48 • BATCH IAN. [chap. xxiv. 



We enter a gloomy palm-leaf liut, in which two or three 

 very dim lamps barely render darkness visible. The floor 

 is of black sandy earth, the roof hid in a smoky impene- 

 trable blackness ; two or three benches stand against the 

 Avails, and the orchestra consists of a fiddle, a fife, a drum, 

 and a triangle. There is plenty of company, consisting of 

 young men and women, all very neatly dressed in white and 

 black — a true Portuguese habit. Quadrilles, waltzes, polkas, 

 and mazurkas are danced with great vigour and much 

 skill. The refreshments are muddy coffee and a few sweet- 

 meats. Dancing is kept up for hours, and all is conducted 

 with much decorum and propriety. A party of this kind 

 meets about once a week, the principal inhabitants taking 

 it by turns, and all who please come in without much 

 ceremony. 



It is astonishing how little these people have altered 

 in three hundred years, although in that time they 

 have changed their language and lost all knowledge of 

 their own nationality. They are still in manners and 

 appearance almost pure Portuguese, very similar to those 

 with whom I had become acquainted on the banks of the 

 Amazon. They live very poorly as regards their house 

 and furniture, but preserve a semi-European dress, and 

 have almost all fuU suits of black for Sundays. They are 

 nominally Protestants, but Sunday evening is their grand 

 day for music and dancing. The men are often good 



