scarcely of this world. The moon on its first | us softly onwards. On both sides, the shore appearance, before the western lustre had en- rose into a series of hills on the right side, tirely faded away, cast no reflection, however pale, on the waves; but seemed like some princely maiden exposed for the first time to vulgar gaze, gently to shrink back as though she feared some contamination to her pure and celestial beauty from shining forth on so busy and turbulent a sphere. As night advanced, it was a solemn pleasure to stand on the deck of the vessel, borne swiftly along the noiseless sea, and gaze on the far-retiring stars in the azure distance. The mind seems, in such a scene, almost to "o'er-inform its tenement of clay," and to leap beyond it. It dwells not on the changes of the world; for in its high abstraction, all material things seem but passing shadows. Life, with its realities, appears like a vanishing dream, and the past a tale scarcely credited. The pulses of mortal existence are almost suspended—“thought is not-in enjoyment it expires." Nothing seems to be in the universe but one's self and God. No feeling of loneliness has entrance, for the great spirit of Eternal Good seems shedding mildest and selectest influences on all things.

wild, abrupt, mazy, and tangled, and on the left, covered with the freshest verdure and interspersed with luxuriant trees. Noble seats appeared crowning the hills and sloping on their sides; and in the spaces between the elevated spots, glimpses were caught of sweet valleys winding among scattered woods, or of princely domes and spires in the richness of the distance. All wore, not the pale livery of an opening spring, but the full bloom of maturest summer. The transition to such a scene, sparkling in the richest tints of sunshine and overhung by a cloudless sky of the deepest blue, from the scanty and just-budding foliage of Cornwall, as I left it, was like the change of a Midsummer Night's Dream; a sudden admission into fairy worlds. As we glided up the enchanted channel, the elevations on the left became overspread with magnificent buildings, like mingled temples and palaces, rising one above another into segments of vast amphitheatres, and interspersed with groves of the fullest yet most delicate green. Close to the water lay a barbaric edifice, of rich though fantastic architecture, a relic of Moorish grandeur, now converted into the last earthly abode of the monarchs of Portugal. Hence the buildings continued to thicken over the hills and to assume a more confused, though scarcely less romantic aspect, till we anchored in front of the most populous part of Lisbon. The city was stretched beyond the reach of the eye, on every side, upon the ascents and summits of very lofty and steep elevations. The white houses, thickly intersected with windows, mostly framed with green and white lattice-work, seemed to have their foundations on the tops of others: terraces appeared lifted far above the lofty buildings, and other edifices rose above them; gardens looked as suspended by magic in the clouds, and the whole scene wore an aspect of the most gorgeous confusion

On the eighth morning after our departure from Falmouth, on coming as usual on the deck, I found that we were sailing almost close under "the Rock of Lisbon," which breasts the vale of Cintra. It is a stupendous mountain of rock, extending very far into the sea, and rising to a dizzy height above it. The sides are broken into huge precipices and caverns of various and grotesque forms, are covered with dark moss, or exhibit naked stones blackened with a thousand storms. The top consists of an unequal ridge of apparently shivered rock, sometimes descending in jagged lines, and at others rising into sharp, angular and pointed pyramids, which seem to strike into the clouds. What a feeling does such a monument excite, shapeless, rugged, and setting all form at defiance-when the heart feels that it has outlived a thousand generations of pe--"all bright and glittering in the smokeless rishable man, and belongs to an antiquity compared with which the wonders of Egypt are modern! It seems like the unhewn citadel of a giant race; the mighty wreck of an older and more substantial world.

Leaving the steeps and everlasting recesses of this huge mass, we passed the coasts of Portugal. The fields lying near the shore appeared for the most part barren, though broken into gentle undulations, and adorned with large spreading mansions and neat villages. A pleasant breeze brought us soon to the mouth of the Tagus, where a scene of enchantment, "too bright and fair almost for remembrance," burst upon my view. We sailed between the two fortresses which guard the entrance of the river, here several miles in width, close to the walls of that on the left, denominated "Fort St. Julian." The river, seen up to the beautiful castle of Belem, lay before us, not serpentine nor perceptibly contracting, but between almost parallel shores, like a noble avenue of crystal. It was studded with vessels of every region, as the sky is sprinkled with stars, which rested on a bosom of waters so calm as scarcely to be curled by the air which wafted

air." We landed, and the enchantment vanished, at least for a season. Very narrow streets, winding in ceaseless turnings over steep ascents and declivities, paved only with sharp flints, and filthy beyond compare, now seemed to form the interior of the promised elysium. Nature and the founders of the city appeared to have done their best to render the spot a paradise, and modern generations their worst to reduce it to a sink of misery.

Lisbon, like ancient Rome, is built on at least seven hills. It is fitted by situation to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Seated, or rather enthroned on such a spot, commanding a magnificent harbour, and overlooking one of the noblest rivers of Europe, it might be more distinguished for external beauty than Athens in the days of her freedom. Now it seems rather to be the theatre in which the two great powers of deformity and loveliness are perpetually struggling for the mastery. The highest admiration and the most sickening disgust alternately prevail in the mind of the beholder. Never was there so strange an intermixture of the mighty and the mean-of the pride of wealth and the abject

ness of poverty-of the memorials of greatness | to the Tagus, which here spreads out into a and the symbols of low misery-of the filthy breadth of many miles, so as to wear almost and the romantic. I will dwell, however, on the appearance of an inland lake, forms the the fair side of the picture; as I envy not those southern part of this modern city. At the who delight in exhibiting the frightful or the south-eastern angle, close to the river, stands gloomy, in the moral or the natural world. the Exchange, which is a square white buildOften after traversing dark and wretched ing, of no particular beauty or size. The sides streets, at a sudden turn, a prospect of inimi- of the square are occupied with dull-looking table beauty bursts on the eye of the spectator. white buildings, which are chiefly offices of He finds himself, perhaps, on the brink of a state, excepting, indeed, that the plan is inmighty hollow scooped out by nature amidst completely executed, as the unfinished state hills, all covered to the tops with edifices, save of the western range of edifices sadly evinces. where groves of the freshest verdure are in- In the centre is an equestrian statue of King terspersed; or on one side, a mountain rises Joseph, on a scale so colossal that the image into a cone far above the city, tufted with of Charles on horseback at Charing Cross woods and crowned with some castellated pile, would appear a miniature by its side. From the work of other days. The views fronting the northern side of this quadrangle run three the Tagus are still more extensive and grand. streets, narrow but built in perfect uniformity, On one of these I stumbled a few evenings and of more than a quarter of a mile in length, after my arrival, which almost suspended the which connect it with another square called breath with wonder. I had laboured through the Rocio, of nearly similar magnitude and a steep and narrow street almost choked with proportions. The houses in these streets are dirt, when a small avenue on one side, ap- white, of five stories in height, with shops, parently more open, tempted me to step aside more resembling cells than the brilliant reto breathe the fresher air. I found myself on positories of Cheapside, in the lower departa little plot of ground, hanging apparently in ments, and latticed windows in the upper the air, in the front of one of the churches. I stories. They have on both sides elevated stood against the column of the portico ab- pathways for foot passengers, neatly paved sorbed in delight and wonder. Before me lay with blocks of stone, and leaving space for a large portion of the city-houses descended two carriages to pass in the centre. The beneath houses, sinking almost precipitously Rocio is surrounded on three sides with houses to a fearful depth beneath me, whose frame- resembling those in the streets, and on the works, covered over with vines of delicate north by a range of building belonging to the green, broke the ascent like prodigious steps, Inquisition, the subterranean prisons of which by which a giant might scale the eminence-extend far beneath the square. A little onthe same "wilderness of building" filled up the ward to the north of this area, amidst filthy vast hollow, and rose by a more easy slope to suburbs, stands the public garden of the city. the top of the opposite hills, which were It is an oblong piece of ground, of consideracrowned with turrets, domes, mansions, and ble extent, surrounded by high walls, but alregal pavilions of a dazzling whiteness-be- ways open at proper hours to the public. It yond the Tagus, on the southern shore, the is planted with high trees of the most delicate coast rose into wild and barren hills, wearing green, which, however, do not form a mass of an aspect of the roughest sublimity and gran- impervious shade, but afford many spots of the deur-and, in the midst, occupying the bosom thickest shelter, and give room for the play of the great vale, close between the glorious of the warm sunbeams, and for the contemcity and the unknown wilds, lay the calm and plation of the stainless sky. The garden is majestic river, from two to three miles in width, laid out with more regularity than taste: one seen with the utmost distinctness to its mouth, broad walk runs completely through it from on each side of which the two castles which north to south, on each side of which, beneath guard it were visible, and spread over with a the loftier shade, are tall hedge-rows, solid thousand ships-onward yet farther, far as the masses of green, cut into the exactest paralleleye could reach, the living ocean was glisten-ograms. The equal spaces on each side of the ing, and ships, like specks of the purest white, were seen crossing it to and fro, giving to the scene an imaginary extension, by carrying the mind with them to far-distant shores. It was the time of sunset, and clouds of the richest saffron rested on the bosom of the air, and were reflected in softer tints in the waters. Not a whisper reached the ear. "The holy time was quiet as a nun breathless with adoration." The scene looked like some vision of blissful enchantment, and I scarcely dared to stir or breathe lest it should vanish away.

middle walk are intersected by similar hedgerows-sometimes curving into an open circle, surrounded with circular trenches; at others, enclosing an angular space, railed in and cultivated with flowers, and occasionally expanding into shapes yet more fantastic.-There is no intricacy, no beautiful wildness in the scene"half the platform just reflects the other" in the minutest features-but the green is so fresh and so abundant, and the air so delicately fragrant, that this garden forms a retreat in the warmth of summer which seems almost elysian.

The eastern quarter of Lisbon, which is chiefly built since the great earthquake, stands There are two small places of public amusealmost on level ground; and, though sur-ment in Lisbon, where dramatic pieces are rounded by steep hills, with trees among their precipices, and aerial terraces on their summits, is not in itself very singular or romantic. A square of noble extent, open on the south

12

performed, chiefly taken from the Spanish. The "legitimate drama," however, is of little attraction, compared with the wonderful contortions and rope-dancings which these houses

Old Bailey! What huge criticisms of Corneille
and Voltaire would that little instrument sup-
ply! What volumes, founded on its move-
ments, would it render superfluous! Even
Grecian regularity must yield before it, and
criticism triumph, by this invariable standard,
at once over Sophocles and Shakspeare.
The scenery was wretched-the singers
tolerable-and the band excellent. The ballet
took place between the acts of the opera, and
was spun out to great length. The dancing
consisted partly of wonderful twirlings of the
French school, and partly of the more wonder-
ful contortions of the Portuguese; both kinds
exceedingly clever, but exhibiting very little
of true beauty, grace, or elegance. At the
close of the first act, a perfect shower of roses,
pinks, and carnations, together with printed
sonnets, was poured down from the top of the
theatre in honour of his majesty, whose ab-
sence, however, even Portuguese loyalty can-
not pardon.

exhibit, and which are truly surprising. The be counted out like those of culprits at the Opera House, called the Theatre San Carlos, is, except on a few particular occasions, almost deserted. The audiences are usually so thin, that it is not usual to light up the body of the house, except on particular days, when the rare illumination is duly announced in the bills. I visited it fortunately on the birth-day of the king, which is one of the most splendid of its festivals. Its interior is not much smaller than that of Covent Garden Theatre, though it appears at the first glance much less, from the extreme beauty of the proportions. The form is that of an ellipse, exquisitely turned, intersected at the farther extremity by the stage. The sides are occupied by five tiers of boxes, at least in appearance, for the upper circles, which are appropriated to the populace by way of gallery, are externally uniform with the rest of the theatre. The prevailing colour is white; the ornaments between the boxes, consisting of harps and tasteful devices, are of brown and gold, and elegantly divided into compartments by rims of burnished gold. The The churches are the most remarkable of middle of the house is occupied by the grand the public buildings of Lisbon; though plain entrance into the pit, the royal box, and the on the outside, they are exceedingly splendid gallery above it, which is in continuation of in the interior. The tutelary saints are richer the higher circle. The royal box is from than many Continental princes, though their twelve to fifteen feet in length, and occupies treasures are only displayed to excite the rein height the space of three rows of the com- verence or the cupidity of the people on high mon boxes. Above are the crown and regal and festal occasions. The most beautiful, arms in burnished gold, and the sides are sup- though not the largest of the churches which I ported by statues of the same radiant appear- have examined, is that of the Estrella, which ance. Curtains of green silk, of a fine texture, is lined with finely-varied and highly-polished usually conceal its internal splendours; but on marble, vaulted over with a splendid and this occasion they were drawn aside at the sculptured roof, and adorned, in its gilded same moment that the stage was discovered, recesses, with beautiful pictures. Were it not, and displayed the interior illuminated with indeed, for the impression made on me by one great brilliancy. This seat of royalty is di- of the latter, I should scarcely have mentioned vided into two stories-a slight gallery being this edifice, unable as I am technically to dethrown over the back part of it. Its ground scribe it. The piece to which I allude is not, is a deep crimson; the top descends towards that I can discover, held in particular estimathe back in a beautiful concave, representing tion, or the production of any celebrated artist; a rich veil of ermine. In the front of the but it excited in me feelings of admiration and lower compartment, behind the seats, is the delight, which can never die away. It reprecrown of Portugal, figured on deep green vel-sents Saint John in the Isle of Patmos, gazing vet; and the sides are adorned with elegant mirrors. The centre of the roof of the theatre is an ellipse, painted to represent the sky with the moon and stars visible; the sides sloping to the upper boxes are of white adorned with gold and crimson. The stage is supported on each side by two pillars of the composite order, of white and gold, half in relief, with a brazen statue between each of them. It forms an excellent framework for a dramatic picture. The most singular feature of the house is a clock over the centre of the stage, which regularly strikes the hours, without mercy. What a noble invention this for the use of those who contend for the unity of time! How nicely would it enable the French critics to estimate the value of a tragedy at a single glance! How accurately might the time be measured out in which eternal attachments should be formed, conspiracies planned, and states overthrown; how might the passions of the soul be r ed to a minute, and the rise and swell of the great emotions of the heart determined to a hair; with what accuracy might the moments which the heroes have yet to live

on the vision in which the angels are pouring forth the vials, and with the pen in his hand, ready to commit to sacred and imperishable record the awful and mysterious scenes opened before him. Never did I behold or imagine such a figure. He is sitting, half entranced with wonder at the revelation disclosed to him, half mournfully conscious of the evils which he is darkly to predict to a fated and unheeding world. The face, in its mere form and colouring, is most beautiful: its features are perfectly lovely, though inclining rather to cherubic roundness than Grecian austerity, and its roseate bloom of youth is gently touched and softened by the feelings attendant on the sad and holy vocation of the beloved disciple. The head is bent forward, in eagerness, anxiety, and reverence; the eyebrows arched in wonder, yet bearing in every line some undefinable expression of pity; the eyes are uplifted, and beaming with holy inspiration, yet mild, soft, angelical; around the exquisitely-formed mouth, sweet tenderness for the inevitable sorrows of mankind are playing; and the bright chestnut hair, falling in masses

love them, are not of the earth, earthy. Our thoughts are not wholly of humiliation and sorrow! but stretch forward, with a pensive majesty, into the permanent and the immortal.

over the shoulders, gives to all this expression | learn only to feel our weakness. But in the of high yet soft emotion, a finishing grace and sacred place where all that could perish of our completeness. This figure displays such un- orators, philosophers, and poets, is reposing, we speakable sweetness tempering such prophetic feel our mortality only to lend us a stronger fire; such religious and saintly purity, mingled and more ethereal sense of our eternal being. with so genial a compassion; it is at once so Life and death seem met together, as in a holy individual and so ideal; so bordering on the fane, in peaceful concord. While we feel that celestial, and yet so perfectly within the range the mightiest must yield to the stern law of of human sympathies; that it is difficult to necessity, we know that the very monuments say, whether the delicious emotions which it which record the decay of their outward inspires partake most of wonder or of love. frame, are so many proofs and symbols tha The image seemed, like sweet music, to sink they shall never really expire. We feel that into the soul, there to remain for ever. To see those whose remembrance is thus extended such a piece is really to be made better and beyond the desolating power of the grave happier. The recollection is a precious trea- over whose fame death and mortal accidents sure for the feelings and the imagination, of have no power, are not themselves destroyed. which nothing, while they endure, can deprive And when we recollect the more indestructible them. monuments of their genius, those works, which The church at Belem, a fortified place on live not only in the libraries of the studious, the Tagus, three or four miles from Lisbon, but in the hearts and imaginations of men; where the kings and royal family of Portugal | we are conscious at once, that the spirit which have, for many generations, been interred, conceived, and the souls which appreciate and must not be forgotten. It is one of the most ancient buildings in the kingdom, having originally been erected by the Romans, and splendidly adorned by the Moorish sovereigns. Formed of white stone, it is now stained to a reddish brown by the mere influence of years, Having inspected the city, I was naturally and frowns over the water "cased in the un- anxious to visit the celebrated Aqueduct, which feeling armour of old time." Its shape is is carried across a deep valley two or three oblong, its sides of gigantic proportions, and miles from Lisbon. Having passed the suits massive appearance most grand and awe-burbs, and reached the open country, I saw, at inspiring. The principal entrance is by a a sudden turn in the pathway, the mighty obdeep archway, reaching to a great height, and ject of my wanderings. I found myself on the circular within, ornamented above and around summit of a gently sloping declivity, at a little with the most crowded, venerable, and yet distance from the foot of which a hill rose to fantastic devices-martyrs and heroes of chi- an equal height, with a bold and luxuriant sweep. valry-swords and crosiers-monarchs and It is across the expanse thus formed, that the saints-crosses and sceptres-"the roses and stupendous bridge runs, in two straight lines flowers of kings" and the sad emblems of from each eminence, which form an obtuse mortality-all wearing the stamp of deep anti-angle in the centre. The whole is supported quity, all appearing carved out of one eternal by thirty-six arches, which, as the ground from rock, and promising by their air of solid each extremity sinks, increase in height, or grandeur to survive as many stupendous rather depth, till in the middle of the pile, the changes as those which have already left them distance to which they ascend from the vale is unshaken. The interior of this venerable fearful. This huge structure is composed of edifice is not less awe-breathing or substantial. dark gray stone, the deep colour of which gives Eight huge pillars of barbaric architecture, to its massiveness an air of the sternest granand covered all over with strange figures and grotesque ornaments in relievo, support the roof, which is white, ponderous, and of a noble simplicity, being only divided into vast square compartments by the beams which cross it. Such a pile, devoted to form the last restingplace of a line of kings who have, each in his brief span of time, held the fate of millions at his pleasure, cannot fail to excite solemn and pensive thought. And yet what are the feelings thus excited, to those meditations to which the great repository of the illustrious deceased in England invites us! Here we think of nothing but the perishableness of man in his best estate-the emptiness of human honours the low and frail nature of all the distinctions of earth. A race of monarchs occupy but a narrow vault: they were kings, and now are dust; and this idea forced home upon us, makes us feel that the most potent and enduring of worldly things-thrones, dynasties, and the peaceable succession of high families-are but as feeble shadows. We

deur. The water is conveyed across the level thus formed, through a chain of building which occupies its centre, and appears almost like a line of solid and unbroken rock. Above this erection, turrets of still greater height, and of the same materials, are reared at regular intervals, and crown the whole. The road is thus divided into two passes, which are secured by high ridges of stone, in the long, uninterrupted straight lines, which have an air of so awful a grandeur in the noblest remains of Roman art. The view from the southern road, though romantic, is, for the most part, confined within narrow boundaries, as rugged hills arise on this side almost from the foot of the Aqueduct, to a height far above its towers, cultivated only towards the lower parts, and covered on the loftier spots with a thin grass and shapeless blocks or masses of granite. This mountainous ridge breaks, however, in the centre, and abruptly displays a piece of the Tagus, like an inland lake, with its tenderly rimpled blue, and the wild and lofty banks