rpet, in his own shop, or in his coffee-house; or, better still, in
his harem, with his customers, or neighbors, or his family of wives
around him. How much does the Esquimaux in London resemble the
Esquimaux seated on his sledge, shouting at his team of dogs, and
posting over his frozen and trackless route, with a horizon of ice
around him? That is traveling, and this is botany; and of all sciences
botany best suits the traveler. Every variation of latitude, climate,
or season, even the smallest changes of soil, elevation, or exposure,
brings him to a new region, where he may make new acquaintances, or
meet old friends. Through a love for botany the wilderness blooms to
us like a garden, and the solitary places are made populous and glad."

"Such an enthusiastic botanist must become an adept," said L'Isle. "I
suppose you see in Portugal nothing but a land of rare and varied
vegetation?"

"By no means. I am not wedded to one pursuit; or gifted with but one
taste. I have eyes for other things beside flowers, and shall seize
every opportunity of seeing and knowing something of the people of the
country."

"The people, the real people," said L'Isle, "both of this country and
of Spain, are the peasantry. They are chiefly agricultural countries,
and the rural, or rather village population forms the bulk of both
nations, and the best part of them."

"It is the peasantry, the dear, natural, picturesque peasantry that I
most want to know."

"I am astonished to hear you say so, Lady Mabel. The ignorant, filthy,
superstitious creatures!" exclaimed Mrs. Shortridge, with an air of
infinite disgust. "Their _fidalgos_, as they call their gentry, are
bad enough; but as for the common people, any familiarity with them,
sufficient to enable you to know them, would be too disgusting. They
may be picturesque; so let us confine them to their place in the
picture. There alone it is that they do not bring their savor of
garlic with them," and she here buried her pretty little turned-up
nose in a bunch of Lady Mabel's most fragrant flowers.

"Give me those flowers, Mrs. Shortridge; you handle them so rudely,
any one might see that you are no botanist. I had just laid them aside
to be pressed. And as for the poor Portuguese, I mean to know them as
well and despise them as little as I can, and even hope to learn
something through them, if not from them. Colonel L'Isle, I have
mastered already all the ordinary phrases of Portuguese saluta