cannot stir. But probably you know all this.

Mrs. Hoare was at Lisbon during two slight shocks of an earthquake; she
says the night was remarkably fine, there was no unwholesome feeling
that she can remember in the air, immediately preceding the shock: but
they were sitting with the windows open down to the ground, looking at
the clearness of the sky, when they felt the shock. The doors and
windows, and all the furniture in the room shook for a few instants:
they looked at one another in silent terror. But in another instant
everything was still, and they came to the use of their voices. Numbers
of exaggerated accounts were put into the public papers, and she
received vast numbers of terrified letters from her friends in England.
So much for the earthquake. The marine acid I must leave till I have my
father at my elbow, lest in my great wisdom I should set you wrong.

About the glasshouse: there is one Stephens, an Englishman, who has set
up a splendid glasshouse at Lisbon, and the Government have granted him
a pine wood sixteen miles in extent to supply his glasshouse with fuel.
He has erected a theatre for his workmen, supplied them with scenes,
dresses, etc.; and they have acquired such a taste for theatrical
amusements, that it has conquered their violent passion for drinking
which formerly made them incapable of work three days in the week; now
they work as hard as possible, and amuse themselves for one day in the
week.

Of the beauty of the Tagus, and its golden sands, and the wolves which
Mrs. Hoare had the satisfaction of seeing hunted, I must speak when I
see you. Mrs. Hoare is as kind as possible to me, and I spend my time at
Roehampton as I like: in London that is not entirely possible. We have
only come up to town for a few days. Mr. Hoare's house at Roehampton is