MAESTRO FRANCESCO.

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apple, and the perfumed citron, all in unaided abundance. It was realizing a scene in Persian poetry; while the softened air and transparent sky mingled with and harmonized the bounties of the earth.

I partook of breakfast with more than ordinary ap petite and gratitude; both strengthened by the luscious freshness of the figs that ushered it in. I felt a self-complacent pity for the man who had never commenced his morning repast with fresh figs. Let no such man be envied.

The Salic law prevails in the consular establishment. No woman: governs there indeed, save one in wood-the figure-head of a shipwrecked bark,—I saw none of the softer sex in the house. My chambermaid was a man of some fifty years; and it is due him and truth to say, that he performed his functions with more assiduity and less fuss than any female chambermaid I have had the good or ill-luck to encounter. He never spoke unless when addressed, and then in Portugese, of which I did not understand one word. He never used my combs, nor tooth-brushes; never pretended to be alarmed when I prepared for the bath; and never stole my cosmetics: took all gratuities without simulated reluctance, and expected no endearments. He was, indeed, as John Foy, our sometime Washington friend, would have described him "a paycock" of a chambermaid. I have met never his superior since. "Maestro" Francesco, who presided over the cuisine, was an artist; and properly desig nated maestro. He composed. He invented. He

gave more genius to his dishes than often goes to the composition of an epic, or an opera. He loved his profession; gloried in it, and was glorified by it.

He was not compelled to the office; unlike the starved apothecary, his will, not his poverty consented.

He was a man of means; what we call a forehanded man; a landed proprietor, and owner of houses. His rents had been a sufficient livelihood-but he preferred doing good to selfish indolence; of influence among his countrymen, he was much respected by the stranger that was within the gates.

But Homer sometimes napped, and Michael Angelo failed-and Francesco, great in his art as they in theirs, had one infirmity; he was too much disposed to load his table with pork. To be sure, the porcine flesh of Madeira is like such flesh nowhere else-so juicy is it, so delicate, so sweet; and whiter than an infant's. Dr. Barrowby, equally well-known in Johnson's time as a physician and lover of swine's flesh, would not have needed to utter, on eating this, the superfluous wish "Oh that I were a Jew!" "Why so?" some one inquired; "the Jews are not allowed to eat your favorite meat." "Because," replied he; "I should then enjoy the taste of the pork with the additional pleasure of sinning." The Madeira pork would have left him no possibility of further desire. Still it may be crowded too much upon the table, though it assume as many various disguises as Proteus.

In truth, the Portuguese make excellent servants, in whatever capacity employed-versatile, active, honest, impressionable, they are as intelligent as the French, and much more reliable. I speak generally; of course there are rogues and drones among them as in other places. The garden walls of the consulate abut on the Praza do Constitutiao-the most popular lounge for those who have nothing to do on the island; i. e., threefourths of the natives, and all the foreigners. Flanked on one side by the castle, and, on the opposite by the cathedral, with a row of fine trees enclosing it on every side, it affords a picturesque and

shaded walk. Here the ladies exhibit their dresses, and their faces; talk scandal or sentiment-excite and reward admiration-and the gentlemen smoke and gaze. Day-life is listless, a major part of the time here, and conversation is mostly too great an exertion, unless to those from whom it flows naturally. The principal objection to this resort, as to other most agreeable walks near Funchal, is the number of consumptive sick you meet. Our careless and unthinking enjoyment of existence seems to outrage these fated sufferers. It is, however, the blessed characteristic of their disease that they feel not how fast it steals away their blood-their life ebbs rapidly, while their hopes increase. The smile on their wan cheeks attest no consciousness of danger-and no premonitory pangs anticipate the agony of dissolution.

It is easy to while the day in the open air, under cloudless suns, and in a well-tempered clime. A mere sense of existence fills and satisfies the soul. You want no distraction, amusement, or occupation. As the Grecian philosopher proved existence-" Cogito, ergo sum”—“I think, therefore, I must be"-so was defined our daily life—“ We feel, and therefore live." For what is happiness but a series of pleasurable sensations?

And the evening réunions at the consulate were pleasant, and dwell gratefully on the memory. Whist was the general occupation, with tea and toast for the sole refreshment. I do not recollect to have seen wine introduced at all, and no stronger potations are known in polite society. The Portuguese are no wine-bibbers, though they cultivate the vine. They place their choicest vintage upon the table from courteous habit, but indulge even at dinner sparsely; after dinner, most rarely, if ever.

Among the most frequent and honored guests on these occasions was the Conego Bento, a canon of the Holy Catholic Church. An octogenarian, but more bowed down by the weight of honors than of years. He had obeyed literally the Scriptural injunction: He had sold all he had, and given to the poor. Devoted to his flock and the Church, wealth had been to him a distraction and an incumbrance. During a long life unshadowed by a suspicion, he had gradually divested himself of a large patrimony for the maintenance of poor relatives; and whoever was needy was his relative. He had all the amiability, the bonhommie, and quiet deportment of Fénélon, with nothing of his timeserving disposition. Had he been disposed to flatter the great, he too could have obtained the higher dignities of the Church. But he preferred conscience to position, self-respect to unworthily-earned promotion. Tolerant, although he had suffered persecution; fervid, while the times encouraged laxity of opinion, he gained proselytes by kindness, and secured them by example.

I have heard him in the pulpit-and while generally the mildness of his daily thought was reflected there, on occasions when vice provoked, or his lofty theme urged him onward, I have known him to burst forth in a torrent of indignant or impetuous eloquence, like Bourdaloue rebuking protected sin, or the inspired convert preaching the Unknown God! His port then assumed a majesty suited to his theme; his bowed form became erect; his eye regained all its original fire his voice its wonted compass-and every lineament, feature, and gesture, revealed the struggling Divinity within!

His sole amusement was this game of whist; his nightly amusement, did no duty prevent. They who have neither his intellect nor beauty of life may pro

nounce it frivolous or objectionable. The intelligent and the charitable, whose censure alone is worthy regard, will approve him. Had they who deserted the Church of Rome made life more tolerable, they had made their religion more desirable. There must be something wrong in the faith which punishes contentment in this world with damnation beyond it.

Conego Pestana was another of the guests; more learned than his elder confrère, though surely not more devout. Educated at the University of Coimbra, accustomed to high society, and of great natural parts, his conversation was as brilliant as it was easy and unaffected. He never attempted and never failed to shine. He knew the world, and was too wise to abuse it; he loved his calling, or had too much sense to discredit it. That is, he sincerely believed, or unsuspectedly doubted.

Then we had a 66 colonel of the regular army," an officer of the customs, the Governor of the island, and an occasional morgado, as the hereditary land-proprietors are called. With varied conversation and cards, we got through the evenings quietly, pleasantly, and instructively. My knowledge of the language was too sadly limited to allow a full appreciation of the conversation; many a pointed epigram or brilliant repartee escaped me, as well as (I suspect) many a scandalous anecdote, which the sterner sex relish as much as the softer. But some one was always at hand to give me an outline of the mot or story, so that I could imagine what it would be with filling up and coloring. The Portuguese language is an expressive one, and the Portuguese themselves the best of mimics and raconteurs, so that the well-selected epithet, the animated eye, and speaking gesture conveyed a meaning which careless or unaided words could never have rendered intelligible.