the other interests. But they are sets and not
sections, and revolve round Belvedere, Government House, and Fort
William. Simla and Darjeeling claim them in the hot weather. Let them
go. They wear top-hats and frock-coats.

It is time to escape from Chowringhi Road and get among the long-shore
folk, who have no prejudices against tobacco, and who all use very much
the same sort of hat.

CHAPTER III

THE COUNCIL OF THE GODS.

He set up conclusions to the number of nine thousand seven
hundred and sixty-four ... he went afterwards to the Sorbonne,
where he maintained argument against the theologians for the
space of six weeks, from four o'clock in the morning till six in
the evening, except for an interval of two hours to refresh
themselves and take their repasts, and at this were present the
greatest part of the lords of the court, the masters of request,
presidents, counsellors, those of the accompts, secretaries,
advocates, and others; as also the sheriffs of the said
town.--_Pantagruel._

"The Bengal Legislative Council is sitting now. You will find it in an
octagonal wing of Writers' Buildings: straight across the _maidan_. It's
worth seeing." "What are they sitting on?" "Municipal business. No end
of a debate." So much for trying to keep low company. The long-shore
loafers must stand over. Without doubt this Council is going to hang
some one for the state of the City, and Sir Steuart Bayley will be chief
executioner. One does not come across councils every day.

Writers' Buildings are large. You can trouble the busy workers of
half-a-dozen departments before you stumble upon the black-stained
staircase that leads to an upper chamber looking out over a populous
street. Wild orderlies block the way. The Councillor Sahibs are sitting,
but any one can enter. "To the right of the Lat Sahib's chair, and go
quietly." Ill-mannered minion! Does he expect the awe-stricken spectator
to prance in with a war-whoop or turn Catherine-wheels round that
sumptuous octagonal room with the blue-domed roof? There are gilt
capitals to the half pillars and an Egyptian patterned lotus-stencil
makes the walls gay. A thick piled carpet covers all the floor, and must
be delightful in the hot weather. On a black wooden throne, comfortably
cushioned in green leather, sits Sir Steuart Bayley, Ruler of Bengal.
The rest are all great men, or else they would not be there. Not to know
them argue