Such was the state of Brazil, generally speaking, on our arrival in that country, on the 21st of September, 1821. Much that might be interesting I have omitted, partly because I have not so correct a knowledge of it, as to venture to write it; much, because we are too near the time of action to know the motives and springs that guided the actors; and much, because neither my sex nor situation permitted me to inform myself more especially concerning the political events in a country where the periodical publications are few, recent, and though by law free, yet, in fact, owing to the circumstances of the times, imperfect, timorous, and uncertain. What I have ventured to write is, I trust, correct as to facts and dates; it is merely intended as an introduction, without which, the journal of what passed while I was in Brazil would be scarcely intelligible. [Illustration] JOURNAL. At about six o'clock in the evening of the 31st of July, 1821, after having saluted His Majesty, George IV., who at that moment went on board the Royal George yacht, to proceed to Dublin,--we sailed in the Doris, a 42 gun frigate, for South America. After touching at Plymouth, and revisiting all the wonders of the break-water and new watering place, we sailed afresh, but when off Ushant, were driven back to Falmouth by a heavy gale of wind. There we remained till the 11th of August, when, with colours half-mast high, on account of the death of Queen Caroline, we finally left the channel, and on the 18th about noon came in sight of Porto Santo. We passed it on the side where the town founded by Don Henry of Portugal, on the first discovery of the island, is situated, and regretted much that it was too late in the day to go in very near it. The land is high and rocky, but near the town there is a good deal of verdure, and higher up on the land, extensive woods; a considerable quantity of wine is made there, which, being a little manufactured at Funchal, passes for true Madeira. As usual in Portuguese colonial towns, the church and convent are very conspicuous. When we passed Porto Santo, and the Desertas, and anchored in Funchal roads, I was disappointed at the calmness of my own feelings, looking at these distant islands with as little emotion as if I had passed a headland in the channel. Well do I remember, when I first saw Funchal twelve years ago, the joyous eagerness with which I feasted my eyes upon the first foreign country I had ever approached, the curiosity to see every stone and tree of the new land, which kept my spirits in a kind of happy fever. "Sweet Memory, wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of time I turn my sail, To view the fairy haunts of long lost hours, Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flow'rs." ROGERS.