Much of my time was passed with friends on the shores of the bay, a short distance beyond Gloria Hill, and I was in a certain degree relieved from the banging and roaring of cannon fired in compliment to distinguished personages, who appear to select Rio as the place of all others, where they may smell powder to their noses' content; to say nothing of being immured on ship-board after nearly two months' passage. Escaping these disagreeables, I had leisure to stretch my limbs on shore, and enjoy the perfumes of flowers and fruit from the stems that bore them.

It is in the direction of the beach, or, as the Portuguese have it, Praya Flamingo, on the road to Il Cateto, and the charming and secluded little bay of Boto Fogo, that most of the diplomatique corps, and foreign merchants reside. The houses are rarely more than two stories in height, a combination of Venetian and Italian orders of architecture, with heavy projecting cornice, balconies and verandas, and washed with light straw or bluish tints.

The saloons are always spacious and lofty, with prettily papered walls, and floors of the beautiful, dark polished wood of the country. Nearly all those residences are surrounded by extensive gardens, blooming in bright and brilliant foliage, only matured beneath the burning rays of a vertical sun. There are no springs in Rio, and the grounds are irrigated by miniature aqueducts, led from mountains in the rear; sufficiently large, however, to float in their narrow channels, serpents and many other noxious reptiles, enough to make one's hair stand erect. It is by no means an uncommon occurrence to find the giracea, a venomous snake, insinuating themselves within the sunny marble pavements of steps and porticoes and I was assured by a resident, that one monster after having some four feet cut off from his tail, ran away with head and remaining half with a most cricket-like and surprising degree of celerity. Indeed I was myself a witness to the intrusion of an individual of the scorpion breed, who walked uninvited into the saloon, and was on the point of stepping up a young lady's ancle, when, detecting his intention, with the assistance of a servant, he was enticed into a bottle that he might sting himself or the glass at pleasure. Being somewhat unaccustomed to these little predatory incursions, I was particularly cautious during the remainder of my stay, to examine every article, from a tooth-pick to the couch, before touching the same. Another approximation to the same genus is the white ant, possessing rather a literary turn, and I was told, that it is not unusual for a million or two to devour a gentleman's library—covers and all, in a single night. I have never yet been able to conquer disgust for even docile, harmless, speckled-back lizards, and indeed all the hosts of slimy, crawling reptiles I heartily fear and abhor.

We found the town in a furor of enthusiasm in admiration of the song and beauty of a French operatique corps. I went thrice and was well repaid for the dollars, in sweet music of Auber and Donizetti—there were two primas—for serious and comique—both, too, primas in prettiness. The Academy of Paris Music had never, perhaps, seen or heard of Mesdames Duval and her partner, but La Sala San Januario had been captivated with both, and beauty covers multitudes of faults, particularly with men, for what care we, if the notes touch the soul, whether a crystal shade higher or lower than Grisi, or Persiani, so long as they flow from rosy lips, that might defy those last-named donnas to rival, even with the brightest carmine of their toilets.

The theatre itself is a very respectable little place, having three tiers and parquette. The royal box faces the stage, hung with damask. The whole interior of the building was quite Italian—every box railed off with gilded fret work, and lighted with candles swinging in glass shades. The Brazilians are fond of music, and all the world attended each representation, including the Emperor, Empress and Court. As I had, in times past, seen a good deal of Don Pedro, when he was a studious, meditative boy, at the Palace of Boto Fogo, I was somewhat curious to observe the effect of old time's cutting scythe on the Lord's anointed, as well as on the rest of us clay-built mortals. His face and shape of the head had changed very little, but he had grown immensely; tall, awkward, and verging on corpulency even now, though I believe he is only twenty-eight years of age. His Italian wife appeared much older. Both were well and plainly dressed, attended by some half a dozen dames and dons of the court.

The curtain rose as the imperial party took their seats, and there were neither vivas, nor groaning manifestations to express pleasure or disgust, from the audience. All passed quietly and orderly, like sensible persons, who came to hear sweet sounds, and not to be overawed by great people. I made the tour of the donas through a capital lorgnette, and although like Mickey Free, fond of tobacco and ladies, I must pledge my solemn assurances, that with the exception of something pretty, attached to the French company, there was not a loveable woman to be seen. I doubt not but there are rare jewels to be found in out of the way spots, secluded from public gaze, but it was terra incognita to me, and we saw none other than the light molasses-hued damsels, who are fully matured at thirteen, and decidedly passÉe at three and twenty. In the present age it is a questionable inference if saponaceous compounds might not be judiciously used in removing some few stains that nature is entirely innocent of painting; albeit, a lovely Anglo-Saxon of my acquaintance was vastly horrified at thoughts of a friend espousing one of these cream-colored beauties, valued at a conto of rais, and shiploads of coffee; and assured the deluded swain, with tears in her eyes, that it would require more than half his fortune to keep his wife in soap—supposing she should acquire the weakness or ambition to become enamored of fresh water.