“Honorable but erring stranger,” replied the famous jurist, “if we permitted the prisoner in a murder trial to urge such a consideration as that—­if our laws recognized any other justification than that he believed himself in peril of immediate death or great bodily injury—­nearly all assassins would make some such defense.  They would plead insanity of some kind and degree, and it would be almost impossible to establish their guilt.  Murder trials would be expensive and almost interminable, defiled with perjury and sentiment.  Juries would be deluded and confused, justice baffled, and red-handed man-killers turned loose to repeat their crimes and laugh at the law.  Even as the law is, in a population of only one hundred million we have had no fewer than three homicides in less than twenty years!  With such statutes and customs as yours we should have had at least twice as many.  Believe me, I know my people; they have not the American respect for human life.”

As blushing is deemed in Batrugia a sign of pride, I turned my back upon the speaker—­an act which, fortunately, signifies a desire to hear more.

“Law,” he continued, “is for the good of the greatest number.  Execution of an actual lunatic now and then is not an evil to the community, nor, when rightly considered, to the lunatic himself.  He is better off when dead, and society is profited by his removal.  We are spared the cost of exposing imposture, the humiliation of acquitting the guilty, the peril of their freedom, the contagion of their evil example.”

“In my country,” I said, “we have a saying to the effect that it is better that ninety-nine guilty escape than that one innocent be punished.”

“It is better,” said he, “for the ninety-nine guilty, but distinctly worse for everybody else.  Sir,” he concluded with chilling austerity, “I infer from their proverb that your countrymen are the most offensive blockheads in existence.”

By way of refutation I mentioned the English, indignantly withdrew from the country and set sail for Gokeetle-guk, or, as we should translate the name, Trustland.

THE JUMJUM OF GOKEETLE-GUK

Arriving at the capital of the country after many incredible adventures, I was promptly arrested by the police and taken before the Jumjum.  He was an exceedingly affable person, and held office by appointment, “for life or fitness,” as their laws express it.  With one necessary exception all offices are appointive and the tenure of all except that is the same.  The Panjandrum, or, as we should call him, King, is elected for a term of ten years, at the expiration of which he is shot.  It is held that any man who has been so long in high authority will have committed enough sins and blunders to deserve death, even if none can be specifically proved.

Brought into the presence of the Jumjum, who graciously saluted me, I was seated on a beautiful rug and told in broken English by an interpreter who had escaped from Kansas that I was at liberty to ask any questions that I chose.