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NOTES ABROAD.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

PUBLIC attention has of late been called to the gentleman who represents us at the Court of St. James, by the publication of a volume from his pen, discussing in a masterly manner the rules of Draw Poker. Many have thought such a work beneath the dignity of a United States Minister; and the frequency with which this dignity has been urged has revived the memory of an experience of my own which may not prove uninteresting.

About a year ago I visited Lisbon. On the evening of my arrival I found myself seated at an excellent table d'hote, with a number of well-dressed and well-behaved people of all nations about me, and with an Englishman for a neighbor. He was a very well informed and agreeable person; and, being thoroughly familiar with Portugal, he gave me in the course of half an hour an excellent idea of the attractions of Lisbon and its neighborhood. At the end of that time I happened to incidentally remark that I was an American.

The Englishman at first appeared incredulous; and, although he was willing to believe me when I repeated the assertion, he expressed considerable surprise. I did not have, he said, those characteristics by which he supposed that an American could be recognized. Somewhat curious to learn his notions upon the subject, I inquired what he considered the leading features of my countrymen.

"My ideal American," replied he, "is tall, loose-jointed, and hatchet-faced. His clothes do not fit him, or, rather, he does not fit his clothes. His linen is apt to be a trifle negligee, we 'll say. He talks through his nose. His mind may be, like his native prairies, grand in its dimensions; but it is certainly like those prairies in being thoroughly uncultivated. His manners are positively rude in their simplicity. His - "

"A perfect caricature," said I. "You certainly never met such a person."

"I beg your pardon," was his answer. "I certainly have; and" - suddenly looking toward the door - "here he comes."

He pointed to a figure that had just appeared. It was a tall man, with a scraggly beard and still more scraggly hair. A shabby felt hat clung to the back of his head. His hands were in his pockets. The stump of an extinct cigar was in his mouth, and he was chewing it vigorously. His countenance was melancholy. His general appearance and his gait showed that he was anything but sober.

As he appeared, a grin glided down the length of the table. He was evidently some old laughing-stock, some Portuguese Daniel Pratt.

The man stood in the doorway for a moment, looking about the room; then he took his cigar out of his mouth and spat upon the floor; then, having replaced the stump, he staggered down the whole length of the table, and lurched into a chair at the other end of the room; and then, at last, he saw fit to take off his hat, which he threw to a table near him. Having taken his seat, he stared at the company for a while, expectorated a second time, and finally, calling the waiter, remarked "Brandy!" in a voice whose twang rivalled that of the most decrepit old piano.

Soon an acquaintance of mine entered, and to my surprise walked up to the individual whom the Englishman and myself had been discussing, and addressed some remark to him.

My friend, however, suddenly caught sight of me, and came over to where I sat. Dinner had by this time reached the dessert stage.

"Who is that person you just spoke with?" was my first question.

"The General, your minister. Let me introduce you," replied my friend; and in an instant later I had been presented to the General.

The General looked at me for a moment in silent and misanthropic sadness; then he remarked, "Young man, take a drink." His conversation, by the way, was garnished with hiccoughs. I declined the drink with thanks.

"Nonsense," said the General. "A couple of fingers won't hurt you. Come along!" And he poured out a glass of brandy with melancholy dignity, handed it to me, filled his own glass, expectorated once more, and tossed it off. A few moments of silence followed. Then he addressed me again and asked me where I lived. I told him that I was a Harvard student.

He looked at me compassionately. "Poor fellow," said he, "how I pity you! You have not yet begun life. Life is long and tedious. Pass me that bottle, will you? Yes, sir, I say that life is a miserable burden. Young man, I pity you; you have years of miserable life before you. I meant the other bottle. Poor, poor fellow! so much misery before you. That brandy's about the worst. Come and see me at the legation. Good night." And, with these words, the distinguished diplomat departed.

I turned to my friend. "This is disgraceful." "We 're used to it. It's so every night," was his answer. And so it proved to be.

It is but just to say that the General has recently been relieved by a gentleman who is really worthy of the name; but as I have described him, he walked about Lisbon for months, as the accredited representative of the United States. And when I remember my first night in Lisbon, I cannot but smile at the complaints of those who think a pamphlet on Poker ruinous to the dignity of an American minister.

B. W.THERE are twelve candidates for the University Nine at Amherst.

Hucusque Danielem in hebraeo volumine legimus. Quae sequuntur usque ad finem de L. Editione translata sunt.

CHAP. XV.2. And in those days there was a city, and a temple stood within the city.

3. And the priests of the temple stood within its doors, and ministered to them that passed by of their plenty, both to great and small, to them that worshipped within the city and to the stranger from beyond the gates.

4. And there were evil rulers in that city who rose up and said, Come, let us make a decree that all who pass by shall worship in our temple, and let them depart empty that will not worship.

5. Then shall we be called holy, and obtain reverence of them that pass by; and let us establish it as a rule by which all but the rulers shall be bound.

6. So the unjust rulers established their decree, and those who did not arise up early and worship in that temple were sent empty away.

7. But the people murmured at the unjust rulers, who bound heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and laid them on men's shoulders, but they themselves would not move them with one of their fingers.

8. And the people cried unto the priests, saying, Speak ye for us to our rulers, that we rise not up early to worship in a strange temple.

9. So the priests rebelled against those unjust rulers, saying, Why would ye force on the wayfarer and wanderer and on the people within the gates that which ye yourselves do not and in which ye put no trust?

10. Think ye to be called holy before the Lord when we rise up early to worship at your word and ye lie in idleness and sleep?

11. Wo unto you, hypocrites! for ye make for yourselves mantles of another's virtue and would win heaven by it.

12. Thus were the rulers put to shame before the people; nevertheless they departed not out of their evil ways.

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