a spirit of intrigue. The entrance to the houses is shocking. The street doors are usually left open. The hall doors are without knockers. On pulling a bell they are opened by a long string from above, and by an invisible hand, which reminds you of Open sesam in the Arabian Nights. The situation of Lisbon is exceedingly eligible for a metropolis. The Tagus washes the foundations of the houses throughout the whole extent of the city. The harbour is deep and capacious. At present the river is entirely covered with ships. The Russian fleet, and many British men of war lie at anchor immediately opposite to the town. The breadth of the river at its mouth is only a league. At the Praça do Commercio it is still narrower, but above the town it spreads itself into an immense bay, twelve miles from shore to shore. The opposite bank of the river, in its narrowest part, rises abruptly into steep precipices. The Tagus is navigable but little way above Lisbon. It runs between inaccessable rocks, and its current is broken by many rapids and cataracts. In the reign of Charles II. a proposition was made to the Portuguese government, by a company of Dutchmen, to trace roads over the rocks, to make dykes, and to cut sluices and canals, so as to facilitate the passage of boats as far as Madrid. They proposed also to render the Manzanares navigable which empties itself into the Tagus. The revenue was to be defrayed by a tax levied on the conveyance of goods. Councils were forthwith held to deliberate on the expediency of the measure. The grave sages, however, of which they consisted, did not cherish so ardent an attachment to artificial navigation as that which was entertained by the celebrated Mr. Brindley, who was accustomed to speak of rivers with the most sovereign contempt. During his examination before the house of commons, on being asked by a member, for what purpose he apprehended rivers to have been created? this gentleman is well known to have answered: To feed navigable canals. The reply which was made to the proposal by these wise counsellors, after weighty consideration, was: "that as God had not seen fit to make those rivers navigable, it was a clear proof that he did not choose they should be so, therefore, to attempt to make them otherwise than they were would be contradicting his providence." With this commendable determination these philosophers broke up the coun

cil. In Algarve they never prune a tree. It is thought irreligious to direct its growth. "God knows best," they say, "how a tree should grow."

The foundation of Lisbon is ascribed to Ulysses. By the Greeks, says tradition, it was called Olus-hippon. This, by the Romans, was pronounced Olisipon, which by a later corruption has become changed into Lisbon. Clear as is this etymology, which is as satisfactory as some of Noah Webster's, the Portuguese historians reject it with disdain, indignant that their capital should be disgraced by so modern an original. It was founded, says Luis Marinho de Azevedo, by Elisa, the son of Javan, and grandson of Noah. By him it was called Eliseon, afterwards Elisbon, and by corruption Lisbon. What, say they, can be more evident. To doubt would be presumption. Far be it from me not to give implicit belief to assertions so gravely advanced, and so clearly proved. Camoens has thought proper to adopt the more vulgar idea. Which of the two is most authentick I shall leave to be decided by graver philosophers, not being over fond of matter-of-fact. I confess, however, that I can as readily persuade myself to credit the poet as these learned historians. The following is the passage in the Lusiad which speaks of the foundation of Lisbon. The beauty of the verse loses none of its lustre in the translation of Mickle:

"Lusus the loved companion of the God
In Spain's fair bosom fixed his last abode,
Our kingdom founded and illustrious reigned
In those fair lawns, the blest Elysium feigned,
Where winding oft, the Guadiana roves,
And Duero murmurs through the flowery groves.
Here with his bones, he left his deathless fame,
And Lusitania's clime shall ever bear his name.
That other chief th' embroidered silk displays,
Tost o'er the deep whole years of weary days.
On Tago's banks at last his vows he paid
To wisdom's godlike power, the Jove-born maid,
Who fired his lips with eloquence divine.

On Tago's banks he rear'd the hallowed shrine :
Ulysses he, though fated to destroy

On Asian ground the heaven-built towers of Troy,
On Europe's strand more grateful to the skies

He bade th' eternal walls of Lisboa rise."

The Portuguese historians with a modesty peculiar to themselves declare that the descriptions of Elysium, and of the garden of Eden as given by the poets, are not merely shadows of imagination, but real pictures of their country and its capital. Europe, says one of them, Antonio de Macedo, is the best of the four quarters of the world. Spain the best part of Europe, and Portugal the best part of Spain. It is manifest, observes another, Luis Mendez de Vascoucellos, that the Europeans are superior to the rest of the world, and that they who inhabit the most temperate regions are most perfect by nature. It is therefore evident that as Lisbon is situated in the most temperate aspect, the influence of the heavens must necessarily make its inhabitants most perfect of all in corporeal beauty, and mental excellence. The same grave author in a work called O sitio de Lisboa, which was written in the beginning of the seventeenth century, and has since been printed by the Academy, accordingly proves from Plato and Aristotle, that Lisbon is the first of earthly cities. A Portuguese divine, in speaking of the temptations offered to our Saviour by Satan, who showed him from the mountain all the kingdoms of the earth, exclaims: "Ah fortunate is it that the kingdom of Portugal was concealed from his view by the mountains of Spain, or our blessed Lord would never have been able to resist the offer." It is a common observation among them Porem todos dizem, que o reino de Portugal he a melhor terra do mundo. All the world allows that our country is the finest on earth.' They also say Portugal he pequeno, porem he um turon de azucar. 'Portugal is small, but it is a lump of sugar.' In proportion as the Portuguese think highly of themselves, they entertain for all other nations the most sovereign contempt. I was conversing with one of them a few days since, in whose company I chanced to be dining, upon the affinity between the Spanish and Portuguese idioms. On my observing that the provincial dialect of the Portuguese did not differ so much from Castilian as many provinces of the peninsula, he struck me dumb with astonishment by saying "Provincial dialect do you call it Sir? Give me leave to observe that it is our language which is pure, the Spanish is a corruption of the Portuguese, not ours of the Spanish." His impudence in making such an assertion as this, rendered me incapable of giving him an an

swer. I had much difficulty to refrain from laughing in his face. Some one who must have known little of the matter, has said that they had a good language, but that they did not know how to speak it. The fact is, their language is bad, and their manner of speaking it worse. I had rather hear the howling of their dogs, or the chimes of their bells, than listen to one of these jew-looking gesticulators, swelling with self-importance like a bursting frog, and sputtering his gibberish. Though I can speak it fluently, I can never bring myself to defile my mouth with it. I always answer in Spanish. There is a Castillian proverb: Strip a Spaniard of his virtues and you will make him a good Portuguese. Almost all proverbs are truths: never was any one more so than this. Without a particle of the courage, nobleness, generosity and frankness of the Spaniard, he has all his ferocity, and revengeful disposition, superadded to the qualities of cowardice, hypocrisy, malignity, cruelty, meanness, and the most egregious vanity. Such is the general character of these courageous patriots. The Portuguese fear and hate a Spaniard. A Spaniard detests and despises a Portuguese. The present cause in which the two countries are engaged, is far from obliterating this national antipathy. I seldom see a Spanish soldier in the streets without hearing him loaded with opprobrious epithets by the rabble, and abused for being a Spaniard.

The Portuguese writers who are fond of this kind of magnificent rodomontade, say Lisbon, like Rome, is built on seven hills. This remark is absurd, and there is no truth in it. The ground on which it stands is hilly, but no such division can be discovered. Of late Lisbon has increased rapidly in size. It is computed to be two leagues in length, but its breadth is narrow in proportion, seldom exceeding a mile, and oftentimes being very inconsiderable. The population from this extent might be supposed greater than it actually is, as the houses in many parts are laid out on a very large scale. The number of inhabitants, according to the most accurate estimate, is upwards of two hundred and fifty thousand, of whom more than twelve thousand are shut up in convents.

October 3d.

The weather here has been for some days past most intolerably hot. At noon the sun

"Darts on the head his forceful ray

And fiercely sheds intolerable day."

The heat is so excessively relaxing, that when joined to the labour of climbing up the perpendicular streets, and to their pestiferous odours, walking for some hours of the day, is next to impossible. The inhabitants regularly sleep after dinner at this season. The siesta is indulged in by all ranks. At this hour every thing is still and dead. At four the labouring classes begin to appear, and after sunset the principal inhabitants are seen abroad. The evenings are beginning to be cool, and the air at the close of the day is very refreshing. During the continuance of a drought they make processions to procure rain. A deluge and tempest follow, on which occasion they say that when Nosso Senhor is good, he is too good. A Portuguese trying to mount a horse prayed to St. Antonio to assist him. He then made a vigorous spring and fell on the other side into a puddle. Getting up and wiping his clothes, he observed, "St. Antonio has assisted me too much." You may say with truth of this climate, that it never rains but it pours. Days of perpetual, silent rain are very rare; when it once begins the water comes down in a deluge. "Unbroken floods and solid torrents pour." At this time it is easy to imagine how agreeable the streets are. The water rushes down them like rivers, and often with such violence as to make them utterly impassable. In many places I have seen the current three feet deep. As to walking, if you go under the houses, you are drenched with the water spouts; if you attempt the middle of the street you have to encounter a torrent: between the two there is a mountain of dung. Such is the force of the water, that you may stand a chance of getting drowned in an attempt to cross. Instances have actually occurred of men and horses being carried away by the cataract, and almost precipitated into the river. Some people are considerate enough to make a bridge, by placing a plank on blocks or barrels, over these rapids. At the bottom of the Calzada de Estrella, and at those crossings which are most frequented, gallegos post themselves at these times to convey passengers on their shoulders.