On landing at Oporto the two-and-sixpenny piece opened the kingdom of Portugal to me quite readily. Getting out, the process was different. I found that the steamer on which I had come from London would not return for a week or more after the opening of the exposition, and I was impatient to get back. A line between Liverpool and Buenos Ayres made Lisbon a port of call, and a steamer was expected _en route_ to Liverpool in the course of three or four days after the opening; so I determined to come by that. The morning after the opening I was awakened early by a telegram informing me that the steamer had arrived at Lisbon during the preceding night, having made an unexpectedly quick run across the South Atlantic, and would sail for Liverpool that evening. The railroad ran only two trains a day, and my only way to get to Lisbon in time was to take the nine-o’clock train from Oporto. The station was on a hill on the opposite side of the Douro. There was only one bridge across the river, and that was half a mile up the stream from the hotel and from the station. Oporto boasted no public conveyance. So I hired a couple of boys to take my trunk down to the river, row me and it across, and carry it up the hill to the station. I got off with two minutes to spare. On applying at the steamship office in Lisbon for a passage ticket, I was informed by the very gentlemanly English clerk that they were forbidden to sell a ticket to any one without a passport. “However,” he added, “this will cause you no inconvenience. The United States legation is on the second block below here. I will direct you to it, and you can obtain a passport without any trouble.” By the way, how did he recognize me as an American, and how was it that I was always recognized as an American? I never could explain that puzzle. On knocking at the door of the legation, it was opened by a colored man, who informed me that this was a fête day, and that the minister was attending a reception at the palace (this was the first time I ever heard of a royal reception in the forenoon), but if I would call again at three o’clock the passport would be ready for me. So, leaving with him my address, I left, to amuse myself as best I could till three o’clock. On presenting myself at that hour I was informed by the same darkey that the minister would not give me a passport; that he had bidden him tell me he knew nothing about me; I might be an American or I might not: at any rate, he was not going to certify that I was. I had got into the country without a passport, and I would have to get out without one for all him. I inquired if the minister were at home. “Yes, sir,” replied the darkey, “he is at home, but he will not see you; he told me to tell you so,” and with that he bowed me out and shut the door.