To show how ordinary police affairs are managed in Hayti, I must give an account of an incident which occurred to the Spanish _chargé d’affaires_ and myself. A dishonest servant forced open the window of our wine-cellar and stole eighteen dozen of claret, and then fled. We gave notice to the police, who were very energetic in taking up the case, and every now and then brought us information of their proceedings. At last they recovered some of the wine, and in triumph brought us two dozen and seven bottles. A few days passed, and a Haytian friend happening to breakfast with us, took up a claret bottle and saw the mark, “Château Giscours, De Luze, Bordeaux.” He laughed and said, “Now I understand a remark made by the Minister of the Interior, when he said what capital wine the English Minister imported.” On further inquiry, we found that the police had recovered fourteen dozen of our wine (the other four had been bought _knowingly_ by our most intimate friend), and that they had divided eleven dozen and five bottles among various high officials. The only observation my colleague made was, “Quel pays!” but I felt inclined to agree with the people when they say of the officials, “Quel tas de voleurs!” The robber was afterwards arrested for another offence, and I could not but pity him, when I saw him tied, bleeding and stumbling under the blows of a policeman’s club. During the siege of Port-au-Prince in the civil war (1868) my French and Spanish colleagues and I were walking through the town, when we were startled by the sound of firing in the next street. On arriving at the spot, we found that the police had arrested a young Frenchman. As he objected that he was a foreigner and not liable to conscription, a crowd soon assembled, and a follower of Roi Petit Chout’s band, a ferocious negro, raised his carbine and shot the lad through the body, and my French colleague had barely time to catch his last words before he expired. Nothing that the French representative could say had any effect on the Haytian Government; the murderer was promoted to be a sergeant, and sent to the army to get him out of the way; but he soon came back to Port-au-Prince, to be more insolent than ever. We had, however, the satisfaction of knowing that, when the revolution triumphed, this man was condemned to death for his other crimes and shot, my French colleague taking care to be present at the final ceremony, to see that the sentence was not evaded. For killing a white he would never have been executed. It must not be supposed, because I generally refer to my own experiences, that things mended afterwards. Probably during the presidencies of Generals Nissage-Saget and Boisrond-Canal the police, though as dishonest, were less insufferable; but under Domingue and Salomon they were worse than ever, as they always are under the government of the black section of the community.