A NICE OLD GENTLEMAN. _ Oneo, I remember, I was at a nice little station, where I found a good many white men, all Portuguese; some of them spoke French, and as I had picked up that lingo from a Canadian who was my partner in California, I got on pretty well with the follows. I got especially chummy with the Governor, a jolly old chap, who kept three wives—darkies, you know —that he had married native fashion, and a fine time he had to keep peace among them. Well, one day wo wont together to what they called the literary society, a nice little place with plenty of books and a billiard-table, but no drinks. Fancy playing billiards and no drinks, and that in a place where you can cook eggs in the sun 1 We started a game of billiards ; there was a billiard-marker, a young chap with long hair, and looking as yellow as a lemon. Twice when I was going to play a stroke the fellow fell against me. He was drunk, as drunk as they make them. Well, I resented it a good deal, especially as I was feeling so dry myself, so I turned to the Governor and said to him in my best French: “ Now, look here, Mr Governor, I guess I am feeling rather dry; what would you say to going home for a refresher ?" He agreed, and on the way I told him that I thought it was rather disgraceful that a billiard marker should appear so drunk before his Governor. “Poor fellow," replied my host, “ I noticed it myself; but what can Ido ? I feel so much pity for him. You see, ho draws only 25,000 reis (this, by the way, means £1) a month as billiard marker ; and besides the 10s he gets as lamplighter he has only the pound he draws every month from the gaol.” “ How from the gaol? What has he got to do with the gaol?” I exclaimed. 