But what, I ask, would be the use of
burdening oneself with the load of office, high or
low, if one did not thereby acquire a few
privileges unattainable by the vulgar herd?—
such, for instance, as peeping into letters, if
you are perched on the top of the tree, and of
making them pay a handsome toll, if you are
only nestled amongst the branches. I say,
poor lords and gentlemen who compassionately
undertake government for us, cannot go on
with their hands tied as they are; they ought
to be deputed to administer, to every unreasonable
grumbler a wholesome dose of the stick,
after the Arab fashion. However, the reader
shall judge for himself, whether Algeria does
not furnish a useful hint. He shall be indulged
with a glimpse into an Arab police-office, and
shall hear the Frenchman's own report; he
can then form his own conclusions, without
being influenced by the reporter's wrong-
headedness. Can you expect common-sense
from an officer of engineers, formerly a pupil
of the Polytechnic school?

The bureau itself is of simple aspect,
scarcely equal to Downing Street or the
Horse Guards. A plain one-storeyed house
has before its entrance-door a sort of courtyard
furnished with enormous benches, which
may be called an external antechamber. In
another large court, on the other side of the
building, a Moorish café displays its filth.
Within, an antechamber contiguous to the
door opens into an audience-room, which is
nude of every other decoration than a series
of broad benches. At one end stands a
writing-table and the curule chair of the
French-Arabian magistrate. A narrow
passage leads from the reception-room to the
deputy-magistrate's private cabinet, and also
to the police-offices, properly so called, wherein
a few privileged scribes follow their trade
of scratching ink-marks on paper as fast as
their fingers can go.

The actors who appear on this simple stage
are neither brilliant nor numerous. First,
there is the head of the bureau, or magistrate,
an official part, in the present instance
performed by M. Richard. His character
compels him to act as the representative of
European conquest and civilisation. Next is
the kadi of the Arab bureau; a raven's-
beaked face, consisting solely of a nose which
exceeds the limits allowed to the human
species—very stupid, but profoundly versed
in the holy books—never at a loss for a text
at the service of the constituted authorities—
unclean, and smelling offensively—clothes
spotted with black constellations, the sprinklings
of his writing-desk—buried behind his
principal's arm-chair in a heap of dusty and
disorderly books—indefatigable with the pen.
Thirdly (it ought to have been first) comes
the chaouch,—a combination of beadle, policeman,
drum-major, sheriff's officer, crier of the
court, and chief constable—an individual who
practises blind obedience, provided it does but
bring him in something—ready to wring his
own father's neck for the trifle of a douro
—(four-and-sixpence)—mousquetaire's face,
well-made figure, and tall enough to give a good
thrashing to whoever chose to run the risk of
one—highly respected and feared by the
vulgar—a very bad Mussulman, being strongly
addicted to strong liquors in secret—the
epitome of human impudence and villany
under a pleasing aspect. (It is right to say
what good we can.) In the wings, or side-
scenes, are the medjelés, or Mussulman
magistrates, who, for the most part, conceal
beneath an imposing dignity or an evangelical
simplicity of manners profound immorality,
but who, nevertheless, compose the highest
and the healthiest portion of Arab society.
Then there is a chorus of functionaries of
every grade, kaïds, cheiks, witnesses,
defendants, plaintiffs, spies, and divers personages,
besides equestrian supernumeraries known
as mekrazenis, indigenous horsemen in the
special service of the bureau. They are a
species of centaur divisible into two parts—
the man and the horse—who enjoy the feline
faculty of seeing in the dark, and of travelling
to any indefinite distance. Amorous as
they are of douros and good cheer, when
neither are to be had they are capable of
fasting for a fortnight—the equine just as
well as the human portion of the compound
animal.

M. Richard's chaouch, named Djilali, was
remarkable for astounding volubility of
speech, the result of unwearied practice; and
he often displayed it in public professions of
attachment to his chief, such as—"I am your
servant, your child, your slave, the sole of
your shoes. I acknowledge none but you
and Allah. Never will you find devotion
comparable to mine." If the worthy
magistrate ventured to hint that there was plenty
of time for such effusions of affection at
leisure moments, but that now he had better
go and attend to his business, Djilali would
retire, heaving such sighs as can only be
heaved by misunderstood souls and
undervalued hearts. But Djilali bestowed the
outpourings of his love on those below as well
as on those above him. One day, at the
audience-room, when a case had been disposed
of and another was coming on, the chaouch
went to the door, as if summoned by a
friendly voice, and at the same instant
entered El Hhadj Bou Zebel, a fellow who
had the run of the house, in consequence of
being employed in cleaning the stables and in
the transport of horse-manure. He held a
broom in his hand, and both his dress and
person bore evident traces which left no
doubt as to the nature of his functions. He
presented himself as a complainant in a state
of the greatest exasperation; and, to judge
from the indignation which he manifested, by
his gestures, and particularly by the evolutions
of his broom, you would have concluded
him to be the victim of some gross iniquity.
After a few stammered exclamations and