SWABEY DIARY. 97 
who have moved in the higher walk of historical occupation, 
that the only dread I have is that I may touch upon something 
which has been written about before, for we have had within 
the last 50 years military and naval history, aye, and biography 
too without end.”’ 
During the winter of 1811, in Portugal, we inhabited part of a house 
belonging to a Portuguese Marquess in the village of Salgqueiro. A large 
room was occupied by some of us which served as a library, and there 
was a lone book-case with heavy volumes on ecclesiastical subjects, 
these we did not indeed read, but we turned them to good account by 
pushing them suddenly back and crushing the rats which congregated 
behind them, and seemed more familiar with the leaves than did Don 
Juan, who with his mother, wife, sister and such a handsome niece, 
seemed to think themselves honoured and happy at having us with 
them ; our presence at least secured them from other intruders. These 
simple people lived principally on Indian meal bread (better known 
now in Hngland than it was formerly), chocolate manufactured at home, 
haricot beans, Bacallao or salt fish, a plentiful supply of pears and 
grapes suspended from the ceilings of the rooms, muscovado sugar,! 
and an inexhaustible supply of olive oil and garlic, with an occa- 
sional treat of a kid, some pork and chestnuts formed the culinary 
stores and riches of this family ranking as considerable owners of rural 
property. ‘They of course had their home-made wine and aquadiente, a 
vile spirit coming nearer to spirits of wine than anything else to which 
I can compare it. Butif I forget a good deal I have not forgotten the 
bright eyes of Donna Maria, the fair niece which made an inroad into 
more than one of our bosoms, nor how zealous was the dark beauty in 
teaching the Portuguese language to those who would go to school to 
her. In return we undertook to teach her English, which I cannot say 
we did with that commendable fidelity which would have better become 
us. I fear we rendered Portuguese of which we were asked the Hnglish, 
into ail sorts of ridiculous expressions, causing the most ludicrous 
dilemmas that can be imagined. I do not think this was justifiable, 
but 1 have bound myself to speak the truth, and this was one of our 
follies, yet on the whole our conduct was most gallant and decorous. 
We had a frequent visitor, indeed for some time a daily one, in an 
Irish priest, at least he was half Irish half Portuguese; there are many 
remnants of Roman Catholic refugee Irish families both in Spain and 
Portugal. This gentleman’s attention to us was very great, but we soon 
remarked that the hour he could best spare from his more serious 
avocations of performing mass, hearing confessions, etc., was the same 
at which we dined, and as he became a bore, we changed the time, but 
he with a surprising facility accommodated himself to this change fast 
days and all. At length we told him with a very serious face that out 
of respect to him as a Roman Catholic we had so far abstained from 
the prayers which we usually said before dinner, but our consciences 
would not allow us to omit this duty any longer, “vary vill” said 
the Padre, and very piously down on his knees dropped he, while we 
were engaged in a mummery which he as little understood as we prob- 
1 Unrefined raw sugar. 
