For whoso entereth within this town,
That, sheening far, celestial seems to be,
Disconsolate will wander up and down,
’Mid many things unsightly to strange ee;
For hut and palace show like filthily;
The dingy denizens are rear’d in dirt;
No personage of high or mean degree
Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt,
Though shent with Egypt’s plague, unkempt, unwash’d, unhurt.
Nor are you greatly disposed to make allowances for the cause of your topographical disenchantment, as you find yourself a mere object of fiscal surveillance—obliged to be set ashore at the Custom-house, like a biped bale of merchandise, and have your hat or umbrella scanned as if they ought to be subjected to duty, like everything else, animate and inanimate, that approaches these most absurdly protected waters. Very soon, however, mere chagrin at such petty personal annoyances deepens into gloom, as you observe the mournful absence of that incessant activity you expect to meet with in so large and important a place. The fatal spell of lethargy and exclusiveness seems to be laid upon everything and everybody:—the very carriages and public conveyances (at least a large portion) are redolent of the past century, and all idea of locomotion is put to flight at the sight of them; and just the same is the case with the owners. Torpidity pervades the whole population, from the infant in arms, who is too lazy to laugh, to the cripple on crutches, who is too sluggish to grumble. An exception to this rule, however, is the market-place, where fruit, vegetables, the sardines already spoken of, and other odd articles, are brought for sale. The motley groups, with their baskets or little stalls, sheltered by umbrellas of all sizes and colours, are like so many fancy-fair Chinese, whom Portuguese a good deal resemble in bodily configuration, as well as in other attributes equally little spiritualised, however Celestial. The kaleidoscopic tableau going on here is a relief to the monotony of other places of resort, and so vividly impresses the stranger that he fancies the performers in the scene must be foreigners, and not ‘natives and to the manner born.’ The theatrical air of the whole thing is not a little heightened, in his opinion, on finding that no sooner has the clock told one, than, like one o’clock, they all have to pack up their wares and depart till next day, in preparation for the business whereof the market is thoroughly cleaned and put in order. This regulation might be advantageously adopted in regions where the mention of the word Portuguese, especially in connection with cleanliness, immediately superinduces a spasmodic agitation in the hearer’s nose, if indeed he can keep his countenance at all.