ryots of Bengal, or the fanatics of Nowgory;
and, if a police-officer did not speedily find his
way to the spot supported by a sufficient force
to uphold his authority, he would have to answer
for it to his superior officers. The natives of
India do not value life as dearly as we do, and a
disturbance generally terminates fatally to one
or two concerned in it. It may happen that a
village objects to an income tax, or a new
license tax, and, if it have the advantage of
overwhelming numbers, the unfortunate
collector fares ill. Hardly two years since,
Lieutenant Singer, deputy commissioner of
Nowgory, rode out a short distance from the station
to make some inquiries into the disaffection
manifested by the natives of a village regarding
taxation, when he was met by a number of men
with clubs, who at first threw down their
weapons at his suggestion, but seized them again
while he was endeavouring to collect them,
attacked and killed him on the spot, and
afterwards threw his body into a river. This was
before the new police system was in existence,
but affrays of the kind are very frequent even
now, though generally unattended with loss of
European lives.

The peace of a district depends greatly on
the officers of the police. If they be vigilant and
hard-working, and take care that their men do
their duty, outbreaks are rare, and dissatisfaction
is excited only by those who sooner or
later find their proper level on the stone
pavement of the district prison. Amongst other
duties too numerous to give in detail, is the
constant visiting of outposts by the officers to
ascertain that the inspectors and overseers are
discharging their duties faithfully. Bribery and
corruption are notorious in all native officials
however high their position may be, and, to
prevent this, is in itself no light work.

The prospect of promotion in the Bengal
police for officers is very good. A young
fellow entering the service at eighteen or
nineteen years of age, on two hundred-and-fifty
rupees per month, or three hundred pounds a
year, will—if he be steady, pass his examination,
and thoroughly do his duty—probably by
the time that he is five-and-twenty, find
himself in the receipt of six hundred pounds per
annum. There may be Dowbs in the police
of Bengal, as well as in every other service;
but, as a rule, the promotion is very fair
indeed, and is given to those who best
deserve it.

All the appointments are in the sole gift of
the Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, to whose
impartiality, firmness, and vigilance, the excellent
working of the system is mainly due.
When it first came into operation, the higher
grades were filled almost entirely by officers
of the army. Captains and subalterns of
twelve and fifteen years' standing, and even
field-officers, were only too glad to get into a
service that was so well paid. It cannot long
continue to be officered by military men
however, for the simple reason that promotion must
be given, when vacancies occur, according to
seniority and good service; and, as military men
will not, as a rule, consent to enter as third class
assistant superintendents, on two hundred and
fifty rupees per annum, in time the force will
be officered entirely by men whom it has brought
up and trained.

According to the present rules, it is not
necessary to pass any examination before
appointment, eighteen months being allowed to all
officers to acquire a knowledge of Hindustanee,
Bengalee, law—as far as it relates to the police
code—and a general knowledge of police duties;
if, however, a candidate fail to pass his examination
within the prescribed period, the appointment
is forfeited.

Besides the monthly salaries attached to each
office, there is a travelling allowance equal to
one shilling per mile, whenever an officer is
required to move about his district; and this,
together with office allowances, adds sometimes
considerably to his pay. The expenses on
appointment are solely incurred for uniform,
saddlery, and a couple of horses.

The Bengal police is a very healthy, pleasant,
and exciting service, and affords appointments
which we doubt not many young men in
England will be glad to know of.

WATCHING AT THE GATE.

WHY was it that, on the twenty-fourth of
July, 'sixty-two, a luxurious suite of rooms in
the Hôtel des Ambassadeurs, at Toulon, seemed
to me the most uncomfortable place on earth?
the sofas too hard, the bed too soft, the carpets
oppressively yielding, the windows, whether
open or closed, equally wrong. Why could I
neither work, nor read, nor write? Why
did my piano produce frightful discords, my
head ache, my heart throb?

For this reason. I had passed a long morning
in the dockyards—sheltering myself from the
fierce influence of that southern sun under
whatever patches of shade I could find—and
watching, from thence, strings of felon men,
ironed, and at work. The sun's rays, reflected
from every object—pavement, water, sand, iron
—were almost insupportable.

"How fatiguing it is," observed one of our
company, "to walk through a dockyard!"

"Try working in it," said another.

We formed a small party of fifty-two. By
the courtesy of the authorities, all strangers,
furnished with a proper pass—obtained at the
Admiralty-office, close at hand—are admitted at
a certain hour.

An intelligent official had the duty of attending
us, and commenced with an earnest, almost
solemn exhortation that we should "keep
together." From beginning to end of our
progress, this poor man was in a fever of anxiety
lest we should separate and stray. If an
unlucky sheep did for an instant quit the
flock, our guide became almost wild with
excitement and rage, rushing after the missing
one, capturing him with little ceremony, and