of fine-cut tobacco, and sundry very bad writing materials.  In one corner of the room spread out a green screen, behind which was various simple but very useful ware; this, together with two extra chairs for strangers, standing at the other corner, constituted the furniture.  There was a strong legal air about the table, notwithstanding its promiscuous burden.  At the head of it sat like Cicero—­but he had none of Cicero’s genius in his soul!—­a man moody of countenance and portly of person:  he was called the Umpire, and they said he was chosen because of his birthplace being America.  Some had gone so far as to characterize the choice an evidence that Mr. Bull was inclined to act upon the square, and permit Cousin Jonathan to have it all his own way,—­never for once keeping in mind that it mattered but little where a man’s birthplace was, if he had long since forgotten the spirit of its institutions.  Indeed, as far as sympathy and manners are concerned, an American may be more than an Englishman, and vice versa.  Smooth does not mean to insinuate that the case is illustrated in the present functionary, whose face was of that stern cast which at times would lead to believe it unhappy under the fatigue of a too solid body.  To this singularly stern face was added a nose, facetious gentlemen might be inclined to call the ripening fruits of good wine, while pervading all was an air of sordidness curiously at variance with the good parts repute asserted he possessed.  Smooth would have taken him for a man whose mind was of a mechanical turn; for at times he would become dreamy, his eyes would close within leaden lids, and his body seem prone to cool away into sleep’s gentlest embrace.  Again he would, as if with much effort, raise those leaden eyelids, draw forth a languid breath, stretch his arms athwart, and, as if ’twere pain, listen to the legal logic boring its dryness into his very soul.  The tax did indeed seem beyond his power of endurance.

“Being introduced all round, Smooth commenced the conversation by saying, in a warm and good-natured sort of way:—­’Well, Citizens!—­how do ye make out to get time over the bank?  S’pose it’s because Uncle Sam stands at the gangway serving the shot?’ They did not seem to brighten up at this remark.  It was evidently viewed as rather out of place; for the Umpire quickened his nodding, and the other five functionaries constituting the convention permitted their faces to yield looks by no means significant of good-nature.  Quoth, by the way of conventionality, were they right glad to see Minister Smooth; further, they shook him warmly by the hand, and made many inquiries about Pierce and his policy—­a thing he never had, hence the impossibility of enlightening them.  Mr. Pierce had an eye to Cuba, but no policy whatever with regard to the getting of it:  in addition to this, Pierce himself so far defied analyzation that many grave and experienced diplomatists had declared the problem beyond their power to solve.