Po 
166 Portugal Illustrated. [ Aveust, 
followed ; and new works haye been published, carrying information up 
to the very hour. Every branch of our trading interest, every circum- 
stance, good or bad, of our political system, forms the subjects of daily 
and hourly canvass and discussion. The mass of the people comprehend 
and speak of these matters ; writers, almost numberless, devote their 
whole lives to the analysing and watching over them. The periodical 
press of London—nay, one three weeks file only of the Times news- 
paper—will convey more information to a stranger upon the affairs and 
position of England, than the study of twice as many years, unaided by 
the same facilities, would enable him to arrive at. 
But, in Spain or Portugal, the first circumstances of novelty that 
surprises the English traveller, is the absence, not only of his accus- 
tomed sources, but of all sources—of every description — of informa- 
tion. He is travelling in a strange region without a guide. He is 
learning a new language, without a tutor. He lands in the country ; and 
“his eyes,’”’ as Shylock tells Lancelot Gobbo, may be “ his judge ;” 
for other means or aid to judgment he finds none. Books—unless at the 
bookseller’s shop—are things unheard of ; and when he finds any, they 
are sure to contain every thing rather than discussion or information as 
to the country in which he stands. The newspaper is a rag so worth- 
less, that he casts it down in anger. For books! the author of the 
work before us says, that in Elvas, the chief fortified town of Portugal, 
containing 10,000 inhabitants and a garrison of 5,000 men, there is 
not a single bookseller’s shop. The wonder, indeed, would be if there 
were. In the course of a three years’ residence in various provinces of 
Portugal—certainly it was in a time of war, not, perhaps, exactly the 
most favourable period for study—but we never recollect, in any one 
instance, to have seen a book in the hands of a Portuguese gentleman 
—except some manual of prayer, or missal. We can take our corporal 
oath that there was not (at that time) a book-stall from one end of 
Lisbon to the other. In society, the conversation—with a very few 
exceptions, and those chiefly among the ecclesiastics—exhibits the same 
ignorance of, and, by consequence, the same apathy to, all that is 
passing in the kingdom. As there seems to be no help, there is no 
interest ; and, for internal intercourse, or communication, no man 
knows that the Grand Turk is not in arms within fifty miles of him. 
The inhabitant of Lisbon hears and knows nothing, except once a 
year by a family letter, of the affairs of the resident at Coimbra. 
Some intercourse exists between Lisbon and Oporto, but this is confined 
almost entirely to the inhabitants, and in great measure to the English. 
The little remaining correspondence that exists in the country, is entirely 
in the hands of the government and of the clergy ; and the people, by 
habit, acquire an indifference even to the consideration of topics or mat- 
ters, which it is known to be not always prudent or safe to talk about, 
and which they are aware they very imperfectly and indistinctly under- 
stand. 
Under such circumstances, with all the ordinary avenues to knowledge 
closed against him; with but slender opportunities for consideration, 
and none at all for acquiring any thing like what might be termed 
experience, the sort of “ Illustrations” likely to be produced—even from 
the ablest summer tourist—of Spain or Portugal, would hardly be of 
very high authority ; and, in fact, the books which have appeared, have 
in general been of very moderate value. Almost the only one worth 
