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prominent, is here the most monotonous in the whole year. The social parties are not then more numerous or more gay than usual; you hear neither of entertainments nor of assemblies, neither of music nor of balls; the only pleasure in which they indulge consists in sprinkling the passengers, or being sprinkled by those who are at the windows.

they frequently hide themselves if a man hap- || picasures more or less diversified, more or less pens to come in. To make amends they shew themselves a good deal at their windows, where they spend three-fourths of the day in seeing and being seen. There they are fixed with their arms crossed, barcheaded, let the weather be ever so cold, and in winter with a cloak of coarse cloth thrown over their shoulders. They never take up a needle or a book, but divide the day between the window and a chair, in which they remain supinely seated, oppressed with the weight of indolence and lassitude.

Formerly they never made use of chairs, but squatted on the floor, on rush mats, with their legs crossed or bent back under their thighs. This custom is not entirely eradicated, it is still retained by servants and women of the lower order.

The Portuguese are very fond of processions. These solemnities are high days, in particular for the women; they afford them an opportunity to go abroad, to appear in public and exhibit themselves. This they never fail to embrace; they are anxious to present themselves in all their charms, and their toilette engages their whole attention several days beforehand. On the day of the procession every carriage is hired; the women, decked with all their finery, repair to the places where it is to pass; they fill the windows of the balconies, where they display their persons three or four hours before the time. The streets are crowded with men passing and repassing, going and coming; they look, they ogle, they salute, they make signs, which the women, delighted to be taken notice of, answer with eagerness.

These ceremonies give occasion to invitations on the part of the proprietors or tenants of the houses before which the procession is to pass, and produce brilliant and numerous assemblages. || When the procession has passed tea is served to the whole company, after which they frequently dance, and the ball is sometimes continued till late at night, even in Lent. Women never go to these assemblies unless they ar invited; only the fidalgas, that is, the wives of the grandees, invite themselves; they go without ceremony, and take possession of windows and places which were intended for others.

The pleasures of Lisbon are neither numerous nor frequent. The inhabitants seldom have social parties, and still more rarely mingle together in the public walks, in which the Portuguese women never appear, those of foreign nations seldom, and which are but little frequented by the men. Nor are balls more frequent among

them.

The Carnival at Lisbon is extremely dull; that season, distinguished in other countries by

In the last week of the Carnival the women of all ranks, especially the ladies, stand at their windows, and throw on the passengers pulve rized talc, which adheres to their faces and their clothes. They provide themselves with bladders of gum-elastic, squirts, bottles, pots, pitchers, and saucepans; they throw water, frequently in torrents, on those who are passing in the streets. The passenger is fortunate when he is only inundated; he often receives on his head not only the water but the vessels that contain it.

The Portuguese, accustomed to this kind of gallantry, are satisfied with going out on those days in old clothes or great coats, and screening themselves under large umbrellas. Strangers, less forbearing, sometimes return the compli ment with a volley of stones, and not a year passes without broken windows, disputes, and violent scuffles.

Rondas, or patroles, parade the streets, but not for the purpose of hindering this sport; on the contrary they are commissioned to protect these modern Naiads, and to prevent any insult from being offered them. They are even not spared themselves, and they seldom take a turn without being sprinkled.

If the inhabitants of Lisbon have no dancing during the Carnival, they make amends for it in Lent. That season, set apart by the church for abstinence and privations, is chosen by the Portuguese, a people desirous of appearing the most religious in Europe, for dancing. The processions which then take place every week, are the occasion of frequent balls. The Portuguese would not touch meat on any account, but he dances; he is fearful of being deficient in the outward ceremonies of religion, and he indulges in a tumultuous amusement in a season devoted to serious contemplation.

The Portuguese might be supposed to wish to distinguish themselves from other nations by their customs. One instance of this has just been mentioned, here follows another :-In winter the cold is sometimes so intense as to produce frost. It usually rains for three or four months, sometimes for a fortnight or three weeks toge ther. The streets are then filled with water and mud; the humidity penetrates into the house, where it concentrates, and every thing is quite damp. The inhabitants of Lisbon, however,

have no fires; you would not find thirty fire- || of the wives of artizans substitute instead of the places in the whole city. Both men and women cloak a large and ample mantle of black taffeta, remain in their apartments wrapped up in large which covers the whole body and reaches to the woollen cloaks; nothing is to he seen but cloaks | middle of the leg. They either go with the head in the streets, at the theatre, and in the churches. uncovered, or wear a hat ornamented with a black The following are the differences that may be feather. observed with respect to dress: the women of the lower classes, and the wives of artizans, wear on their heads a white handkerchief, which falls down in a point behind, and is tied before under the chin. They never go out without their cloaks of coarse cloth which reach down to their heels.

Those of a superior condition, and even some

Ladies of still higher rank, the wives, sisters, or daughters of merchants, lawyers, physicians, and of the nobility, dress as they please; they follow the French fashion.

With regard to shoes, the women of every class are very particular; they are of silk, more or less covered with spangles and embroidery in gold and silver.

MANNERS OF THE INDIANS.
[Continued from Page 267.]

ON the wedding-day, the young couple sit in the pendal by the side of one another. Several vessels full of water and ranged in a circle are set before them. The Bramins, by their prayers, cause the great God and the great Goddess, Chiven and Pervadi, or Wisnou and Katchimi, to descend into the two largest vessels. The inferior deities, such as the Derverqueels are besought to descend into the smaller vessels. Lighted lamps represent Aguini, as the vessels represent the other deities. A fire is kindled with consecrated wood; the Bramins throw butter into it, repeating prayers in the Sanscrit language. The father then puts into his daughter's hand, some betel bananas, a gold pagoda, and then places it upon that of his son-in law. The mother afterwards pours a little water on the hands of the young couple; the father, in the presence of Chiven, of Pervadi, and of all the Derverqueels supposed to have descend into the vessels, and calling the God Aguini to witness, gives his daughter to him whom he has chosen for his son-inlaw. A Bramin then takes the taly, a kind of conjugal ornament and presents it to the Gods, the Bramins, the relations and all the guests. In presenting it to each of the company, the Bramin repeats these words, in the form of a wish addressed to the bride and bridegroom, "they shall have corn, money, cows, and a numerous progeny."

The husband takes the taly, ties it round his wife's neck, which concludes the marriage. The new married man then swears by the God of Fire, that he will love his wife; who, on her part, promises to be faithful to the nuptial duties, and to imitate Arindaly, whose prudence is revered by the Indians, especially the Talmous, and

whose virtues are held forth as an example to wives. When the bride attains the age of pu berty, a repetition of the marriage ceremonies takes place. These ceremonies are frequently the ruin of families. When a rich and powerful Indian celebrates a wedding, the Bramins flock thither, often from twenty leagues round. Sonnerat says, that sometimes five or six hundred assemble, who are entertained for several days.

All this pomp is merely to gratify vanity. The Indian finds not therein that happy tranquillity which is the object of his wishes, and therefore joyfully returns to the solitude of his habitation. All his pleasures centre in his family. Indolence is his highest good, he seeks neither to distract nor to confuse himself with important or trifling affairs. He experiences no wants either of mind or body. You may see a young Indian, lying for whole days, in a cool part of his house, surrounded by his family, and doing nothing but smoking his oricka or chewing betel. This uniformity of life, is sometimes interrupted by a visit from one or two neighbours, who, like the master of the house, apply to the betel-box. It may be supposed that mirth never presides at these parties. The conversation is neither animated nor instructive. "Words," says an eastern proverb, "are like medicines; which if used in moderation do good, but if multiplied are prejudicial." The wife, on her part, enjoys no greater pleasure than to have with her a goldsmith to make her trinkets; which in a country where a workman requires so little appa ratus, is a taste very easily gratified. Whilst he is blowing his small bellows, casting, hammering, and soldering the gold or silver given him for that purpose, the lady never leaves him a moment;

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if he has a job of some importance he is often surrounded by all the inhabitants in the neighbourhood; the hour of dinner alone can induce them to quit this attracting spectacle.

Their meals afford nothing to excite the appetite or gratify the palate of an European. Their principal food is rice steeped and boiled in water; sometimes to make up for the insipidity of that article the Indian family adds a few dishes highly seasoned with spices. Rice-water, into which they put great quantities of long pepper and salt is their ordinary beverage. After the repast they drink a kind of sherbet. Wine and strong liquors are banished from Indian entertainments. The service of the table consists of a mat spread upon the ground; large banana leaves serve them for napkins, and as we have mentioned above they have nothing but their hands to eat with. Having no other view then to appease hunger, they never press one another to eat, and their simple repasts never degenerate into debauchery. The hour that follows their frugal dinner is entirely devoted to digestion; it is spent in listless inactivity, and an Indian would not break in upon this state of repose to preserve his house from the ravages of a conflagration.

The furniture of the house agrees exactly with the service of the table, and even amongst great families, there is nothing to be seen but a few carpets and cushions, some copper or silver vessels to hold water to drink, a small box for the wife's trinkets, another for the apparatus of the toilette, a large chest to hold the clothes of the whole family, and an oricka, or great pipe for the master of the house. The house is correspondent to the furniture It is very low and has no other embellishment than the whiteness of its walls. The family commonly assembles in a kind of gallery two or three feet from the ground, running round the inside of the house, which is built in form of a square, and surrounds a court-yard; the apartments are very small, lighted only by diminutive windows, looking into the court, and which are sometimes fastened up through jealousy, as they are strangers to glass. The luxury of Indian houses, a luxury commanded by the Gods, is their excessive cleanliness; an Indian always goes out of doors to spit, and pulls off his slippers before he enters the house.

The family never goes abroad except early in the morning, or in the evening, when the heat of the day is over, either to bathe, to pay visits, or to spend a few hours in a neighbour's garden; but upon all these occasions you always see them passive, without any other enjoyment than that of a perfect and invariable tranquillity.

M. Henrichs, from whom we have taken great part of these particulars, became acquainted, at Madras, with a farmer-general of tobacco, one

of the wealthiest Indians in that place. In consequence of his commercial connections with the first English bankers, he had opportunities of beholding their luxury, and attempted to imitate them, yet without changing his habits or mode of life in any respect. Amongst other objects of luxury, he erected, in a beautiful garden he had in the neighbourhood of the town, a pavilion in the Italian style; this pavilion was finished in the European manner. To display his wealth, and at the same time to eclipse the Europeans, he was not contented with mahogany furniture; his chairs, stools, tables, and bureaus, were of covered with the richest Japan carpets; the most ivory inlaid with ebony and gold; the floors were saloon, struck the beholder with admiration; the valuable paintings and busts, placed around the tables were loaded with time pieces and other productions of art, from England or China; great numbers of looking glasses were suspended from the cieling; in short, the whole was such a medley that, although disposed with a kind of symmetry, you would rather suppose it à furniture warehouse than a drawing-room. The bedchamber contained a bed corresponding with the furniture of the saloon, and perhaps the most costly that ever was seen; whatever could be wished for was to be found there; an adjoining apartment was richly furnished in the Turkish style, with red velvet cushions, embroidered with gold, and covered with muslin cases. Perhaps the possessor of this beautiful place may be supposed to have enjoyed this romp; in the midst of his riches he was like a Ryot, brought by chance into a palace; he was the guardian, not the proprietor, of the house; he sometimes visited the magnificent apartments, but he spent most of his time with his friends, seated upon which stood open to give strangers an opportumats, in the gallery of his pavilion, the doors of which appeared as if exposed for sale, and was nity of admiring the luxury of the furniture, enjoyed by nobody. It has been observed that the Indian is always merely a spectator, and an indifferent spectator.

It will always appear incomprehensible, that amidst the eternal inactivity of these people, an Indian is a stranger to ennui, that bane of European societies, but he seems formed purposely for indolence. Europeans has charms for him: he appears to None of the objects that please exist less by means of his senses than of his soul. An Indian would infallibly fall asleep at our most interesting operas; and the happiness of chewing betel would make him think all our entertainments insipid.

In our noisy circles, we go in quest of that pleasure, happiness, or comfort, that we cannot find within ourselves: fortunately for the Indian

he is so formed as to find all these in his own heart. We let our happiness give us the slip, as it were, amidst tumult and confusion; on the contrary, an Indian seems to study, to examine, to get acquainted with himself. It would be difficult to say which is the most melancholy of the two, he who finds his joy within himself, or he who is incessantly obliged to quit himself in order to find it.

The restless sentiment of curiosity would but ill agree with the indolence of the Indian; thus he is far from inquisitive. The most he does is to listen to stories related by faquiers, or the news of the town by his servants. You may see inen whose sole recreation consists in carrying about a bird for a day together, and feeding it with the hand; and others amusing themselves with a cup and ball, or any other diversion. Labour being the portion allotted to the poor, the rich enjoy the idea that they are happy in the eyes of the rest of mankind.

A library is very rarely to be met with in an Indian's house. The library of the Indian rajahs, says Cardonne, consists of a vast number of volumes; it would require a hundred camels to remove it. A rajah, a friend to learning, requested a scientific man to select the substance of every book, and to compile a more portable

library: he accordingly made extracts, forming not more than ten camels' load. Another king thinking it still too voluminous, commissioned a Bramin to make further abridgments, and he reduced the whole library to four maxims :

1. Justice ought to be the soul of a King's actions, it produces tranquillity in his dominions, and excites love in the hearts of his subjects. Injustice, on the contrary, is the source of all trouble, and alienates men's minds from him.

2. A state cannot subsist if the morals of those who compose it are depraved. Vain would be the attempt to enforce the authority of the law. A rajah ought therefore to prevent corruption from insinuating itself amongst his subjects. A virtuous nation is always a faithful one.

3. The only means of preserving health, that most precious blessing, is to eat when the appetite requires, and to give over before it is completely satisfied.

4. The virtue of a wife consists in having a retreat to secure her from the temptation of opportunity; invisible to all but her husband, she ought to be so scrupulous as even to refrain from looking at a inan were he even more beautiful than an angel.

[To be continued.]

POETRY,

ORIGINAL AND SELECT.

THE MAN OF WORTH.

LET others skill'd in epic song

Each val'rous deed rehearse, Or soar'd midst battles ruthless throng Chaunt high the blood-stain'd verse: To gentler strains, from nature's lyre,

The votive muse gives birth;
Urg'd by a chaster, holier fire,
And sings The Man of Worth.

No trumpet sounds his hallow'd name,
No pomp surrounds his gates-
No senseless fashion hands to fame
His chalke 1-Hoors, or fetes!
No principles debasing man,

No luxury taints his mirth-
Nor mad ambition warps the plan,
Fram'd by The Man of Worth.
No labourer waiting at his door

Demands in vain his hireNo livery'd locusts rob the poor, Of what their wants require.

No courtier he, of pliant knee,
Cringing to power, or birth-
Nor despot proud, nor rebel free,
Points out The Man of Worth.

No care worn wretch by sorrow led,
Claims his support in vain ;
Nor meagre want by promise fed,
Is banish'd with disdain.
No friend borne down by adverse fate,
Of kindness finds a dearth-
Nor jealous pride, nor envious hate,
Dwells with The Man of Worth.

No female, trusting to his vows,
Her easy faith deplores;
His love through honour's channel flows,
On virtue's pinion soars.

As lover, relative, and friend,

Dear ties' which bind to earth! Trust me, ye fair! they ne'er can blend But in The Man of Worth.

When fops shall flatter to deceive,

And passion urge its flame-
When specious love the sigh shall heave,
And fond attention claim-
Ah! heed not thou the varied lure,
Offspring of sordid birth!
Nor deem thy tenderness secure,
Save, with The Man of Worth.

If blest with wealth, or rank, or pow'r,
His liberal hand bestows
Aid in necessity's cold hour,

And heals her varied woes;
Or if mysterious fate denies

The meed of wealth, or birth,
A richer boon the heart supplies,
To bless The Man of Worth.

Pity's warm tear!-compassion's sigh!
Affection's softest charm!

Love-searching looks, which quick descry,
And the mute wish disarm!
Sweet'ners of life! soothers of care!

Gems of celestial birth!
Happy the female doom'd to share
These with The Man of Worth.
Then if my wayward fate bestows,
The recompensing hour;
And grants the liberty that flows

From bliss within our pow'r;
Pity to heaven shall waft my pray’r,
And plead, that while on earth,
This weary heart may rest from care,
Safe with The Man of Worth.
And when life's embers faintly glow,

When death prepares his sting-
When the tir'd arteries cease to flow,

Nor friends can succour bring; When on the bosom faint I lie

Of him belov'd on earth,

The fault'ring pray'r, and ling'ring sigh,
Shall bless The Man of Worth.

SONG,

B.

WRITTEN BY a SON OF THE POET BURNS,
At the Age of Fifteen Years.

HAE ve seen in a fresh dewy morning,

The wild warbling red-breast sae clear' Or the low-dwelling, snow breasted gowan, Surcharged wi' mild ev'ning's soft tear? Oh! then ye have seen my sweet lassie, The lassie I loe best of a'; But oh! from the hame of my lassie I'm many a long mile awa'.

Her hair is the wing of the blackbird,

Her eye is the eye of the dove,

Her lips are the mild-blushing rose-bud,
Her bosom's the palace of love;
Alas! when I sit down to study;
I now can do nothing at a';
My book I indeed keep my eyes on-
My thoughts are wi' her that's awa.
Oh love! thou'rt a dear fleeting pleasure,
The sweetest we mortals here know;
Ah! soon is thy heav'n, brightly gleaming,
O'ercast wi' the dark clouds of woe;
Thus the moon, on the oft-changing ocean,
Delights the wan sailor's glad eye,

When red rush the storms of the ocean,
And the wild waves, dark, tumble on high.

LOVE.

Ir misers find a joy in wealth,

Be theirs the golden griefs to prove,
Be mine the pleasures known to health,
When heighten'd by the bliss of love.
Should angry war's destructive roar,

Spread desolation thro' the grove;
Returning peace will please us more,
If shar'd with those we truly love.
If pain o'erwhelms the wounded mind,
If round us untold mis'ries move;
Still will the breast a comfort find,

When love is sooth'd by those we love.
These blessings, Love, belong to thee,
Thy hopes and fears 'tis joy to prove ;
If thine is bondage, who'd be free?
To me then, thou art welcome, Love.
July 1, 1806.
J. M. L.

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