IV 



My Log 371 



ages behind the times. The shops are little better 

 than boxes, with most of their goods in cases on 

 each side of the door, showing that the old Eastern 

 fancy for bazaars still holds good. You find rows 

 of shops all selling the same article at exactly the 

 same price. 



There is a very good opera-house in Lisbon, 

 certainly among the first of the second-rates. It 

 is unusually strong this year, as the King's marriage 

 has made a good deal of gaiety. It is decorated 

 in very good taste, but as usual overladen with 

 chandeliers, a fault they are going to amend by 

 lighting the house through the ceiling. The pit 

 and stalls are exceedingly comfortable, being nice 

 cane-bottomed seats with arms and plenty of room. 

 Between the acts the audience retire to a species 

 of open/cy/^r and smoke cigarettes. We had one 

 night the Traviata indifferently performed ; on 

 another, Martha, with Lotti for prima donna, most 

 deliciously given. Indeed, I hardly remember enjoy- 

 ing an opera more ; the music sparkling with cheer- 

 fulness at one moment, and tinged with just enough 

 pathos to please the next. The whole so lively, 

 and the exquisite Last Rose of Summer so well 

 sung, as to be ample treat enough for one evening. 



There were a great number of Mulattoes even 

 in the boxes, and I saw a hump-backed negro, a 

 pure ' brack Gebblum,' grinning and chattering as 

 fine as may be, evidently in rather smart society. 

 There are an infinity of niggers up and down the 



