I have known several drunkards amongst the Portuguese, but, without
one exception, they have been individuals who, having travelled
abroad, like this fellow, have returned with a contempt for their
own country, and polluted with the worst vices of the lands which
they have visited.

I would strongly advise any of my countrymen who may chance to read
these lines, that, if their fate lead them into Spain or Portugal,
they avoid hiring as domestics, or being connected with,
individuals of the lower classes who speak any other language than
their own, as the probability is that they are heartless thieves
and drunkards. These gentry are invariably saying all they can in
dispraise of their native land; and it is my opinion, grounded upon
experience, that an individual who is capable of such baseness
would not hesitate at the perpetration of any villainy, for next to
the love of God, the love of country is the best preventive of
crime. He who is proud of his country, will be particularly
cautious not to do anything which is calculated to disgrace it.

We now journeyed towards Lisbon, and reached Monte Moro about two
o'clock. After taking such refreshment as the place afforded, we
pursued our way till we were within a quarter of a league of the
huts which stand on the edge of the savage wilderness we had before
crossed. Here we were overtaken by a horseman; he was a powerful,
middle-sized man, and was mounted on a noble Spanish horse. He had
a broad, slouching sombrero on his head, and wore a jerkin of blue
cloth, with large bosses of silver for buttons, and clasps of the
same metal; he had breeches of yellow leather, and immense
jackboots: at his saddle was slung a formidable gun. He inquired