Deseret evening news. [volume] (Great Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1867-1920, 1900-01-20
alnnnnnnruulnnrrv
Special Correspondence.

| Special Correspondence.
setubal. Portugal, Dec. l5.-Though
this celebrated commercial port Of
Southern Portugal Is only about twenty
miles below Lisbon. II is nearly days
journey from point 20 point. First,
full hour by ferry-steamer, across the
broad estuary OF the Tagus, from Lis
bon on It's northern shore TO Barrelro
on the southern. No stretch OF imagin-
alton can conceive Of this water-pas-
sage as a pleasant one, Notwithstanding
its novel scenes-the slowly-recedlng
city Of palaces rambling over hills in
| the rear q strange African landscape
ahead, and dark mountains In the back
| ground on every side. The dirty little
boat, infested with neas, flies and other
vermln. rolls and rocks like a steamer
In the English channel, OF salling-ves-
sci rounding Cape Horn. In IL oristo-
Gratis and peasants mules, horses and
cattle, all sea-slck together, are crowd
ed IN closest juxtaposItlon. An icy wind
sweeps the shady eide OF the deck, chilli
Ing you 10 the marrow, while on the
other and more popular side blister
ing sun maketh your countenance TO
shine. The climax OF discomfort Is
capped by seemingly endless wait in
front Of Barrelro, still rolling and toss
ing as In storm at sea-. amid black
and foul beach-water from which the
| paddles churn up exhalations more pes
tientlal than those that distinguished
Havana harbor before American occu-
patton.
| Barrelro IL the terminus Of the rail-
way that runs eastward TO Eyora,
thence south TO Beja-those two cities
so famous in Roman and Moorish days;
and a branch, hardly longer than its
name-"Portuguese Royal Railway OF
lisbon BarIeiro- Setubial connects the
last named port. The road runs, or
rather creeps. through a fiat and tree
less desert
A REGULAR SAHARA
OF shifting sands; and as your Portu-
guese fellow passengers Insist on
opening all the windows, the little
square cars, uncomfortable enough at
best, become filled with dust and smoke
mot TO mention nauseous odors Of fish
and garlic from your neighbours lunch
cons and the incessant high-pitched
staccato Of the idioma, which afIllcts
your weary nerves like the filing OF
saws.
You might travel over half the world
without finding so utterly forblddlng a
stretch OF country-such dreary sand
dunes, interspersed with patches Of
rusty moorland, and here and there a
muddy creek. The soil Is stained bright
red in spots, with Wild sorTel, that looks
like splaehes Of human blood; all Is
treeless, fowerless and blrdless, except
for an occasional buzzard clrcling above
some carcass, or perched contemplative.
ly on q sand-ple; and the view Il
bounded by hideous red and yellow
hills, their bare cliffs topped with scrag-
gy stone pine. Had Dante wished "a
represent the future state OF the i'm.
penltent farmer, he could not have
found more typical inferno, where
wind ana water, soil, sun and climate
combine against the unfortunate tlllei
OF the earth. Though the fervid sun
withers and kills, winds blow damp and
chill. Malaria burdens the air, and the
haggard faces Of the Inhabitants show
that oil are ague-smitten. Even the
blessed rains Of the desert falling alike
on the just and unjust are Of little ben
eft here, soaking at once through the
loose sand and leaving no moisture be-
hind. Yet, strange 10 say, agriculture
fights for foothold even here, and
with considerable success. This
desolate region produces the best wine
OF southern Portugal the famous La
varado, 80 called from the adjacent VIII
lage Of that name, which in turn was
| named In honor of the late Count do
Lavarado, long the Portuguese minis
ter 10 the court OF ST. James But what
q disappointment, 10 eyes not used 10
| wine-growing, are these vineyards,
stretching for miles half cooked in
the sun. There Is not the slightest sug-
gestion OF "the lush LEAKAGE Of the
| graceful gadding vine" which poets
have taught us TO look for In the trel-
| Uses OF France and Italy; but a weird
scene which reminds the novice OF
Dante's wood Of che seventh circle,
wherein the
SOULS OF SUICIDES
were transformed into gaunt knotted
trees fed by harpies and conscious Of
| physical pain. Here a vineyard Is q
rough field. enclosed only by low sand
mounds. II enclosed at all, with stunted
'prickly-pear" cactus stuck along the
| top lin lieu Of fencing. Within the weed
grown, sandy expanse. at intervals OF
| two veras dark, twisted stumps raise
their heads. like black snakes with half
their bodies In the air. contorted in
their struggles TO free themselves from
the earth. You can hardly believe that
| these bear the luscious muscatel
grapes, the best In the world. from
which the far-famed white wine is
made. AZ this season Of the year the
vines have been pruned back. Next
spring they will put forth a few scat
tering leaves. and each shaky stump
will send our four or five yard long
shoots. Wind-draughts, passing east
and west along the great Tagus est
uary, particularly torment this unshel.
tered plain. Hardly tree can stand
against their biting gales, and the giant
reed-cane. indispensable for vine plant
stalking. which grows twenty and thirty