LETTER XVIII. Explore the extremities of the Calle de la Reyna.-Destructive rage for improvement.-Loveliness of the valley of Aranjuez.-Undisturbed hap- piness of the animals there.-Degeneration of the race of grandees.—A PAGE. Supreme command given to two distinguished Prelates to visit the Monaste- ries of Alcobaça and Batalha, and a royal wish expressed that the Author should accompany them.-Preparations in high style for the Journey.— The general Rendezvous.-Departure.-Nossa Senhora de Luz.-Lu- miares.-Domain of the Monks of St. Vincent.-Reception there, A morning walk.-Boundless orchards of orange and apricot.-The river Trancaô.-Magnificent bay-tree.-A fishing party.-Happy inclosure.— An afternoon ramble to the Palace of the Patriarch, and its immense A first-rate blessing.-The Duke d'Alafoens' Chateau.-The great high- way to the Caldas.-Extensive fertility.-Cadafaiz.-Boundless vineyard. -Eggs of the Sun.-A calm retirement.-Peaceful state of Portugal, A ramble over the hills.-Beautiful grotto.-Reminiscences of Gil Blas.- Journey resumed.-First sight of Alcobaça.-Pompous reception.-The Three Graces of Holiness.-Gloomy church.-Sepulchral chapel of Pe- dro the Just and Iñez.-Interrupted reveries.-Enormous kitchen.— Hospitable preparations.-The banquet-hall.-The banquet.-Tiresome SIXTH DAY. PAGE. Endless corridors, and a grim-looking hall.-Portrait of St. Thomas à Becket. -Ancient cloister.-Venerable orange-trees.-Sepulchral inscriptions.The refectory.--Solemn summons to breakfast.—Sights.-Gorgeous sacristy.-Antiquities.-Precious specimen of early art.-Hour of Siesta.-A noon-day ramble.-Silence and solitude.-Mysterious lane.-Irresistible somnolency of my conductor.-An unseen songstress.-A surprise.— Donna Francisca, her Mother and Confessor.-The world of Alcobaça awakened. Return to the Monastery.-Departure for Batalha.—The Field of Aljubarota.-Solitary vale.-Reception at Batalha.-Enormous supper.-Ecstasies of an old Monk.-His sentimental mishap.-Nightscene.-Awful denunciations, . 187 SEVENTH DAY. Morning.-The Prior of Batalha.-His account of the nocturnal wanderer. -A procession.-Grand façade of the Great Church.-The nave.-Effect of the golden and ruby light from the windows.-Singularly devout celebration of High Mass.-Mausoleum of John the First and Philippa.— Royal tombs.-The royal cloisters.-Perfect preservation of this regal monastery.—Beautiful Chapter-house.—Tombs of Alphonso the Fifth and his grandson.-Tide of monks, sacristans, novices, &c.—Our departure.— Wild road.-Redoubled kindness of my reception by the Lord Abbot, and why.-Dr. Ehrhart's visit to the Infirmary, and surgical raptures.— A half-crazed poct and his doleful tragedy.-Senhor Agostinho in the character of Donna Inez de Castro.-Favouritism, and its reward, . EIGHTH DAY. Too much of a good thing.-My longing for a ramble.-Sage resolves.A gallop.-Pure and elastic atmosphere.-Expansive plain.-Banks of the River.-Majestic Basilica of Batalha.---Ghost-like Anglers.-Retrospections. The conventual Bells.-Conversation with the Prior.-A frugal Collation.-Romantic Fancies.-The Dead Stork and his Mourner.Mausoleum of Don Emanuel.-Perverse Architecture.-Departure from Batalha.-Twilight.-Return to Alcobaça, NINTH DAY. Lamentations on our Departure, and on the loss of Monsieur Simon.Mysterious Conference.-A sullen Adieu.-Liveliness of the Prior of St. Vincent's.-Pleasant Surprise.-Vast and dreary plain.-A consequential Equerry.—An Invitation.-The Bird-Queen.-Fairy Landscape. -The Mansion.-The great Lady's Nephews.-Reception by her Excellency. Her attendant Hags.-The great Lady's questions about England, and dismal ideas of London.-The Cuckoo.-Imitations.—Dismay of her Sublime Ladyship and her Hags.-Our Departure from the bird 198 215 ridden Dominions.-Cultivated plain.-Happy peasantry, and their grat- itude to the Monks of the Royal Convent.-Their different feelings to- wards the great lady.-Female peasants bearing offerings to our Lady of Nazare.-Sea View.-Pedraneira.-Banquet of fish.—Endless Ravine.— Alfagiraô.-Arrival at the Caldas.-Sickly population.-Reception of Dr. Ehrhart. His visit to the Invalids, and contempt of the Medical Treat- Knavish Provedore.-Leave the Caldas.-Obidos.--Aboriginal-looking ham- let.-Exquisite atmosphere.-Pastoral hymns to St. Anthony.-Bonfires on the eve of his festival.-Reception at Cadafaiz.-Delightful change, 238 Excursion to a Franciscan Convent.-A Miracle.-Country resembling Palestine. Innumerable assemblage of peasants.-Their sincere Devo- tion.-Sublime sight.-Observations of the Prior of Aviz.-The Benedic- tion.-Ancient Portuguese Hymn.-Its grand effect on the present occa- sion.-Perilous descent from the mountain.-A mandate from the Prince. Dreary expanse of country between Cadafaiz and Queluz.-Arrival at the palace.-Court lumber.-Observations of the Marquis of Anjeja relative to the Prince-Regent.-Promised Audience of his Royal Highness.— Visit to the forbidden gardens.-Surprise of an African Gardener.-A pavilion.-Night-scene.-Preparations for a fête.—The Infanta's nymph- like attendants.—The young Marquis of Marialva.-Interview with her Royal Highness.-A Race.-A. Dance.-The Prince's summons.-Con- versation with him.-Character of that sovereign.—Baneful influence of his despotic consort.-Unhappy aspirants to court benefits.-Private con- ference with the Marquis.-The Prince-Regent's afflictions. His vision. -Anjeja's urgent request.-Terrible cries from the Queen.-Their effect PORTUGAL. Portugal attracting much attention in her present convulsed and declining state, it might not perhaps be uninteresting to the public to caɛt back a glance by way of contrast to the happier times when she enjoyed, under the mild and beneficent reign of Donna Maria the First, a great share of courtly and commercial prosperity.—March 1, 1834. LETTER I. Falmouth, March 6, 1787. THE glass is sinking; the west wind gently breathing upon the water, the smoke softly descending into the room, and sailors yawning dismally at the door of every ale-house. Navigation seems at a full stop. The captains lounging about with their hands in their pockets, and passengers idling at billiards. Dr. V has scraped acquaintance with a quaker, and went last night to one of their assemblies, where he kept jingling his fine Genevan watch-chains to their sober and silent dismay. In the intervals of the mild showers with which we are blessed, I ramble about some fields already springing with fresh herbage, which slope down to the harbour. The immediate environs of Falmouth are not unpleasant upon better acquaintance. Just out of the town, in a sheltered recess of the bay, lies a grove of tall elms, forming several avenues carpeted with turf. In the central point rises a stone pyramid about thirty feet high, well designed and constructed, but quite plain, without any inscription; between the stems of the trees one discovers a low white house, built in and out in a very capricious manner, with oriel windows and porches, shaded by bushes of prosperous bay. Several rose-coloured cabbages, with leaves as crisped and curled as those of the acanthus, decorate a little grass-plat, neatly swept, before the door. Over the roof of this snug habitation I spied the skeleton of a gothic mansion, so completely robed with thick ivy as to appear like one of those castles of clipped box I have often seen in a Dutch garden. Yesterday evening, the winds being still, and the sun gleaming warm for a moment or two, I visited this spot to examine the ruin, hear birds chirp, and scent wall-flowers. Two young girls, beautifully shaped, and dressed with a sort of romantic provincial elegance, were walking up and down the grove by the pyramid. There was something so lovelorn in their gestures, that I have no doubt they were sighing out their souls to each other. As a decided amateur of this sort of confidential promenade, I would have given my ears to have heard their confessions. LETTER II. Falmouth, March 7, 1787. SCOTT came this morning and took me to see the consolidated mines in the parish of Gwynnap: they are situated in a bleak desert, rendered still more doleful by the unhealthy appearance of its inhabitants. At every step one stumbles upon ladders that lead into utter darkness, or funnels that exhale warm copperous vapours. All around these openings the ore is piled up in heaps waiting for purchasers. I saw it drawn recking out of the mine by the help of a machine called a whim, put in motion by mules, which in their turn are stimulated by impish children hanging over the poor brutes, and flogging them round without respite. This dismal scene of whims, suffering mules, and hillocks of cinders, extends for miles. Huge iron engines creaking and groaning, invented by Watt, and tall chimneys smoking and flaming, that seem to belong to old Nicholas's abode, diversify the prospect. Two strange-looking Cornish beings, dressed in ghostly white, conducted me about, and very kindly proposed a descent into the bowels of the earth, but I declined initiation. These mystagogues |