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Rh poets, a gentleman with a beard like a Turk, a real Persian, and three Greeks. A propos des Grecs,—a droll adventure once befell this fair extractor from the Library of Entertaining Knowledge. The Greek stocks and fever were at their highest, when a cargo from Missolonghi of turbaned and mustachioed gentry arrived, and cast anchor in the river. Mrs. Harcourt's ball was the following night—she threw herself into her carriage—drove as if the speed of thought were in her horses as well as herself—took a boat—ascended the vessel's side—was introduced—interpreted—and invited the patriots for the ensuing evening,—they delighted with the hospitality of England, and she no less at having forestalled the market, and secured such novel ties for her supper-table. Compliments and classics equally exhausted, Mrs. Harcourt gave her last injunction—'Pray, come just as you are, those crimson caps are so characteristic—and not later than ten.' She was on the point of leaving the ship, when an officer advanced and opposed her departure, and with that frank politeness which, as the newspapers say, distinguishes the British sailor, observed, 'Dn it, ma'am, it's no go.' The lady stared; but a single question elicited the