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THE TOMB OF MOORE.

All must acknowledge the taste, the feeling, and the generosity of the gallant Marshal who raised the monument, and penned the inscription to the memory of a fallen enemy. Little of memento is, however, required by the Englishman who visits it-little to be written of the character of that great man, who died, as he lived, gloriously—a gallant soldier, a sincere friend, and an ornament to the country that gave

him birth! In order to preserve the tomb, a wall about breast-high was erected by the British government, in 1824. This has had the very opposite effect from what was intended, as it not only obstructs the view, but actually conduces to its defilement, the interior being a receptacle for every description of filth and abomination—the exemplification of a wellknown Persian proverb. True it is, that the Spanish authorities put up a notice, many years ago,

inflicting a small fine upon offenders ; but no further trouble is taken. Ah Spain ! is this

Ah Spain ! is this your gratitude—this the respect you pay to the remains of the man who came to free you from slavery and oppression ? You deserted him while living, and you dishonour his sepulchre when dead. The English Consul should do something to rescue this spot from desecration

“ Where cold and unhonoured his relics are laid.”

The body of Moore was interred here, in compliance with a wish he was often heard to express, that he

SPANISH INGRATITUDE.

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should be buried where he fell ; and besides, it was
not only the nearest spot, but indeed the only one
that the circumstances of that memorable night
afforded.

“Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ;'

but if blame could have been attached to him, it
may have been for accepting a command so limited
by ministers at home, and so hemmed in by the
trammels of diplomacy abroad. Whatever the spot
on his bright escutcheon Slander would imprint with
her unhallowed breath, it was nobly effaced by his
life's-blood on the battle-field of Corunna.

Look at the conduct of the Spanish generals-
look at the letters of Mr. Frere, from Madrid-look
at the broken promises, the never-fulfilled treaties.
Where was the Marquis de Romana ? Just one day's
march a-head, eating up whatever of food was to be
obtained in the country. It was, in truth, a vic-
torious retreat.

Within the barrier, and underneath part of the monument, are buried some of the family of a former viçe-consul; and, though they but mingle in the clay common to all mankind, I do think it was rather presumptuous, even for the representative of majesty at the port of Corunna, to displace the stones erected by Soult, and disturb the ashes of the "

mighty dead,” so hallowed by the immortal

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lines of Charles Wolfe, and so endeared to us by every grateful recollection. Saint Paul's has her tribute to consecrate his actions, and Glasgow has erected a statue to her citizen ; but surely England will do something more, either by removing his body to Westminster, or by erecting a testimonial upon the spot where he fell. It is not too late for those private friends, and companions in arms, who fought under his banner and stood beside him in the battle-field, to bestir themselves in this noble work.

It is waxing late; the evening gun has just proclaimed sunset, and the broad belt of golden light which marked its parting beam is fast dying in the west. The vessels of war are answering the deep-mouthed echoes from the fort, as their last boom is dying o'er the calm waters, and the shrill whistle of the boatswain is heard above the castanets and the merry dance in the trading craft immediately beneath. Our gallant schooner has completed her repairs, and with her taut-ropes, taper, raking masts, and beautifully-modelled hull, forms a striking contrast to the sluggish, dirty vessels by which she is surrounded. As the deep shades of evening descend, they veer round like a herd of startled deer, and head the shifting night-breeze.

night-breeze. The moon is rising from the ocean behind the hills of Ferrol—the silence of the city and the glimmering light in the different houses remind me that it is time to return on board.

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All is now ready, and to-morrow we sail. Unhappy Spain, farewell. Thou art, indeed, the land of brilliant promise, but baneful produce. Hast thou no remembrance of thy once proud station ? No Columbus or Murillo to stimulate thy degraded sons? Where is thy once commercial glory? Where the spirit that discovered a world, and the chivalry which drove the Saracen from thy shores? Who can look upon thy proverbial perfidy—thy ceaseless wars upon the liberty of thought, of conscience, and the spread of knowledge, and not behold in thy present bloody struggles a just and terrible retribution ?

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CHAPTER II.

LISBON.

Arrival in the Tagus--Lisbon—Church of the Estrella --A Harbour Scene-- The

Dogs The Palacio de Cortes—Ruins of the Inquisition-Cathedral-Holy Crows
-A Black Virgin-Theatricals—Hospitals and State of Medicine-Belem
Its Palace_Convent- Tomb of Alfonzo VI.-Mosaic Altar of St. Roch-
The Carmo—Description of the City-Costumes—Gallegos— Aqueduct of
Alcantara-A Suicide-Dock-yard--Visit to Cintra-Description of the
Country- A Postillion-Splendid Views—Moorish Castle-Penha Convent
Cork Convent- The Monks and state of Religion-Collares-Palace of Cintra-
Montserratt-Beckford—A Pic Nic_Mafra–Story of its erection—Marble
Chapel-Library-English Navy Officers-A Friar-Portuguese Cookery-

Climate-Departure. We left Corunna on the morning of the 10th and entered the Tagus on the 12th ; the atmosphere misty, and the wind blowing a stiff breeze down the river, which presented just here a noble expanse of water, but so muddy, from its admixture with sand and dirt, that it had quite the appearance of illmade chocolate both in colour and consistence. The current is rapid, and the waves continued to break over us till we anchored alongside the town, yet, the fear of wet jackets could not drive us below, or compel us to forego the glorious sight that momentarily opened to our view.

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