passing Friberg and Pontet's, just look in and
tell them—O! how like you are to your dear
mother! I can remember her when she was
thought, and truly, to be one of the prettiest
women in all Europe! Charming eyes—
lovely complexion! Well, look in at
Friberg and Pontet's."

"Yes, General."

"And tell them to send me a canister of
the Duke of Kent's mixture. O! how very
like you are to your dear mother, my pretty
boy! The last they sent me had scent in it.
Tell them I hate scent in snuff."

"Yes, General."

"O! how VERY like you are to your dear
mother!"

(The General had never seen the boy's
mother in the course of his long and useless
life.)

"Yes, General."

"Well, do not forget the snuff."

"O, no, General! Good night!"

"God bless thee, my pretty boy! O! how
like you are to your dear mother!"

I do not mean to say that General Sir
Doodle Dudley was an average specimen of
the General officers sent out by the Horse
Guards to command divisions in India. That
would be untrue: for some, though very old
and inefficient, could see, hear, and
understand. But, within the past ten years, some
others that I know of have been sent out,
to Bengal alone, who were not one whit
more efficient than General Sir Doodle
Dudley.

The nights being more enjoyable, comparatively,
than the days, no wonder that they
are rarely given up for sleep by the majority
of military men or younger civilians in India.
Of course, married men with families must,
and do, for the most part, lead regular lives,
or, at all events, conform to some fixed
domestic rules. But it is not so with the
unmarried, who take their rest (sleep) much
in the same way that inveterate drunkards
take their drink—"little and often." You
will see a young officer playing at billiards at
half-past two or three in the morning, and
at five you will see him on the parade-ground
with his company. He has had his sleep and
his bath, and, to use his own words, he "feels
as fresh as a three-year-old." Between
seven and twelve he will also have an hour
or so of "the balmy," and then, after tiffin,
he will perhaps get a few winks while reading
the newspaper or a book, or while sitting
on the bench in the billiard-room, "watching
the game." Have these young men, it may
be asked, nothing to do? Have they no
occupation? Yes. They have to keep
themselves alive and in good spirits, and that is
no easy task either, in the hot weather of
the Upper Provinces. Some of them (a few)
in the East India Company's Service will
take to studying the languages, in the hope
that proficiency therein will lead to staff
employ. Those, however, who do not happen to
have good interest to back their claims soon
find out that the order of the Governor-
General in Council touching a knowledge of
the Native languages is a mere sham; and
that ignorance, clothed with interest, is—so
far as advancement in life is concerned—far
preferable to a well-stored head and a steady
character.

WANTED, A SECRETARY.

I THINK the first effort I made to obtain
any important post was in a parochial direction:
I went in for assistant vestry clerk of
the large and influential parish of Saint
Spankus. In obedience to a very promising
and inviting advertisement which appeared
three times consecutively in the two leading
newspapers, I sent in my application,
carefully worded and neatly written, sealed,
indorsed, and directed, accompanied by
numerous and satisfactory testimonials, to the
chairman of the vestry, and awaited
impatiently the morning appointed for a personal
attendance. It came at last, and dressed in
what I considered the most judicious and
becoming style, I proceeded to the vestry hall.
I was twenty years of age, prepossessing in
appearance, tolerably well-educated, a good
penman, a better accountant, a skilful
correspondent, and a person who might have
been entrusted with the keys of the cellars of
the Bank of England. All these qualities—
and many more—my testimonials set forth as
only testimonials can, and do; and I
considered myself extremely well armed for the
contest.

When I arrived at the scene of battle, I
found about forty competitors assembled, of
all ages, sizes, and appearances. Some were
mere lads, far younger than the age specified
in the advertisement (between twenty and
thirty); some were evidently men near forty,
perhaps, with families at home, anxiously
waiting to know their fate; others were
jaunty youths who lived with their
parents, and who did not care much whether
their application turned out a success or a
failure.

There was one man present whose air of
carefully prepared respectability, covering his
poverty like a thin transparent veil,
particularly attracted my attention. I watched
his nervous, careworn, despairing countenance,
full, even to my inexperienced eye, of a
history of wasted energies, want of self-reliance,
and a weak dependence upon friends and
expected patrons. I met him several times
afterwards, under similar circumstances,
always the same, hopeless, helpless creature;
applying for everything and getting nothing,
a burden upon his friends, and a useless clod
upon the earth.

We were all placed in a waiting-room,
into which the vestry hall opened; and when
the messenger passed in and out, we got brief
glimpses of the somewhat noisy and undignified