floor is mosaiced in a rich carpet pattern; and at the farther end stands the altar, a single block of lapis lazuli of immense size, flanked by pillars of the same precious material, resting on porphyry steps, its upper border being inlaid with a row of brilliant amethysts. But we must hasten to the grand magnets, the three mosaic pictures. The centre, or altar-piece, is the baptism of our Saviour in the Jordan, after Michael Angelo; the figures are as large as life, and are copied with such fidelity, that the hand is involuntarily stretched forth to assure one's self they are not oil and canvas; they are brought out in the most beautiful and natural relief; and the whole, particularly the reflection of the Saviour's feet in the running water, are given with such truth as to fill the spectator with the most unqualified admiration. Those on the sides are the Annunciation, after Raphael, and the Conception, after Guido. Two large and costly candelabra of silver, gilt, stand before the altar. The whole is the workmanship of the celebrated Italian, Justi; it was executed at Rome, and cost a sum much greater than is to be found in the treasury of Portugal at this moment. I feel I cannot do this splendid work the justice it deserves; but I know I am reminding those who have seen it of a great treat. Should any of my readers be in Lisbon, and pressed for time, let them sacrifice all else to see St. John's chapel at St. Roch, and Belem Cathedral. This altar was one of the objects which the spoliating hand of Junot had selected to grace the French capital, but for the timely interference of the English. Of the buildings destroyed by the earthquake in '55, some fine ruins still remain ; among the rest, the Carmo, which crowns one of the seven hills of Lisbon, and forms a striking object from the parterres of the Rua St. Roch. It was the finest specimen of the lanceolated Gothic architecture in Portugal. One is lost in amazement to see the row of tall, thin, clustering pillars, which divide the nave and aisle, still standing, while the roof was utterly destroyed, and many of the walls shaken to their foundation. What a noble ruin it would be considered in England! Here, it is a filthy saw-pit, half filled with dirt and rubbish, and the top of the splendid doorway is now nearly on a level with the street. Beside the door is an inscription, stating it to have been consecrated by Bishop Ambrosia, in 1523; and beneath this is a small cross, under which is a notice, purporting that "whoever DESCRIPTION OF LISBON. 41 kisses this cross shall have an indulgence of many days." The reverence once paid to it was such as absolutely to wear away the stone with kisses; while now the mud of one of the filthiest streets in Lisbon so covers it that I was obliged to poke away this nuisance with a stick in order to obtain a view of it. I may with justice sum up a description of this city in the faithful and energetic lines applied to Cologne by Coleridge, whose name will soften down the asperities that might otherwise grate on ears polite "A town of monks and bones, And pavements fanged with murderous stones, I counted two and seventy stenches." In a word, the city is worthy of a people degraded by ignorance and the grossest superstition. Were I asked for a description of Portuguese character, I would say, it was one partaking of every bad quality belonging to a native of the Peninsula, without one of those redeeming virtues, which, in some degree, render interesting and valuable the character of their neighbours. I would rather turn to the sunny side of the picture, and conduct the reader to any thing worth seeing, without his being assailed by any of the thousand and one stenches of Lisbon. By the way, talking of the sunny side of the picture, I may observe, that the sunny side of the streets may be always known by the number of those prehensile operations going forward in the windows of both rich and poor, and which fully accounts for the decrease of the monkey tribe, since the days of Beckford, when they were hired out to perform those little offices upon the head that filial piety now takes upon itself. The women do not dress so neatly as those in Corunna, and are but little better-looking-many being blondes, yet retaining a Spanish cast of countenance by no means improving. The costume of both sexes is more mixed, and not so national as that we had lately seen. The heads of all the females are enveloped in immense thin muslin handkerchiefs, puffed out to about two feet square at the top, and not inaptly resembling the hoods occasionally worn at funerals in our own country. The rest of the figure is completely enveloped in a long, dark brown mantle. Lisbon is well supplied with water, from the numerous beauti 1241 THE AQUEDUCT OF ALCANTARA. ful fountains spread about the city, and the water is conveyed from house to house, in small barrels, by the Spanish water-carriersthe Galegos-hundreds of whom swarm round every fountain, and form the most interesting groups to be met with. They are all Galicians, and although the water is sold for about a farthing a barrel, many have been known to amass sums large enough to enable them to purchase estates on returning to their native country. They are remarkable for their honesty, and the hardships they undergo are extraordinary, many sleeping in the open air round their fountains at night. The water is conducted to the city by the famous aqueduct, a distance of many miles; and, where it crosses the valley of Alcantara, a short way outside the suburb, it is certainly one of the finest objects in Portugal. The first view of it in this place disappoints; but on a longer inspection, you become gradually impressed with its true and immense proportions. The water is conducted over the deep ravine, (through which a rapid torrent, now dry, runs in the winter,) on a duct of thirty-five arches, measuring 2873 feet. These arches are some of them round, some of them lanceolated: the height of the central one from the water-course below is 226 feet, and its breadth 108 feet. One may form a faint idea of its elevation and span, by knowing that the largest ship of the line, in full sail, could pass under it. The whole length, from the source at Canessas to Lisbon, is 56,300 feet, or 10 miles; it is built of grey marble, and looks as clean and sharp as if constructed but yesterday. On either side of the water-way, there is a foot-path, broad enough for two to walk abreast between it and the parapet, which is barely breast high. In the centre are two water-channels, each 18 inches broad, one of which is closed each alternate year, for the purposes of cleansing and repair; they are roofed in, ventilated by numerous gratings, and surmounted by a handsome turret over every second arch. This walk is the scene of frequent robberies, as few would like to wrestle on so slight a footing, and over such a depth, with a Portuguese bravo. While looking over the highest part, and remarking the diminutive appearance of the people in the valley, my guide told me it was the favourite resort of suicides, who came to fling themselves over the parapet, and the spot is certainly most inviting to those tired of life, and willing to rush into certain and immediate destruction. The view from the top does not so much please as astonish you; it is only while standing below, and at a little distance, that the grandeur of this stupendous pile breaks fully on the senses. In this situation, when looking up the valley through those stupendous arches, you behold its deep gorge and precipitous sides crowded with orange groves, quintas, and windmills, and a prospect presents itself seldom to be equalled in loveliness; the mingled effect of light and shade, mellowed by the declining sun, that throws the shadow of the neighbouring heights across the vale, deepening the green of the different plantations, and again lightly reflected by the redtiled houses on the road to Cintra, produces a combination of natural and artificial beauty of the rarest description. One object, and one alone, shed a gloom over the face of smiling nature. As we turned through one of the arches, to examine some plants at a little distance, we suddenly came upon the corpse of a man, who had but a few hours before thrown himself from the battlement above; and accustomed as I have been from almost childhood to view death in every shape and form that lingering disease, or the murderous hand of man can make loathsome, it shall never fade from my recollection, the view of that haggard, horror-stricken face, on which despair and desperation were still marked, in the fixed look and convulsed feature. He was lying on his back, with the head down hill, and he could not have made the slightest struggle, as the clay was soft, and he lay imbedded in it. He appeared above the lower order, was well dressed, and his clothing, even to his shoes, was perfectly new-a practice common to suicides here. The body was not mangled, though the fall was so great, and his hair, sprinkled with gray, and bespeaking some forty winters, was thrown off a fine and wellformed forehead; but approaching decomposition was already beginning to clear away the wrinkles that had settled on his brow. The sun had thrown the shadow of one of the pillars across where he lay, for although shining equally upon the just and the unjust, it appeared as if disdaining to shed its lustre, or throw one bright beam of hope upon that loathsome, stiffening carcase. I was about touching it, to discover what injury had been sustained, but was prevented by my guide, who assured me that certain imprisonment would follow. A few yards off sat a group of men and boys, lounging idly in the sun, who 44 THE PORTUGUESE NAVY. treated the matter with perfect indifference, from its every-day occurrence here. This was the scene of contention during the late civil struggle. The lines of Lisbon, on which people were still at work, ran just above. Although the cottages and buildings in the immediate neighbourhood bear the marks of the recent conflict in their shattered walls and roofs, I was delighted to find that not a single ball had touched the aqueduct. We visited the dock-yard and arsenal; in the former was one ship, on the stocks for so many years, that they have put in three new sets of timbers already, and are now negociating a loan of £300 for a further repair! Their naval officers are educated in a model ship, placed in the arsenal. How are the mighty fallen!-think of the days when the Portuguese navy was the terror of the world, and her mariners added rich store of knowledge to their children, and incalculable wealth to their coffers. The markets of Lisbon, particularly those for fruit and fish, are well supplied; haiks and dog-fish are caught in great numbers in the Tagus, and much used for food, but dories and mullet are the favourites. Some of the finest muscatel grapes are to be found here; several that I weighed were above 170 grains each! The bull-fights, in honour of the royal birth, were over before we arrived; but all were hastening to Campo Grande, a fair held a few miles from town, to eat roast chesnuts and pork chops. It was, we understood, but a stupid place, without show or amusement, so we made better use of our time by visiting Cintra, the Brighton of Portugal. The immense suburbs through which we passed, showed Lisbon to be a city of much larger size than from the sea we should be inclined to suspect. The roads, paved with enormous blocks of limestone, are execrable; the carriages have no springs, and are worse appointed than the vilest London cab. Shade of M'Adam! had you been qualified for purgatory, you surely would have been sent to jolt out your period on the Cintra road. The seats of the nobility in the neighbourhood of Lisbon are little better than English farm-houses, with one exception, the delightful residence of the Baron Quintilla, a great friend of the queen, who has every thing about him fitted up in English style. The |