or head clerk, who was reading or singing
aloud, the entire proceedings in the case then
pending.

The prisoner, surrounded by half a dozen
native policemen, all with drawn swords,
was standing ten paces off. Ever and
anon he interrupted the court by
protesting his innocence, and assuring the
sahib that the whole of the depositions were
false from beginning to end. This interruption
was usually—I may say, invariably—rebuked
by the words, "Choop raho, suer!" ("Hold
your tongue, you pig!") And, not
unfrequently, the nearest policeman accompanied
this mandate by giving the culprit a
smart blow on the back, or a dig in the ribs.
I have seen prisoners well thrashed in our
Indian court of justice by order of the
presiding magistrate, for talking out of their turn;
but that was not the case in the present
instance. No more violence was resorted to
than was absolutely necessary for the
maintenance of order and the progress of the trial.
The offence of which the prisoner stood
charged was that of forging a bond for five
hundred rupees, and suing thereon for
principal and interest. The defence was, that the
signature to the bond was not a forgery, and
that the money had been advanced to the
prosecutor; to prove which, no fewer than
seven witnesses were called. Each of them
swore, point blank, that, upon a certain day
and at a certain place, they saw the prisoner
pay over the money, and saw the prosecutor
execute the deed. To rebut this, the prosecutor
called eleven witnesses who swore, point
blank, that, upon the day and at the hour
mentioned as the day and hour on which the
deed was executed, they met the prosecutor
at a village forty miles distant from Bijnore.
In short, if their testimony was to be
relied upon, the eleven witnesses had proved an
alibi.

This was one of those cases which happen
continually in courts of justice in India; where
the magistrate or judge must not be, and is
not, guided by the oaths of the witnesses, but
entirely by circumstances. It is one of those
cases, too, in which it would be dangerous to
consult the native officers of the court; for,
having received bribes from both parties,
their advice would be dictated entirely
by pecuniary considerations. With them
the question would be simply out of which
party—the accused or the prosecutor—could
most money be got in the event of "guilty"
or "not guilty." With regard to the characters
of the witnesses, they are pretty equal,
and generally very bad on both sides.
Indeed, in nearly all these cases, the witnesses
are professionals; that is to say, men who are
accustomed to sell their oaths, and who
thoroughly understand their business. They
know exactly what to say when they come into
court, just as an actor who is letter perfect
in his part knows what to say when he comes
on the boards. In fact, a case is got up
exactly as a play is. Each man has his
particular part, and studies it separately;
before the day of trial comes, they meet and
rehearse, and go through "the business" till
they verily believe (such is my opinion) that
they are not perjured, but are speaking the
truth. As for shaking the testimony of men
so trained to speak to a certain string of
facts, I would defy the most eminent nisi
prius advocates in Europe. Besides, even if you
should reject one part of a statement, it does
not follow, in a native court, that you should
reject the whole. The price paid to these
professional witnesses depends, in a great
measure, on the nature and magnitude of the
cause. It is about twelve per cent, out of the
sum in dispute. I believe it is distributed
amongst the witnesses, and the like sum
amongst the native officers of the court. This,
of course, does not include little extra
presents given secretly to those who are
supposed to have the greatest amount of
influence with the sahib, and who pretend that
they will speak to him, favourably. The
personal servants, also, of the European
magistrate or judge expect some gratuity,
and hang about a client like the servants of
badly regulated hotels where attendance is
not charged in the bill. It is this that makes
litigations so expensive in India that even
the successful party is often ruined before the
suit is half concluded.

"Tiffin is ready, sahib," said the khansamah,
coming into the verandah, and placing,
his hands together in a supplicating attitude.
"It is on the table, sahib."

"Then we will adjourn," said the magistrate,
bowing to me, and rising. This was at
once the signal for breaking up the day's
proceedings.

The tiffin over, we began to play at whist,
and continued to do so until the sun had lost
his power, when the buggies were ordered,
and we took a drive in couples along a very
bad road. It fell to my lot to be the companion
of the magistrate, a very able and excellent
man: one of the most efficient officers in
the East India Company's civil service. He
was, moreover, an admirable linguist, and
spoke Hindoostanee as well as any native.

"You understood the proceedings to-day?"
he asked me.

"I followed them—yes."

"And you heard the evidence?"

"Yes."

"What would you say? Is he guilty or
not?"

"I cannot say, although I have thought a
good deal on the point. Even while we were
playing whist, to-day's proceedings were
uppermost in my mind. Nothing can be
clearer than that either one side or the other
is perjured."

"Both sides are perjured. If the bond be
genuine, the men who really witnessed the
execution, and who subscribed their names as
witnesses, will not come forward, or else they