LETTER XVII. A chiel's amang you takin' note, BURNS' EPITAPHS. Lisbon, 1827. THE Serra de Cintra, with the town and beautiful quintas at its base, embosomed in orange and lemon groves, form the grand feature in the landscape between Mafra and Lisbon. The towering points crowned by the Castello dos Mouros and the Penha Convent were seen to our right during the greater part of the day's journey; and, owing to the clearness of the atmosphere, it appeared as if we were continually approaching them, whilst in reality the distance between us remained as great as ever. Time did not permit us to revisit that charming scenery, and therefore we were obliged to satisfy ourselves with the distant prospect of the "glorious Eden," with its "variegated maze of mount and glen," as we passed along the road. The route, an excellent one, which was opened in the reign of John V., led us through the villages of Abrunheira and Pinheiro to Cabeça de Montachique, a place of some importance in the late memorable campaigns; thence by Loures, celebrated for its orange groves, whose fruit is said to surpass all others in size and quality, to Carnide and Lumiar, leaving Luz, where there is a convent belonging to the knights of the order of Christ, to the right; and hence to CampoGrande, which on Sundays and days of festivity is the usual resort of the pleasure-seeking inhabitants of the metropolis. From the Campo Pequeno, a plain of some extent, where the troops forming the garrison of Lisbon are occasionally exercised, the whole line of road into the city is bordered on either side with the country residences and gardens of the wealthier class of Portuguese. The high commanding grounds which rise behind Lisbon, are entirely covered with chapels, churches, and convents, which give the traveller at a distance an idea of grandeur which he will find far from being realized when he has once fairly entered the town; where, as Costigan remarks with great truth, he will find every prospect in the distance to be as beautiful as the spot immediately under his nose is nauseous and disgusting. The autumnal atmosphere of Lisbon is, if possible, more oppressive and offensive than even under the highest degree of summer heat; for the filth of the streets has become more completely volatilized, and the air seems to be absolutely charged with feculent particles and ammoniac salt. Our arrival from the provinces has been greeted with a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning, the usual precursors of the rainy season in Portugal. The sudden explosion of an electrical cloud immediately over our hotel at Buenos Ayres, has afforded us a specimen of these Lusitanian storms, so awful and tremendous that we have no desire to witness a repetition of it. It so alarmed our native attendant, that he actually turned as pale as death, and threw himself on the sofa, covering his face with both his hands, and crying out for assistance to St. Anthony, the particular saint of Lisbon. Peradventure, however, the worthy Lar was at the time other wise occupied; perhaps in his native city of Padua, preaching to cattle, or listening to some mariners' entreaties for protection in a moment of peril; or possibly he might have been asleep, for the storm continued to rage with unabated fury, notwithstanding the groans and prayers of our Portuguese domestic, until at length a dreadful crash was heard in the adjoining apartment, which, owing to St. Anthony's previous engagement, had been struck by the lightning, when large fragments of granite were driven from the blocks in the wall and strewed over the floor. This is about the period of the year, likewise, when the sensations of earthquakes are experienced at Lisbon, which are much more to be dreaded here than the plague; and altogether we were not sorry when the storm had passed away to the southward. It is quite apparent that, during our absence in the provinces, this metropolis has been the scene of one political storm without any intermission. The atmosphere is dark and gloomy; the signs of the times are portentous and alarming even to those acquainted with the imbecility, inconsistencies, and inconstancy of principle, by which the present government is distinguished. The Regent seems to have abandoned her judgment and her firmness of purpose to her Camarilla, of which Maria do Resgate and the intriguing Trigozo, a deputy and ex-minister, are the most influential, and therefore the most mischievous members; the Intendant of the Police has been making daily encroachments upon the liberty granted to the people by the charter; the liberal publications of the day have been suppressed, and their authors without any form of justice thrown into confinement; the prisons are filled with persons obnoxious to the ruling authorities on account of their attachment to the constitutional system; the hymn of freedom, composed by the Emperor, is forbidden to be sold or to be sung; and we see the heroic defender of Porto riding about in his plain clothes, awaiting his trial for the recent expressions of popular feeling in the north, upon the removal of Saldanha from the ministry, which it was impossible for him to repress; and last, though not by any means the least of the impending evils, the Lisbon Bank is reported, to the consternation of all holders of its notes, to be upon the eve of publishing a declaration of its insolvency. The natural consequence of this state of things is, that foreboding suspicion and gloomy silence prevail throughout the place; and that, as in Turkey, he is most secure of his life who has neither eyes, nor ears, nor tongue. Great doubts, of course, begin to be entertained of the sincerity of Don Miguel's professions, made in such a school as that of Metternich. Some people discover in the late anti-constitutional proceedings of the Princess Regent's ministers, not only the ascendancy in her councils of the Corcunda or Absolutist party, but the probability of their sentiments being in accordance with the secret views and opinions of the Infant her brother, who is destined by the Emperor to become her successor in the regency. The Empress Queen, it is said, has been concocting mischief in her retirement at Queluz, by keeping up a warm correspondence with her party in Spain; and nothing can induce her to come to the Palace of the Ajuda, from whose windows the intolerable view of the British men of war at anchor in the Tagus would present itself to her eyes. Much as Don Miguel,-with whom, by the bye, at present the army is said to be to a man,-may be feared and disliked by the constitutionalists, the old Queen is held in a far greater degree of abhorrence, as well too on account of her moral as political conduct, and everything that is bad and injurious to the novel institutions of the Emperor is expected from her baneful interference with the measures of government, many of whose recent acts indeed are attributed to her preponderat ing influence. At such a critical moment for Portugal as this, ardently anxious as one may feel for the continued existence of the free form of government to which she has been restored by her legitimate monarch under the guarantee of the great powers of Europe, and more especially of Austria from the ties of relationship, it is impossible not to have some apprehensions about the future; not almost to give, and yet reluctantly, into the opinion that the Portuguese are incapable of liberty, or at least of steady resistance to the tyranny of misrule. How well to the influential orders of Portugal do the reproachful lines of Byron apply!— Poor paltry slaves! yet born midst noblest scenes— A new and alarming feature in these eventful times, just communicated to us, deserves to be particularly noticed. Nossa Senhora da Roca is a well-known enemy of the constitutional system, and indeed her birth took place expressly to obtain a triumph for the Corcundas over the liberal party, for the destruction of freedom, and the restoration of all the old follies, superstitions, and baneful influence of the monastic and ecclesiastical orders. A votive table, “milegre que fez," &c. has been suspended near the altar where this lady of the rabbit-hole receives the oblations of her subjects. Crowds of people from all quarters of Lisbon have been hurrying to see it. It has excited universal interest, and discloses pretty clearly what are the secret wishes and intentions of the old Queen, with her partisans, who are now confidently said to be increasing in numbers. This miserable daub represents Don Miguel decorated with the insignia of royalty, and directed by the archangel Michael towards the royal palace, where the old Queen is seated to receive him on an elevated platform, in front of which several troops of soldiers, and of other Portu |