[13] Since Marquis of Abrantes.
[14] Writers of travels are sadly given to exaggeration. The author of the Tableau du Lisbonne writes, “Il est dix heures, une foule de P. de Ch. s’avance,” &c. From such an account one would suppose the whole line of houses in motion. No such thing. At intervals, to be sure, some accidents of this sort, more or less, slily occur; but by no means in so general and evident a manner.
[15] These affecting tones seem to have made a lasting impression indeed upon the heart of a young man, one of the principal clerks in the Secretary of State’s office; he was all admiration, all ardour, his divinity all indifference. After a long period of unavailing courtship, the poor lover, driven to absolute despair, made a donation of all he was worth in the world to the object of his adoration, and threw himself into the Tagus. Providentially he was fished out and brought home, pale and almost inanimate. Such a spectacle, accompanied by so vivid a proof of unlimited passion, had its effect. The lady relented, they were united, and are as happy at this day, I believe, as the recollection of so narrow an escape, and its cause, can make them.
[16] An old English housekeeper.
[17] For no light specimen of these atrocities, see Southey’s Letters from Spain and Portugal.
[18] Don Joaô da Valperra.
[19] At the time I wrote this, half Lisbon believed in the individuality of the holy crows, and the other half prudently concealed their scepticism.
[20] Don Josè, elder brother of the late king, John VI.
[21] Dryden.
[22] The royal chapel of the Ajuda, though somewhat fallen from the unequalled splendour it boasted during the sing-song days of the late king, Don Joseph, still displayed some of the finest specimens of vocal manufacture which Italy could furnish. It possessed, at the same time, Carlo Reina, Ferracuti, Totti, Fedelino, Ripa, Gelati, Venanzio, Biagino, and Marini—all these virtuosi, with names ending in vowels, were either contraltos of the softest note, or sopranos of the highest squeakery.