"Yes," replied he; "any one in Lisbon will show you the booking office: unless, by the bye, you prefer palanquin, in which case I would advise you to order relays of black bearers from Jigitononha; or, you might do it on two donkeys. Well, sir; when you're up there in the mountains, among the goats, wolves, wild buffaloes and rhododendrons, the altitude about corresponding to latitude 66° N. in Europe, and to--let me see--latitude--say latitude 50° in the United States--of course you'll feel hungry. Step into the first hotel. But I'd advise you--don't order three courses; you'll find it come expensive; better rough it with something light--say a beef-steak and a bottle of port. That buffalo beef, capital. Port--let me see--are you particular in your port? Better ask for the Algarve sort. Well, sir; after you have dined, just step out into the village--walk into the first wine-shop. You'll probably find half-a-dozen peasants there--big, muscular, broad-chested, good-humoured-looking fellows--goatherds and all that kind of thing. Look out for the chap with the guitar--you'll be sure to find him in the wine-shop; order a quart tumbler of wine--just taste it yourself--then hand it to him--and tell him to play. The moment he has tossed off the tipple, he begins tinkling. The other six fellows stand up; throw back their shoulders; bulge out their chests; and begin smirking, winking their little black eyes, snapping their fingers, and screwing their backs in such an extraordinary manner as you never beheld--all in cadence to the guitar. That's the first access of the musical oestrum. The guitar goes on--strum--strum--strum--a low monotonous jingle, just two or three chords. That's the accompaniment to the singing that's about to begin. At length, one of the fellows commences--air and words both extempore; perhaps something amatory, _Minha Maria, minha querida_; or, it may be, something satirical, if they see anything quizzable--something about yourself. While that first fellow is singing, the chap next him stands, still winking, screwing, smirking, snapping his fingers; and begins, as soon as the other has done. So it goes on, till all the half-dozen have had their turn. But the curious thing is this: though all the songs are different, different in the _tema_, different in the style, different in the compass of voice, different in the pitch, different in the words, the same accompaniment does duty for all: the chap with the guitar goes on, just tinkling the same chords, till the whole is finished. Then, if you want it _da capo_, give him another tumbler of wine. If you've had enough, why, then, you know, you can just fork out a moidore or two, tell them to divide it, and take your leave,--that is, if you don't want to see the fight for the money: but that's not worth your while; mere rough and tumble, with a little knifing. Only mind; don't give dollars or patacas. They prefer gold."