Robert Southey to Lieut. Southey-Bull-fight at Lisbon.

makes cruelty familiar; and as for the assertion that bull-baiting or bull-butchering keeps up the courage of the nation, only Wyndham and Canning could have been absurd enough and unfeeling enough to believe it; if it were true, the Spaniards ought to be the bravest nation in the world, because their amusement is the most cruel, and a butcher ought to make the best soldier.

On Thursday we go to Cintra; this, therefore, will be my last letter of Lisbon anecdote. In Africa a Portuguese saw an orang-outang, the most human beast that has yet been discovered, walking quietly with a stick in his hand; he had the wickedness to shoot him, and was not, as he ought to have been, hung for wilful murder. The head and hands were sent here I have seen them in the Museum, in spirits. I have seen many an uglier fellow pass for a man, in spite of the definition that makes him a reasoning animal: he has eyebrows and a woolly head, almost like a negro's, but the face not black.

Fielding died and was buried here. By a singular fatality, four attempts have been made to erect a monument, and all have miscarried. A Frenchman set on foot a subscription for this purpose, and many of the factory engaged for one, two, or three moidores; circumstances took him from Lisbon, and this dropped. Another Frenchman had a monument made at his own expense, and paid for it; there was a fine French inscription, that, as his own countrymen had never given the great Fielding a monument, it was reserved for a Frenchman to honor his country by paying that respect to genius; he also went away, and is now following the French Pretender; and his monument lies among masonry and rubbish, where I have sought for it in vain. Then De Visme undertook the affair; and the bust of

Robert Southey to Lieut. Southey-Bull-fight at Lisbon.

Fielding, designed for this purpose, is still in the house which belonged to him here. I know not what made this scheme abortive. Last, the Prince of Brazil went to work, and the monument was made. The Lady Abbess of the New Convent wished to see it: it was sent to her; she took a fancy to it, and there it has remained ever since; and Fielding is still without a

monument.

De Visme introduced the present fashion of painting rooms in stucco, with landscapes on the walls, and borders of flowers or arabesque; the fashion is, I believe, Italian. The workmen whom he employed had taste enough to be pleased with it, and it is general in all new houses. The ceilings are now painted; thus, instead of the huge layer of boards which was usual, nothing can look more cool, or be more convenient, for a cloth and soap clean it.

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In the larger old houses, here and in Spain, in the country, there is usually a room with no windows, but, instead, arches quite open to the air. The appearance is strange and picturesque, and I should esteem it one of the inconveniences of Lisbon that the intolerable dust prevents the enjoyment of these open rooms there: the dust is a huge evil. We had the hot wind for three days this week; a detestable burning blast, a bastard sort of siroc, tamed by crossing the sea and the land, but which parches the lips, and torments you with the Tantalus plague of fanning your cheek and heating it at the same time. The sea-breeze is, on the other hand, as delightful : we feel it immediately; it cools the air, and freshens up all our languid feelings. In the West Indies they call this wind the doctor—a good seamanly phrase for its healing and comfortable effect.

Robert Southey to Lieut. Southey-Bull-fight at Lisbon.

At the time the aqueduct was built, a large reservoir was made for its waste water. In winter much water runs to waste; in summer more is wanted, and the watermen wait a long time round the fountain before they can in turn fill their barrels ; but these people, in building the reservoir, never calculated the weight of the water till the building was finished; so it stands still uncovered, a useless pile, and a rare monument of the national science. I saw a funeral from the country pass the window at night, the attendants holding torches, and the body in the trunk-coffin carried upon a litter (that is, like a sedan chair carried by mules instead of men).

The servants here, in marketing, think it a part of their fair profits to cheat you as much as they can, and have no idea that it is dishonesty; it is a sort of commission they think they are entitled to. This is so much the case that one of these fellows, when he was stipulating about wages, thought them too little, and inquired if he was to go to market; he was told yes, and then he said he would come. * * *

The queen's stables serve as an asylum. Rogues and murderers go there, and do the work for nothing. They are safe by this means, and the people, whose business it is to hire and pay the servants, pocket the money, so that they infest the neighborhood. They quarrelled with our dragoons, who broke into the stables, and thrashed them heartily, to the great satisfaction of the people near.

God bless you! Edith's love.

Yours,

R. S.

Washington Irving to Mrs. Paris-The Prado of Madrid.

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XIV. THE PRADO OF MADRID.*

Washington Irving to Mrs. Paris.

1845.

My evening drives, though lonely, are pleasant. You can have no idea of the neighborhood of Madrid from that of other cities. The moment you emerge from the gates you enter upon a desert; vast wastes as far as the eye can reach of undulating, and in part hilly country, without trees or habitations, green in the early part of the year, and cultivated with grain, but burnt by the summer sun into a variety of browns, some of them rich, though sombre. A long picturesque line of mountains closes the landscape to the west and north, on the summits of some of which the snow lingers even in midsummer. The road I generally take, though a main road, is very solitary. Now and then I meet a group of travellers on horseback, roughly clad, with muskets slung behind their saddles, and looking very much like the robbers they are armed against; or a line of muleteers from the distant provinces, with their mules hung with bells, and tricked out with worsted bobs and tassels; or a goatherd driving his flock of goats home to the city for the night, to furnish milk for the inhabitants. Every group seems to accord with the wild, half-savage scenery around; and it is difficult to realize that such scenery and such groups should be in the midst of a populous and ancient capital. Some of the sunsets behind the Guadarrama mountains, shedding the last golden rays over this vast melancholy landscape, are really magnificent.

I have had much pleasure in walking on the Prado on bright

* From the Life and Letters of Irving, by his nephew, Pierre M. Irving.

Washington Irving to Mrs. Paris-The Prado of Madrid.

moonlight nights. This is a noble walk within the walls of the city, and not far from my dwelling. It has alleys of stately trees, and is ornamented with five fountains, decorated with statuary and sculpture. The Prado is the great promenade of the city. One grand alley is called the saloon, and is particularly crowded. In the summer evening there are groups of ladies and gentlemen seated in chairs and holding their tertulias, or gossiping parties, until a late hour. But what most delights me are the groups of children, attended by their parents or nurses, who gather about the fountains, take hands, and dance in rings to their own nursery songs. They are just the little beings for

such a fairy moonlight scene. I have watched them night after night, and only wished I had some of my own little nieces or grandnieces to take part in the fairy ring. These are all the scenes and incidents I can furnish you from my present solitary life.

I am looking soon for the return of the Albuquerques to Madrid, which will give me a family circle to resort to. Madame Albuquerque always calls me uncle, and I endeavor to cheat myself into an idea that she is a niece; she certainly has the kindness and amiableness of one, and her children are most entertaining companions for me.

Your letter from the cottage brings with it all the recollections of the place; its trees and shrubs, its roses, and honeysuckles, and humming-birds. I am glad to find that my old friend the cat-bird still builds and sings under the window. You speak of Vaney's barking too; it was like suddenly hearing a well-known but long-forgotten voice, for it is a long time since any mention was made of that most meritorious little dog.

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