and despair for its non-completion; so we parted good friends. My Arabian was brought out, looking bright and happy; I bade a most grateful adieu to the Prior, and his attendant swarm of friars and novices, and before they had ceased staring and wondering at the velocity with which I was carried away from them, I had reached a sandy desert above a mile from Batalha.

Night was already drawing on-the moon had not yet risena dying glow, reflected from the horizon above the hills, behind which the sun had just retired, was thrown over the whole landscape. "Era già l'hora"-it was that soothing, solemn hour, when by some occult, inexplicable sympathy, the interior spirit, folded up within itself, inclines to repel every grovelling doubt of its divine essence, and feels, even without seeking to feel it, the consciousness of immortality.

The dying glow had expired; a sullen twilight, approaching to blackness, prevailed: I kept wandering on, however, not without some risk of being soon acquainted with the mysteries of a future world; for had not my horse been not only the fleetest, but the surest of foot of his high-born tribe, he must have stumbled, and in dangerous places, for such abounded at every step. As good fortune would have it, all the perils of the way were got over; the grand outline of the colossal monastery and its huge church emerged from the surrounding gloom; innumerable lights, streaming from the innumerable casements, cast a broad gleam over the great platform, where my Lord Almoner and his guests were walking to and fro, enjoying the fresh evening air, and waiting my return, they were pleased to say, with trembling anxiety.

The first question I was asked upon entering the grand illuminated saloon was, how I had fared, and whether I did not feel half-dead for want of refreshment. "We, for our parts," exclaimed my Lord Abbot, "have been the happiest of the happy: your great Simon has surpassed even my expectations. And now, to another proof of his transcendent skill,-now to supper."

NINTH DAY.

June 11th.

GREAT were the lamentations in Alcobaça when the hour of our departure arrived,—a voice of wailing scarcely equalled in Rama, when Rachel wept for her lost children. Here, I am perfectly convinced, that had my Lord Abbot been permitted, like spiritual lords in our own country, to avow the legal paternity of a dozen brats, he would sooner have spared the whole treasure than have lost the advice and exertions of a being he venerated above all others without any exception—a matchless cook. It was a cruel separation the artist himself, who had a susceptible heart, as well as a hand gifted with the most exquisite sauce-making sensibilities, was far from being callous to the raptures of such a discriminating gourmand as the ruler of Alcobaça. To remain in this holy place, to quit my service, I verily believe never entered the head beneath his milk-white betasseled cook-cap; but he was visibly moved by the rapturous eulogies, still more perhaps by the generous presents I suspect he had received; he saw with great commiseration how acutely the Lord Abbot felt his departure. Pity, we all know, melts the heart to love, and love full often to devotion; so, when we repaired, one and all, to take a parting mass before setting out on our journey, Monsieur Simon, though little given to demonstrations of piety, fell to thumping his breast with such vehemence, that I could not resist saying to him as we came out of church, "Simon, my Lord Abbot seems to have quite reconverted you; you are becoming astonishingly religious.”—“ Ah, Monsieur," said he, “on le sera, à moins; Monseigneur rend la religion si aimable."

I thought now, as the equipages, horses, &c. were all marshalled before the grand entrance, we were actually ready to set out. No such thing the Grand Prior of Aviz, taking me aside for a moment, whispered in my ear that he had still a few words of great importance in store for my Lord Almoner, and begged me to cas*

another look at my favourite portrait of St. Thomas of Canterbury whilst he delivered them.

Calling his colleague of St. Vincent's, they both entered a private room of audience adjoining the hall of pictures, from which my Lord Almoner had not yet stirred; and notwithstanding the doors had been immediately closed, I heard a loud storm of indistinct but angry words approaching to tempest, the exact import of which it is not in my power to reveal, supposing I had the inclination; but I learned afterwards (though rather vaguely) from one of the Prior of St. Vincent's confidants, that they related to certain mysteries, certain despotic imprisonments, certain grotto-like communications,* between this sacred asylum and another not less monastic, though tenanted by the fairer portion of holy communities-the daughters of prayer and penitence.

Providence, that tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, and does kind things now and then to pets and favourites, was not totally ungracious to my Lord Almoner upon this occasion. Had it not, by directing the semi-inquisitorial visit of the two prelatical missionaries, given his right reverence of Alcobaça's thoughts serious occupation, they might have dwelt far more painfully upon the departure of his beloved Simon: the sharp edge of his afflictions in this particular was taken off by the reflections which the late stormy conference had inspired.

When he came forth to accompany us to our carriages, as the rules of courtesy demanded, I observed a marked change in his deportment and countenance; there were no longer those sunny smiles, those cooings and chucklings, which had greeted my revered companions upon their arrival. A sullen, sulky gloom—a

* The lively and intelligent Miss Pardoe's charming description of her visit to this famous convent, subsequent to the predatory incursion of the French, and previous to its final desecration by their imitators, the modern Portuguese, cannot be too warmly commended. She paints the supreme beauty of the young monk she caught a peep at (p. 77,) and who manifested himself more fully, (see p. 89,) in a fervid and animated style, which does credit to the discriminating eye of the fair and susceptible authoress. Her hints (p. 100,) of a subterranean road from the monastery of Alcobaça to a Bernardine nunnery in the neighborhood, are far wore palpable than any I can pretend to have received. They afford the finest play to the imagination. We immediately assign the handsome monk as beautiful a partner: and the picture becomes complete.

but half-subdued expression of anger pervaded his every look and gesture: coldly and formally, therefore, did we take our leave. Not above half of the community were drawn out in complimentary array, and that half looked strange and suspicious, as if they conjectured something had happened unpleasant and awkward. The two fathers deputed to attend us to Pedraneira, got into one of their heavy conventual vehicles, and, in their capacities of conductors, led the van. I looked back as we drove off; and there stood my Lord Almoner, with his eyes fixed on the pavement, before the grand portal, immoveable, and as if he had been turned

to stone.

The Grand Prior of Aviz having something very confidential to discuss with his secretary, begged me to excuse his accompanying me in my carriage: the Prior of St. Vincent's took his place; an exchange I had no cause to complain of, his conversation being so full of hilarity and life. This flow of cheerful good spirits did not, however, carry him beyond the limits of the most perfect discretion : not a syllable that had the slightest reference to pains or pleasures below ground escaped his lips-not the smallest hint-no, not a breath.

All attempts to gain information upon this curious point proving fruitless, we praised fine weather and fine prospects, and deprecated bad roads. We had no occasion, however, to do so; for scarcely had we turned the angle of one of the vast walled inclosures belonging to the convent, and expected to sink into some frightful rut or sandy furrow, when an immense body of well-clothed peasants, with their strong bright tools slung over their sturdy shoulders, met us with loud vivas, and the tranquillizing assurance that the whole way to Pedraneira had been smoothed by their exertions: so we rolled along over firm gravel and compact heathfagots most delightfully.

We soon reached the banks of my favourite river, and crossed over a very picturesque-looking bridge, without parapets, to its opposite shore-a vast and dreary plain. We were beginning to experience the effects of heat rather oppressively, when we entered a forest of pine, and felt much invigorated by fragrant, genial breezes,-shade was out of the question, most of the trees being tall and sapless.

In one of the least frequented parts of this superannuated forest, the career of our caravan was suddenly arrested by a most imposing cocked-hatted personage, booted up to the chin, like West's heroes in his picture of the Battle of the Boyne, bestriding a maneged horse, decked out in all the pride of burnished pistol and gold-laced holster.

This most consequential of equerries, with as much solemnity as if he had been reading a state proclamation, invited us, in the name of his mistress, a lady of high caste and importance, to screen ourselves from the meridian heats in her quinta hard by; a most blessedly shady place, in which she had congregated, I verily believe, half the birds in the country-those least in repute, such as kites, owls, and buzzards, not excepted.

My Lord of Aviz was still too deeply engaged in confidential discourse with his secretary to much relish making a halt and getting out of his carriage; but the Prior of St. Vincent's and myself were perfectly disposed to accept the invitation, having learnt, during our course of Alcobaça gossip, too many curious particulars about this eminent lady-patroness of the feathered tribe, not to feel extremely curious to be admitted into the penetralia of the asylum. she afforded them; a favour rarely granted, and which sprang most probably out of a strong curiosity to see and fondle my beloved Arabian, not my own dear self-her most excellent ladyship professedly not caring one pip of an orange for strangers of any description or quality, unless they were blessed with four feet, or a natural mantle of feathers.

Preceded by the right pompous and fustified equerry, we diverged from the mended track into an avenue of dwarfish cork-trees, leading straight to a lofty wall, which extended far to the right and left of a grand massive Tuscan gateway. The wide space before this stately entrance exhibited the refreshing sight of marble troughs brimful of the clearest water; heaps of oats and barley, amply sufficient to supply the wants of our mules; and panniers of bread and oranges, under very substantial canvass awnings.

My reverend companions, as in duty bound, went immediately to offer their homage to the bird-queen; but I begged to be excused for the moment, promising that as soon as my Arabian had been refreshed and brightened up by a good rubbing, I would