Their ideas of an English gentleman, if formed from the mass of English they see in this city, must be sufficiently small: there is a preponderating portion of the "cotton bagman," many of whom seek to make themselves important by talking large.

Although probably more than nine out of ten never have "thrown their leg" over anything except a bale of cotton, since the innocent days of the rocking-horse, they try to impress Jonathan by pulling up their shirt-collar consequentially, and informing him,--"When I was in England, I was used to 'unt with the Dook's 'ounds; first-rate, sir, first-rate style--no 'ats, all 'unting-caps." Then, passing his left thumb down one side of his cheek, his fingers making a parallel course down the opposite cheek, with an important air and an expression indicative of great intimacy, he would condescendingly add,--"The Dook wasn't a bad chap, after all: he used to give me a capital weed now and then." With this style of John Bull in numerical ascendency, you cannot wonder at the club-doors not being freely opened to "the Dook's friends," or at the character of an English gentleman being imperfectly understood.
Time hurries on, a passport must be obtained, and that done, it must be _vised_ before the Spanish consul, as Cuba is my destination.

The Filibusteros seem to have frightened this functionary out of his proprieties.

A Spaniard is proverbially proud and courteous--the present specimen was neither; perhaps the reason may have been that I was an Englishman, and that the English consul had done all his work for him _gratis_ when the Filibustero rows obliged him to fly.

Kindness is a thing which the Spaniards as a nation find it very difficult to forgive.
However, I got his signature, which was far more valuable than his courtesy; most of his countrymen would have given me both, but the one sufficed on the present occasion.