which the pillars and arches are covered. The entrance arch in particular, I should think, unequalled in this respect; the reeds forming the clustered shaft are hollow, and each pierced in the most elaborate filagree. And so it stands, open to the sun and showers of heaven, its courts overgrown with grass, shrubs, and wild flowers, which are also seen entangling the pillars above, where in one place a vine has found its way through the window, and dressed the arches with its light festoons.

The Chapel of the Royal Tombs-an octagon likewise, light, and airy, but with nothing of the promised splendour of the other. The brave bastard King, Don John I. and his Plantagenet wife, lie in the centre, in the same tomb. Along the walls opposite the entrance are four other tombs of the infantas, their children. The inscriptions were so defaced, that it was some time before we could identify the resting-place of Prince Henry, by his well-known motto, " Talent de bien faire,” inscribed in Gothic characters on the edge of the sarcophagus. I was pleased to see the garter ensign and legend upon his tomb, and on those of his father and brother. The French have been here also, and have left the usual track of their footsteps.

The monks of this monastery were no time rich, and are now probably poorer than ever. Their

B

establishment, too, is in a state, of which perhaps they are not very proud. On this account, I suppose, they seemed indisposed to come to us today, but B― managed to ferret out one of the brethren, who then made a virtue of necessity, and gave us a very friendly reception. He shewed us over what remains of the convent; for the greater part is a mere ruin, having been burnt by the French; and with the narrow means of the foundation, it has not been possible to make even an attempt at restoration.

We went to the top of the church—it never had a tower, but there was a high round belfry at the east end, which fell down five or six years ago, and ruined a portion of the adjoining building. The outer roof of the chapter-house was broken through, but the vault itself stood firm.

From the top is a very pretty view of the surrounding hills. To the north-east they open; and the towers of old Leyria are seen about a league higher up the valley-the same

"delicious vale, where Lena winds

Through groves and pastoral meads *."

Roderick, b. iii.-The notices of places, and of the historical recollections attached to them, with which Mr. Southey has so judiciously interspersed his narrative, forms one of the happiest features of his admirable poem-the most impassioned and eloquent perhaps of its class.

248

COUNTRY AROUND.

Our friar then introduced us to the prelato, or Superior; a simple good-humoured old gentleman, whom we found in a comfortable parlour. The worthy religious were evidently a little embarrassed by our visit, and appeared to be relieved when we declared our purpose to return to Alcobaça that night. The prelato, however, treated us to some excellent marmalade, with wine and oranges; and saw us with much courtesy to the gate.

In the afternoon, while B was sketching a part of the building, I rambled into a thicket of cork trees which covers the hill, rich with innumerable wild flowers, that rises north of the abbey. From this point the view of the building is not interrupted by the village: its light walls and airy battlements appeared glowing in the rays of the declining sun, and backed immediately by a rich landscape of soft, green, vine-clad hills, over which were visible the summits of the dark stone range that we had on our right in the morning.

Strolling back to the convent through the cloisters, I find my way again to the church; the door was open, and I had it all to myself. There was a singular sense of silence and loneliness in the solitary occupation of such a building; a rich sunset light was streaming through the painted window at the west end: I stepped softly down the aisle,

RETURN TO ALCOBAÇA.

249

and seated myself awhile on the steps leading from the Chapel of Tombs.

We return to Alcobaça the same evening. The road runs nearly the whole way (about four Portuguese leagues) on a high ridge of ground, covered with pine forest, except where some large plantations of olives intervene. About half way is the town of Aljubarrota, which deserved our remark, as it was in gratitude for the great victory here gained over the Spaniards, by Don John, in 1386, that the beautiful abbey we had just visited was founded. Batalha is the Battle Abbey of Portugal; but the triumph it commemorates is one of pleasanter association to the natives than that which gave occasion to the Norman foundation.

Unwilling again to trouble our friends at the convent, we drove to the estalagem of Joaquim de Sylva, who treated us very well. Such as have not letters to the fathers we would recommend to avail themselves of his hostelry.

CALDAS-RETURN TO LISBON.

CALDAS is the Tunbridge and Cheltenham of Portugal. The town is lively and cheerful, for a Portuguese one at least; it has a large place or square in the centre, the houses round which are not very imposing, but the windows are always filled with smart Donnas; and in the streets you are constantly meeting with men well dressed and well mounted-among them were some of the most distinguished-looking people I had seen in Portu

gal.

The public walk is pretty, and when we saw

* From Alcobaça to Caldas is about five Portuguese leagues, or twenty miles, but the nature of the road renders it a pretty good day's journey. The weather was wet, and the country presented little to interest-hilly and heathy, with a good deal of poorish cultivation in the bottoms. The rain made the sand-roads very slippery, and our horses had in some parts a difficulty in dragging us. Once we were regularly overturned; another time obliged to borrow six oxen from a timber-cart, to pull us up a hill. The view descending to Caldas, including Obidos and its castle, with an arm of the sea running up to the hills, is striking.