this noble building; twice it was built, and roofed in; and twice, when the scaf folding was removed, the walls gave way, and it became one heap of ruins-but the architect would not be thus foiled in his magnificent undertaking: a third time the walls were raised; the richly-groined roof rising spirally at its centre, once more united them all the best energies of the spirit which had conceived, and the perseverance which had yet again produced the work, had been exhausted in the undertaking, and Alphonse Domingues, after having surveyed with mingled pride, and dread, the pile which he had reared, swore, if a third time his skill and care had failed, that he would find a grave among its ruins. In vain he was dissuaded from what was considered an act of self-immolation; he walked calmly to the centre of the hallthe scaffolding was removed-and the architect stood unharmed and secure-his work was above, and around him-vast, magnificent, and wonderful! a memorial of his undying genius!

It is asserted that King John was so charmed by the high spirit, and heroic daring of Domingues, that he commanded him to place within the hall some commemoration of the deed; with a modesty equalled only by his genius, the architect complied, and a small figure not exceeding a foot in length, is seen, as if supporting a portion of the edifice, where the roof rests upon the north wall,-it is a representation of Alphonse Domingues!

This beautiful building contains two tombs on the right of the entrance, and one on the left: those on the right cover the bodies of Don Alphonse V. and Donna Isabella; and that on the left the remains of the unfortunate young prince, son of John II., who was killed by a fall from his horse on the day of his marriage, when only twenty years of age. The painted window is very magnificent, and is 370 years old; the rich, varied, and yet melancholy light which it sheds upon the tombs is very impressive, and appropriate.

The convent boasts some valuable manuscripts, and antique volumes, which were most singularly preserved from the destructive power of the French, during the Peninsular War; above the high altar is a canopy of white and gold, which was not of sufficient value to tempt the cupidity, or of sufficient beauty to incur the violence of the spoilers, amid so much of cost and beauty, and consequently escaped destruc

tion. Concealed within this canopy, which is hollow, and into which as a forlorn hope, they were hurriedly thrown by the terrified and bewildered monks, the more precious portions of their once extensive library escaped the ruin which threatened them. Of the unfinished chapel, designed and commenced by Matthew Fernandez, I shall not venture to speak; the fact of its remaining in the state in which he left it at his death, by the command of a sovereign who knew how to estimate its transcendent beauty, conveys more than the most laboured description.

I wish I were able to speak of the whole community of Battalha with the same admiration as of their splendid monastery. On the recollection of the Prior my thoughts dwell with unalloyed pleasure. He was a learned and a good man; but I remember the Sub-prior, Father Francis, and the Sacristan, Father Lawrence. I shall but particularize these two: the remainder of the brethren were dull, obtuse, eaters and drinkers of the good things of the world, believers in miracles-in short, monks! But the two I have named were more than this, though I regret to say that it was only a superiority in evil! Of Father Lawrence I have a tale to tell-a strange, but an authentic one. Fifty years ago, the grandfather of the present King of Portugal had been enjoying the sport of boar-hunting, of which he was inordinately fond, in the immediate neighbourhood of Battalha, with a large retinue of nobles. Previously to returning to Lisbon, he honoured the monastery by sojourning there a day and a night, to recover from the fatigue of his expedition. At this period Father Lawrence was about twenty years of age, and already a monk-judging from his appearance, even when I saw him, as handsome a one as ever drew cowl over a shaven crown; tall and athletic, with a dignified carriage, and an eye like an eagle. Be this, however, as it may, it is certain that he had long been attached to a beautiful peasant girl in the hamlet of Battalha, who had returned his affection, when the royal party arrived at the monastery; and as he contemplated the magnificence of the nobles, a pang of jealousy shot across his heart: he felt that she, too, was looking with wonder, and probably with admiration also, on these gilded courtiers. It is easy to imagine the bitterness with which, young, highspirited, and probably passionately attached as he

was, the monk turned from the jewels, plumes, and steeds of the visiters, to look upon his own robe of serge, his shaven head, and untanned sandals! The event proved that the moment had indeed been gall to him. Among the nobles was the Master-of-the-Horse, who was described to me as a strikingly handsome young man, of high family, and higher hopes; lighthearted, generous to excess, and an enthusiastic admirer of beauty. Unfortunately in traversing the hamlet, to look to the wellbeing of the royal stud, he encountered the beautiful peasant; he thought her lovely, and he scrupled not to tell her so. As she listened to the courtier, Father Lawrence was forgotten. He talked long and tenderly to her, unheard, but not unseen. They parted; but not before they had arranged a second meeting. Alas! they met no more in this world! The monk had seen all, he knew the meaning of every glance of the dark eye in whose light he had lived so long: he watched them till the young noble gathered his cloak round him to return to the monastery he did not lose a look-a gesture. His brain was on fire: he hurried to a peasant who was in his confidence. They did not remain long together, but it was afterwards remembered that when Father Lawrence left the cottage, he was calm, perfectly calm, and had spoken courteously to one of the villagers whom he had encountered.

After the evening repast, the unhappy young nobleman again left the monastery, and entered the stable which contained the horses of the King. The door was suddenly closed behind him, and he was struck to the earth by a blow from an axe! The work of death was soon completed, but not with sufficient speed to permit the escape of the murderers. As they were about to emerge from the scene of blood, some of the royal grooms entered the stable, and they were instantly secured : need I say that the assassins were Father Lawrence, and the peasant whom I have already mentioned ?

The event caused great and general consternation; the murderers were tried and condemned: the ill-fated girl who had been the cause of the barbarous act was placed in a convent; the peasant suffered death and as monks are never executed in Portugal, owing to the scandal which it would cause among the laity, Father Lawrence was delivered up to his order,

and by them condemned to be confined in a vault beneath the chapel; this was accordingly done; a loaf and a stone jar of water were placed beside him, and he was left in utter darkness to perish by famine! The Prior who then presided over the community, and who had pronounced on his guilty brother the awful sentence which I have just recorded, was so deeply wounded by the disgrace which had been brought upon his house, that from the day on which he closed the vault, and carried away the key, no one knew whither, the name of Father Lawrence never passed his lips; some of the younger monks were, however, if not less oblivious, decidedly less unrelenting, for they found means to convey food to him in trifling quantities through a crevice beneath the iron-studded door of the vault; and shortly after his incarceration, they supplied him with a tool, by means of which he made an opening large enough to admit whatever they wished to convey to him. Thus did he live, if such an existence may be termed life, without a ray of light; and fastened by a manacle which passed round his body, to a ring in the dungeon: with a chain barely sufficient in length, to enable him to avail himself of the good offices of those whose pity outweighed their horror; and this for upwards of eight long years! With what fears must not his solitude have been visited! his friends might weary in their work of mercy; and after dragging on an existence only less dreadful than utter annihilation, he might perish miserably at last! Moments there must have been, too, when the darkness was peopled with the forms of those whom he had injured-her, whose innocence he had sacrificed to his passions: and he, whose blood he had spilt to promote their indulgence-and then the bitterness of a free spirit, proud, and impatient of control, mewed up between four stone walls, with scarce space to breathe-what availed the strong limb, and the eagle eye? the one was fettered, and the other looked only upon darkness!

In the year 1810, the French army brought partial ruin to his monastery, but to Father Lawrence it brought freedom; he fled with the brotherhood, and as, during the period of his captivity, the Prior of Battalha had been elected General of the order and a successor appointed, little remark was excited in those troublous times by his reappearance. After the re

treat of the French; when the monks returned to the monastery, Father Lawrence voluntarily surrendered himself to the brotherhood; who, in consideration of the captivity which he had already endured, suffered him to be at large in the convent; stipulating, however, that he should neither serve the mass, nor leave the premises, unaccompanied by another of the community. Shortly after this arrangement, the ancient Prior of Battalha made a tour of the houses of his order, and announced his speedy arrival at his old convent: instantly was Father Lawrence once more immured in his vault; the manacles were replaced and by his particular desire, the holy man was informed of his existence of his voluntary return to his captivity; and of his ardent wish to obtain the pardon and blessing of his spiritual father, ere his miserable days were ended. The saintly monk spared not his reproaches to those of the community who had aided in prolonging the life of the criminal: but when he heard that he had returned conscience-stricken to his cell, and that he now waited in penitence and tears, to kiss the hem of his own most holy garment, he was softened, and yielded to the entreaties of the brotherhood that he would shed a ray of light over the darkness of the sinner's dungeon. He went accordingly, attended by two inferior monks, and approached the criminal with the words of pardon and peace, when his throat was grasped, as by a hand of iron, and he was hurled to the earth. Well was it for the proud Prior that he went not alone, or he had never returned alive; Father Law rence clung to him with all the strength and vigour of eight-and-twenty, and all the rage of one who believed himself to have been injured and oppressed; and it required the united efforts of the two attendant monks to free their affrighted and panting superior from the clutch of the desperate captive. After this adventure, the community feared to free him altoge. ther from his confinement; they permitted him, however, to have the whole range of the subterraneans beneath the chapelthey supplied him plentifully with food, and after a few months of irritation and restlessness, the guilty monk sought some occupation which might beguile his tedious hours. He learned to knit embossed stockings, and to work lace-in both which arts, when I knew him, he excelled. The Madonna on the high altar is indebted to

the incarcerated assassin for both her hose and her petticoat!

This second captivity endured for twelve years, and terminated almost imperceptibly: first the criminal was allowed to ascend to hear mass in the chapel, in consideration of his time being spent in the service of the Virgin, and the Saints! then he was permitted to occupy a seat below the lay-brothers in the refectory, on high festivals and feasts-next he became an attendant in the hospital; and repaid by his assiduity, the cares which had once preserved his own existence. When I mention that he was a man of superior talent and understanding, it will be matter of less surprise, that having already conceded so much, the brotherhood should eventually receive him once more among them on equal terms; still, however, insisting that he should not wander beyond the monastery: thus was he situated when I first saw him, save only that he had been elected Sacristan of the Convent! How far his previous mode of life had fitted him for such an office, of course the brotherhood could best determine.

On one occasion our usual party to the convent was increased by the presence of two Portuguese ladies, who were cousins: one of them married to a British officer; these ladies were, after much consultation, advised to enter the convent without permission, and then to throw themselves on the indulgence of the Prior. They were, of course, Catholics: and it was singular to observe how differently they felt in making the experiment. Mrs. laughed, and threatened to frighten them with the vengeance of her English husband, should they behave discourteously to her; her friend on the contrary trembled, and turned pale, and asked repeatedly if it were not a deadly sin thus to intrude into a monastery: all her courage evaporated before she was fairly off her horse, and we had to use the greatest persuasion to induce her to persevere; at length, however, we prevailed, and in the Chapter-hall we were met by the 'holy' Sacristan, who seemed greatly to enjoy the joke, though he repeatedly warned them not to let their visit transpire in Leiria; this they readily promised, and had indeed previously determined on; and after a five minutes' conference with Father Lawrence, he left us to apprize the Prior of our arrival. I never saw him look so grave, and so dignified; he spoke mildly, but was evi

the ladies knelt down before the Altar of the Sacrament; and to each was given a wax candle (unlighted): one of the seven Penitential Psalms was volubly repeated by the Sacristan; then two or three short prayers in Latin; and a little boy, who attended at the altar, produced seven small twigs, bound together by a thong of leather: with these (which I was told represented the seven passions of our Saviour) each of the ladies were slightly struck three times by Father Lawrence, who immediately afterwards lighted the candles which they held, telling them, that even as the flame had suddenly sprung to light in those tapers, so had righteousness once more grown up in their souls: and accordingly, after a short mental prayer, they rose up as good Catholics as ever! By way of rendering the ceremony more impressive, the devout father favoured me with a touch of the rod before he replaced it; and then explained to me, that I had seen all the mystery of excommunication, with this slight difference, that in excommunicating, the candles are placed in the hands lighted, and are blown out, with the comfortable assurance, that the light of salvation has even so departed

from the souls of those who hold them!

Whatever my opinion might be of what I had just witnessed, I was nevertheless gratified at having seen so singular a ceremony; though, knowing what I did of the Prior, I was not at all astonished that he never alluded to the subject when we rejoined him. It was only on my last visit that I accidentally discovered he was a very good French scholar; and when I reproached him for not having told me this, he excused himself by declaring, that he was so much amused by my novel and extraordinary Portuguese, that he would not have missed hearing it for the world.

Some time after my last visit to the monastery, I went to the convent of Santa Anna, in the Roscio at Leiria, to inquire for a nun who had been sick, and whom I was informed by a lay-sister, who came to the grate to speak to me, had died that morning. I walked slowly away, to return home; when I heard my name pronounced from the door of the convent chapel. I turned, and to my surprise beheld Father Lawrence! He was certainly beyond the premises of Battalha that day.

The

THEY had not gone two bowshots, when large heavy drops began to patter through the dry fern, and a vivid flash of lightning came against the wind. The horsemen hastily unbuckled their cloaks, but they had scarce buttoned their hoods when a whirling rush came through the heath, and a terrific explosion of lightning and thunder brought down the rain like a waterspout. riders crowded up together, and the horses drooped their heads to the driving shower, while Norman stumbled on before and gazed eagerly against the rain, for the light of the hostel. At last they came to the bank of a deep moss burn-" Aye!-here is the Black Water of Branksburn!" cried the guide. "The Black Water of Acheron!" muttered the esquire; "but what an' is?"

it

Naething except that it gangs by the door cheek of the hostel!" replied the peasant.

"The devil it does?" exclaimed Norman, and continued to follow with increased impatience. They had not gone long, when suddenly a dim red light appeared before them on the heath.

"Hey, yonder is the house!" cried the guide, and the anxious horsemen spurred forward with recovered gladness; but they had not gone fifty paces, when the light disappeared, and they came suddenly among high rocks and doddered trees that roared far above them in the wind.

"Have you any witting of these?" said Norman.

"Weel-I could na say that I just mind them," replied the guide; "but