pockets, fumble lazily, instead of applying them to the
indispensable office of gesticulation. Well may the poor Spaniards
exclaim, THESE ENGLISH TALK SO CRABBEDLY, THAT SATAN HIMSELF WOULD
NOT BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND THEM.

Lisbon is a huge ruinous city, still exhibiting in almost every
direction the vestiges of that terrific visitation of God, the
earthquake which shattered it some eighty years ago. It stands on
seven hills, the loftiest of which is occupied by the castle of
Saint George, which is the boldest and most prominent object to the
eye, whilst surveying the city from the Tagus. The most frequented
and busy parts of the city are those comprised within the valley to
the north of this elevation.

Here you find the Plaza of the Inquisition, the principal square in
Lisbon, from which run parallel towards the river three or four
streets, amongst which are those of the gold and silver, so
designated from being inhabited by smiths cunning in the working of
those metals; they are upon the whole very magnificent; the houses
are huge and as high as castles; immense pillars defend the
causeway at intervals, producing, however, rather a cumbrous
effect. These streets are quite level, and are well paved, in
which respect they differ from all the others in Lisbon. The most
singular street, however, of all is that of the Alemcrin, or
Rosemary, which debouches on the Caesodre. It is very precipitous,
and is occupied on either side by the palaces of the principal
Portuguese nobility, massive and frowning, but grand and
picturesque, edifices, with here and there a hanging garden,
overlooking the streets at a great height.