FAYAL AND THE PORTUGUESE 279 
very young look rather picturesque in these 
disguises, the latter especially, urchins with 
almost baby faces, toddling along with lighted 
candle in hand ; and one often feels astonished 
to recognize some familiar porter or shopkeeper 
in this ecclesiastical dress, as when discover- 
ing a pacific next-door neighbor beneath the 
bearskin of an American militia-man. A fit 
suggestion ; for next follows a detachment of 
Portuguese troops-of-the-line,— twenty sham- 
bling men in short jackets, with hair shaved 
close, looking much like children’s wooden mon- 
keys, but by no means alive enough for the 
real ones. They straggle along, scarcely less 
irregular in aspect than the main body of the 
procession ; they march to the tap of the drum. 
I never saw a Fourth of July procession in the 
remotest of our rural districts which was not 
beautiful, compared to this forlorn display ; 
but the popular homage is duly given, the bells 
jangle incessantly, and as the procession passes, 
all men uncover their heads or have their hats 
knocked off by official authority. 
Still watching from our hotel window, turn 
now from the sham picturesqueness of the 
church to the real and unconscious picturesque- 
ness of every day. It is the orange season, 
and beneath us streams an endless throng of 
men, women, and children, each bearing on the 
