weight of the molten silver found in the ruins after the terrible fire following the earthquake; no less than 469 arobas, one aroba being equal to 32lbs. Adverse fate overtook the magnificent temporary edifice put up by D. José the following year. Fire, the work of an incendiary, again destroyed the rare and costly orfèvrerie and whole structure in less than three hours, during which time the King, the Patriarch, all the court, civic and ecclesiastical dignitaries lent every energy to the extinction of the flames. The incendiary, caught on Spanish territory, was dragged through the streets at the tail of a horse as a public warning, then strangled and burnt on the scaffold. The people call the Principe Real by the name of Patriarchal Queimada—burnt patriarchal—to this day.
Yet another tree-shaded promenade opens out lower down on the same highway; the Alameda, or small garden, of S. Pedro d'Alcantara. It is close to the head of the steep Calçada da Gloria which is climbed by a cable elevator transporting the pedestrian in two minutes from the Avenida da Liberdade to this Bairro Alto. Here there is a statue to be observed not so much for any artistic value as its testimony to public recognition of modern thought. The subject is a well-known, clever journalist, Eduardo Coelho, a name once intimately connected with the Diario dos Noticias, which ranks, with the Seculo, as the chief daily paper in Lisbon. As a symbol of the popularization of journalism in Portugal a small street Arab with a bundle of newspapers forms part of the memorial.
A flight of steps leads down to a wide terrace of the Alameda, conspicuous for the peculiar arrangement of busts of celebrities in history, literature, the arts, set up on pedestals in the flower beds and borders of the pretty garden. Beyond the aloes and palm trees which veil the long, ugly roofs of the station sheds exactly beneath the
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