This is the season of cheerfulness and gaiety, and we were likewise to have our festival at the Poço da Panella. These festivals are always preceded by nine evenings of hymn-singing, and music, in honour of the Virgin, or the saint whose day is to be thus celebrated. On this occasion the performance for the _novena_, or nine evenings, consisted of a piano-forte played by a lady, the wife of a merchant, and a guitar, and some wind-instruments, played by several young men of respectability. The vocal music was also executed by the same persons, assisted by some female mulatto slaves belonging to the lady. I was somewhat surprised to hear the airs of country-dances and marches occasionally introduced. However, on the day of the festival, the performers were professional men, and in the evening fireworks were displayed. Every house in the village was crowded this day with people from all parts. My friend and I had several persons to dinner, but before we had half finished, some of _their_ friends appeared, and without ceremony came in and helped themselves; soon all idea of regularity vanished, and things were scrambled for. In a short time both of us left our own house, and tried to gain admittance to some other, but all were in the same confusion. We were invited to a dance in the evening, at which the Governor was present; and although he is himself desirous of making every person feel at ease, still such is the dreadful idea of rank, for I know not what else to call it, in this country, that the behaviour of every one was constrained, and the conversation carried on almost in a whisper. I lost no Festivals, and amongst others, went to that of St. Amaro, the healer of wounds, at whose chapel are sold bits of ribbon, as charms, which many individuals of the lower orders of people tie round their naked ancles or their wrists, and preserve until they wear out, and drop off. About the commencement of Lent, the villages in the neighbourhood are almost entirely deserted by the white people, who return to town to see the processions customary at this season in Catholic countries. The rains also usually begin about the end of March. I did not leave the Poço de Panella until the very last, but in the end found the place dull, and followed the rest.