the court, begins to read the Roobookarree, or
report, sent in by the Thannadar, or
inspector of police, of the crime charged against
Peer Bux—a naked semi-savage who stands
with legs fettered, and hands clasped in a
pitiable attitude in front of "The Presence."
The report, in high-flown Hindostanee, sets
forth how the Thannadar, a perfect miracle
of zeal, had received intimation that a
murder had been committed in a sugar-cane
plantation, a mile or two from the village
where he had his head-quarters—said village
being forty-seven miles from the magistrate's
station; how he, the Thannadar, animated by
a laudable anxiety to discover the perpetrator
of the foul deed, had employed every art, not
omitting the agency of fees (which he trusted
the magistrate would reimburse him), that
could conduce to that end; how, after
unwearied perseverance, sustained by the good
fortune of the magistrate himself—whose
shadow, Thaunadar humbly hoped, would
never undergo diminution—he had succeeded
in finding the dead and mangled body of the
murdered man; how he had likewise been
able to collect the evidence of several persons
of credit, a cowherd, a husbandman, a grain-
seller, and a peon, each of whom had heard
cries and seen a man, whom they will swear
is the prisoner at the bar, running away;
how the man himself, after being caught some
days later in the bosom of his family,
hypocritically affected ignorance of the
circumstances alleged against him; but admitted
that he and the deceased had had a quarrel
about a patch of sugar-cane; and finally, how
he had confessed his crime, and thrown
himself upon the mercy of the Thannadar, whose
stern sense of duty forbade his yielding a
point which would have compromised the
future safety of the lives of the villagers. All
this—read in a drowsy tone—to the
accompaniment of the "hubble, bubble" of the
hookah, the soft creaking of the punkah,
and the murmurs and wails of the crowd
in the verandah, occasionally broken by the
sharp injunctions of the burkandaze that
silence should be preserved—has a peculiarly
mesmeric effect upon me; and I am only
aroused from the comatose state by a nudge
from the Collector and Magistrate, who
informs me that he is going to examine the
witnesses. The depositions are before him,
and he forthwith commences a species of
cross-questioning which elicits a multitude of
very crooked answers.

"Ameer Singh!"

The cowherd is placed in the witness box.
He is a Hindoo. A bottle of Ganga panee
(the water of the Ganges) is placed in his
palms, and he swears by its pure and holy
influence to speak the truth.

"What do you know about this business?"

Ameer Singh glibly tells the tale, deviating
very slightly from his deposition.

The Presence calmly puffs his hookah to the
end of the story.

"Now, on what day was it that you heard
the cries 'Wah wah—I am murdered! '"

"My lord knows that it was on the twelfth
of May, as your slave has said."

"At what time of the day?"

"Your slave did not notice the time. The
sun was shining."

"Might it not have been at the sun
setting?"

"It might, my lord."

"On your oath—was it not during the
night?"

"How can your servant say? It may have
been in the night."

"The middle of the night?" (Hubble.)

"As your lordship pleases."

"And what were you doing in the fields
at the time?" (Bubble.)

"What should your unworthy slave do but
tend his cows?"

"Are they not driven home at night?"
(Hubble.)

"Your lordship has said it—it is my lord's
pleasure."

"You swear then," said Jumps, without
smiling, "that in the middle of the night
while you were tending your cattle in the
fields, which were at home, you heard cries
in the day-time? " (Hubble, bubble.)

The witness, in a state of bewilderment,
repeated that what he had said was the
truth. Thannadar knew his family; Maun
Sing, Jemadar, his cousin's brother, had heard
these things.

"Stand down."

Murdaree, the husbandman, is next placed
on the floor, with the ordinary exhortations
to veracity.

Magistrate—"You have heard the
deposition?"

"Cherisher of the poor—the words are
truth."

"When you heard the cry of ' Murder! '
what did you do?"

"Your Highness's slave stood surprised."
(Great sensation.)

"Why did you not run after the prisoner
and seize him?"

"The blood of your slave was turned to
water, and he feared to encounter the assassin."

"But did you not report the circumstance?
Did you not give the alarm?"

"Why should I deny it? Is it not written
by the Thannadar that I informed Mahomed
Khan, the village watchman?"

"When? at what time?"

"Your lordship's slave waited till the night;
and, when he had returned home and said
his prayers, he called Mahomed Khan and
informed him of what he had seen."

"That same night ? " (Bubble.)

"As your lordship speaks—that night."

"Stand down."

Mahomed Khan, a handsome young
Chowkeydar, is called, and sworn on the Koran.
He folds his arms (a mark of respect), twirls
his moustachios, and slightly hems.