RIO Mayor is a pretty little town, and the inhabitants are very partial to the English. A troop of the regiment having been quartered there for some time during the Peninsular War, we were most kindly received, and our billets perfectly unnecessary. Many of the men were instantly recognised, and warmly embraced; and what to them was of more consequence, regaled with a hearty meal. My father was rapturously welcomed, addressed by name, and doomed to answer a host of questions about majors, captains, lieutenants, and cornets, whom they had known at different periods; and where the names

VOL. III.

had escaped their memory, it availed him nothing, for he was then assailed with inquiries for the tall Senhore Capitanothe fat Senhore Majore, and even made to tax his retentive powers for reminiscences of long noses, small feet, and gray eyes. We took up our abode at the house of a priest, on whose brother my father had been billeted during the war. He received us with open arms, and gave us all he had to give-house-room. He was a warm-hearted, generous old man, cheerful, and kindly, and decidedly a very superior person for a Portuguese priest, priding himself much on his attainments.

During the following day (on which we halted), he seemed delighted at the opportunity of displaying his erudition; spoke a little bad French, and some worse Italian, and at length informed us that he was an author. "Yes, an author!" he exclaimed with vehement self-gratulation -"there is not one priest in fifty in Portugal who can tell you this with truth; there is not one priest in fifty capable of writing a book; and yet, unworthy as I am, I have written one; a volume of deep research, profound erudition, and containing four languages!" these he enumerated on his fingers, "Latin, Portuguese, French and Italian." After this assurance, I felt no surprise when he informed me that he had put his MS. into the hands of a bookseller in Lisbon, and that he had never heard of it since. He gravely assured us, however, that he had a copy of it; rose, and almost gave me a faintingfit by taking a huge packet of papers from a drawer; he was kind enough merely to show us the envelope, and then as he replaced the treasure, told us in confidence, that at his death he intended to bequeath the precious outpourings of his mind to his nephew. I could only sincerely hope that he would be properly grateful; a prayer which delighted the embryo author. He was garrulous and anecdotical to a degree-abused the monks without mercy, and told us a few monastic adventures, which were never intended to travel beyond the walls which witnessed them-and with perfect naïvelé and self-satisfaction favoured us with several stories of his own bonnes fortunes: he had lived a great part of his life about the court, and gave us but a poor specimen of its morality-without scruple he coupled his own name with that of a Countess, and dallied with the reputation of a Duchess-sooth to say, they were both passées, not only from the court of Cupid, but from the world altogether: and truly it was strange, and somewhat sad, to see the wrinkled brow-the dull eye, lighting up at intervals, however, as he spoke, as with the very memory of the occurrences and times on which he dwelt-the snowwhite hair surmounted by that ultra-antidote to sentiment, a red woollen nightcap -and to listen to the gallantries, of whose very recollection he was proud—the an

tique gallantries of forty years before! Alas! poor human nature.

This reminiscent harangue was terminated by the entrance of our dinner, but as it chanced to be a day of fast with him, he declined partaking of it. The cloth was scarcely removed when the nephew, the destined possessor of "the book" entered to pay us a visit, and to express a hope that we would accompany him to his house, that we might be seen by his wife and children; we instantly complied, and were as usual embraced, by a very pretty-looking woman of about five-andtwenty, with fine black eyes, and teeth like pearls; and three rosy, happy-looking children, for whose edification and amusement we all talked a great deal of bad Portuguese. Wine and dried fruits were handed round by a servant, during which ceremony the mistress of the house withdrew, and on our rising some minutes afterwards to depart, we were pressed to await her reappearance. We pleaded haste, as we purposed riding that evening to see the source of the Rio Mayor (or Great River), which gives its name to the town. Our host immediately offered to accompany us and act as our guide, very much to our satisfaction, and on this condition we consented to remain to make our adieux to the Donna del Casa. Alas! the while she did indeed return, bearing a huge dish, upon which smoked a fine kid, whose death-note I then remembered to have heard under the window, shortly after we entered the house. We had just dined, had drunk wine, and eaten dried fruits; and now plates were produced, knives and forks followed them, and bon gré, mal gré, we were seated with great ceremony at table to eat a hot roasted kid! It was in vain to protest-the master and mistress of the house both rose, and standing behind our chairs, waited on us during our most purgatorial performance-I shall never forget it!

After the infliction just related, we mounted our animals and started on our expedition. Must I confess that after all the well-meant kindness of our worthy host, I could have laughed outright when he joined us—such a mule!-such trappings!-such a mélange of straw, and rope, and coloured worsted! And then the one solitary spur, with as much metal

in it as would have sufficed to make half a dozen modern ones; and the ragged jacket, with a portion of the shirt-sleeve looking impertinently on the "external world" through a rent at the elbow-however, this has nothing to do with the source of the river.

On leaving the town we ascended a finely-wooded eminence, and then descended gradually by a romantically beautiful road, until we arrived at the plain through which rolls the Rio Mayor; following the course of the stream through a lovely green lane, we found it narrow and slacken, until we entered the gorge of the mountain, which appears to have been severed purposely to give egress to the slender thread of water that flows down the rocky channel: the spot from whence the water first issues is so small, that you may cover it with your hand, and you have some difficulty in assuring yourself that this can really be the source of the rapid and beautiful stream which flows past the town. Before you is an inaccessible mountain, which stretches along on either side, as if to protect the infant river, which is so soon to grow into majesty and beauty. I despair of giving an idea of the scene: the dark face of the mountain, studded with groups of wild lilies, pink and white heaths, and myrtle; while softly on the atmosphere (like breathings of home on the heart!) came the perfume of the blue violets which clustered in their sweetness and their beauty in every cleft and chasm. Our friendly guide warned me, as I carelessly clambered over the fragments of rock, to gather some of the flowers which were blooming so temptingly on all sides, of three caves, which were said to be tenanted by wolves. I needed no second bidding; for having once been introduced from a distance to one of these unsightly and dangerous animals, I had no inclination to cultivate a closer acquaintance. I brought away, however, a score of violets as a reminiscence of the spot; I had them for some time: I should have had them yet, but long marches and defective conveyances are sad annihilators of romance.

Surely I should, had I been aught of a heroine, have been sentimental at least for the evening, after looking on such a scene: but no-like the beautiful river whose source I had been contemplating with admiration and interest, I soon reflected other scenes, and in half an hour I was

riding a race with our guide, and the gentleman who had accompanied us. We soon parted company with the latter, whose mule having a decided dislike to racing, testified it by depositing his rider in the pretty green lane among the hedgeflowers, and wending homeward alone. We were all mounted on mules, owing to the difficulty of some part of the road; and as this was the first time I had ever been upon the back of one, I found it much more easy to commence the race than to terminate it: on I went, immediately in the wake of the Senhore, whose animal was fleeter than the one I rode, admiring, as we swept along, his very independent costume and admirable horsemanship, on which he prided himself considerably; and, with the exception of encountering a party who were about to explore the scene which we had just quitted, and whom my mule would not permit me to greet, I reached home pleasantly and safely; nor have I many more agreeable reminiscences than that of “a `Day at Rio Mayor."

RECOLLECTIONS OF BATTALHA. Beautiful Battalha! who that has ever passed under thy lofty arches, and wandered through thy majestic cloisters, can recal thy memory without delight? Who that has stood in thy magnificent chapel, and looked upon the tombs of kings, and the shrines of saints, but must sigh to track the spoiler in the traces of ruin and destruction which he has left behind! I cannot-I would not do either.

What pleasant memories I have of the Monastery of Battalha: recollections of beauty, and courtesy, and hospitality-I visited it again and again until I had made "familiar faces" among its community: I listened to the justifiable vanity with which the holy fathers expatiated on the many marvels of their magnificent convent, until I could have played cicerone myself over most of the edifice. How well I re member the panting anxiety with which, on my first visit, I waited to learn if I should indeed gain admittance, and how bitterly I felt the reply which allowed me ingress only to the chapel. I had ridden far and fast to look upon this celebrated monastery, and with a heavy heart I entered the beautiful chapel. Fortune, however, befriended me, for the Prior was then pointing out to some friends of mine the

tomb of John I., the founder of the building a meet monument for a prince! All was now easy; after a kind greeting from those to whom I was known, the Prior turned away from an open door, through which I was guided to the room where the party had just taken breakfast; whither myself and friends, (to whom as gentlemen no objection was made) were soon followed by the Prior, who sat down, and officiated at the tea-table. He was a very fine man, well-educated, courteous, and conversational; he even ventured a jest or two on the fact of his waiting upon a lady in the very heart of his monastery; but he suffered me to see no more of the building than the lower cloisters, and the chapter-hall; nor did I encounter one of the brethren during my stay. On our departure he shook hands with the gentlemen; and then, as if fearful that he should be expected to go through the same ceremony with me, he folded his hands in a part of his gown, and bowed his farewell. But I visited Battalha many times after this, when we were residing at Leiria, and I mean to concentrate my reminiscences. -This splendid building was commenced by John I. to commemorate a victory over the Spaniards at Algiberota, and was in progress during the succeeding reigns of James, Alphonse V. and John II. The chapel is rich in ancient monumentskings and princes, cardinals and queens, all have slept the long sleep within its holy precincts. The Pantheon of John I. contains his own sarcophagus, and those of six other kings; and just without the railing which screens off the resting-place of royalty, is a large flat stone, covering the remains of a private soldier, who once preserved the life of John in battle; and chose as his recompense, a grave as near to that of his royal master as could be permitted his wish has been complied with to the letter, and the iron gate of the Pantheon touches on the edge of his humble burial-slab.—Well, alike by his bravery and his attachment, did he earn a grave even in the chapel of Battalha.

In the Pantheon, I was much interested by a portable altar, which John always carried with him to battle: I could imagine the unhelmeted warriors standing round their king, and invoking on the very eve of the fight, that aid which could alone ensure to them the victory they sought; standing on this altar were ten of the apostles, cut in cork, and richly gilt: on

my taking up one of them to examine it, I was sorry, and indeed ashamed to find that the two which were missing, had been very unhandsomely carried away by some English visiters. I can easily understand the desire to possess so interesting a relic, the figures being between four and five hundred years old; but I cannot enter into the feeling which could make such a return for the courteous hospitality of the community.

It is not my intention to give a detailed description of the Convent of Battalha; I shall simply notice those objects which particularly attracted myself. Over the door of the chapel is a magnificently painted window, which I was informed had cost the artist 141 days' labour. To the left of the altar, is another which I thought extremely curious-three figures are represented, one clad in siik, one in armour, and the third in woollen; it appears to have been an experiment, as to the capabilities of the art; and truly the effect of the different costumes, and the great dissimilarity in the character of the drapery, is astonishing. At the entrance of the chapel, a flat stone bears the names of Matthew Fernandez, his wife, and children, and the date 1515: he was the architect of

the unfinished " Octagon Chapel," the boast of Battalha; which was considered to be so consummate a specimen of architecture, that on the death of the great man who had designed it, the King preferred suffering it to remain in the incomplete state, in which at his decease it was left, rather than incur the risk of permitting it to be finished by another architect, who might, by his inferior genius, mar the inimitable design of his predecessor.

Near his grave lies James Traversus, the favourite of John I. and Queen Philippa; the only English Queen who has ever reigned in Portugal, and for whose memory they appear to have great respect. I was somewhat surprised to find the slab of the favourite ornamented by a wreath of thistles. There is a very extensive rent in the roof of the chapel, which was caused by the great earthquake in Lisbon; and is certainly not the least interesting object which is pointed out to the visiter. The chapter-hall which you enter by the southeast cloister, is accounted a great curiosity, being very extensive, immensely lofty, and supported only by its outer walls, without a single column or pillar. They have a singular tradition attached to