Colombo .
with a rather smart sprinkling of cases for the
three judges who were sitting in full tribunal,
when I paid my first visit to the legal quarters
situated outside the fort, at some little
distance. The origin of these Courts being
removed from the precincts of the fort is
curious. It is said that during the Dutch
sway in Ceylon, when the Supreme Court
held its sitting within the fortified walls of
Colombo, an attempt was made by the then
governor, Rip Van-something, to overawe the
judges in some case in which he was officially
interested, whereupon they claimed from their
High Mightinesses of the Netherlands the
privilege of holding session without the walls,
which was granted, and has been continued ever since.

A ride to the Courts at Hulfsdorp,
overlooking the long busy town of Colombo, is by
no means a pleasant affair on a hot, choking
day, during the dry weather. The red, scorching
dust blinds and burns one like so much
quick-lime. The stench from many a dried up
ditch and stagnant drain blends harmoniously
with the effluvia from the bazaars around;
where fish and meat blister and blacken in
the burning sun, while files of dozing, oily
natives lay steaming upon heaps of filth,
adding their own unclean aroma to the hot
sickly atmosphere.

The neighbourhood is dense, teeming with
dirt and children. The coffin-makers are
driving a roaring trade, especially one by the
arrack tavern, for half of the street round the
corner died the night previously of putrid
fish, sour pineapples, and stagnant drains,
and the other half were expected to die on
the next day. I urged my sorry hack ,on at
the top of his speed, fully five miles an hour,
past the crazy old Dutch houses and the dusty
tumble-down Moormen's dwellings, up the
steep hill, on the brow of which stood a whole
colony of buildings, large and small, old and
new. This spot was Hulfsdorp, whence, in
days long past, the Dutch army which
besieged ancient Colombo—then in the hands of
the Portuguese—poured a storm of shot upon
the fortifications. It was, afterwards, the
country residence of the Dutch governors, the
present Supreme Court-House having been
tenanted by a long line of sovereign Mynheers.

The spot is pleasant enough after the
dreadful streets below, commanding a fine
view over the fort to seaward, and enjoying
an occasional breeze, when there is any. A
portion of the great square block of buildings
behind the large gates, facing the road, is
devoted to the Supreme Court, another part
to the District Court, and a third to the
Court of Requests, and sundry offices of
Record. Around and about this pile of law
has sprung up a busy mass of quaint, queer-looking
edifices of all shapes, styles, and sizes.
These are the houses of business of the
fraternity of proctors, Dutch, Portuguese, Tamil,
and Cingalese, who, if they, as some malicious
people say, be really inflicted on the natives
as a chastisement for their shortcomings,
certainly do their best to fulfill their mission.
Each doorway was choked up by hungry
applicants for law: groups of litigants
squatted beneath the clumps of dusty bananas
in the little nubbly court-yard in front, counting
up their witnesses bought at a dollar
a head. In the East, witnesses are commercial
articles, not for export it is true, but
for home use, and are valued by a well