第46章 8th January,1836(4)

I passed the night with great comfort in a clean bed,remote from all those noises in general so rife in a Portuguese inn,and the next morning at six we again set out on our journey,which we hoped to terminate before sunset,as Evora is but ten leagues from Vendas Novas.The preceding morning had been cold,but the present one was far more,so much so that just before sunrise I could no longer support it whilst riding,and therefore dismounting ran and walked until we reached a few houses,at the termination of these desolate moors.It was in one of these houses that the commissioners of Don Pedro and Miguel met,and it was there agreed that the latter should resign the crown in favour of Donna Maria;for Evora was the last stronghold of the Usurper,and the moors of the Alemtejo the last area of the combats which so long agitated unhappy Portugal.

I therefore gazed on the miserable huts with considerable interest,and did not fail to scatter in the neighbourhood several of the precious little tracts with which,together with a small quantity of Bibles,my carpet-bag was provided.

The country began to improve,the savage heaths were left behind,and we saw hills and dales,cork-trees and AZINEIRIAS,on the last of which trees grows that kind of sweet acorn called BOLOTA,which is pleasant as a chestnut,and forms in winter the principal food on which the numerous swine of the Alemtejo subsist.Gallant swine they are,with short legs and portly bodies,of a black or dark-red colour,and for the excellence of their flesh I can avouch,having frequently partaken of it in the course of my wanderings in this province.The LUMBO,or loin,when broiled on the live embers,is delicious,especially when eaten with olives.

We were now in sight of Monte Moro,which as the name denotes was once a fortress of the Moors;it is a high,steep hill,on the summit and sides of which are ruined walls and towers.At its western side is a deep ravine or valley,through which a small stream rushes,traversed by a stone bridge;farther down there is a ford,through which we passed and ascended to the town,which commencing near the northern base,passes over the lower ridge towards the north-east;the town is exceedingly picturesque,and many of the houses are very ancient and built in the Moorish fashion.I wished much to examine the relics of Moorish sway on the upper part of the mountain,but time pressed,and the shortness of our stay in this place did not permit me to gratify my inclination.

Monte Moro is the head of a range of hills crossing this part of the Alemtejo,and from hence they fork towards the east and south-east,in the former of which directions lies the direct road to Elvas,Badajoz,and Madrid,and in the latter the road to Evora.Abeautiful mountain,covered to the top with cork trees,is the third in the chain which skirts the way in the direction of Evora.

It is called Monte Almo;a brook brawls at its base,and as Ipassed it the sun was shining gloriously on the green herbage,on which flocks of goats were feeding with their bells ringing merrily,so that the TOUT ENSEMBLE resembled a fairy scene;and that nothing might be wanted to complete the picture,I here met a man,a goat-herd,beneath an AZINEIRIA whose appearance recalled to my mind the Brute-man mentioned in an ancient Danish poem:

'A wild swine on his shoulders he kept,And upon his bosom a black bear slept,And about his fingers with hair o'erhung The squirrel sported and weasel clung.'

Upon the shoulders of the goat-herd was a beast,which he told me was a LONTRA or otter,which he had lately caught in the neighbouring brook,it had a string round its neck which was attached to his arm;at his left side was a bag from the top of which peeped the heads of two or three singular-looking animals;and beside him was squatted the sullen cub of a wolf,which he was endeavouring to tame.His whole appearance was to the last degree savage and wild.After a little conversation,such as those who meet on the road frequently hold,I asked him if he could read;but he made no answer.I then enquired if he knew anything of God or Jesus Christ;he looked me fixedly in the face for a moment,and then turned his countenance towards the sun which was beginning to sink,nodded to it,and then again looked fixedly upon me.Ibelieved I understood this mute reply,which probably was,that it was God who made that glorious light which illumines and gladdens all creation;and gratified with this belief I left him,and hastened after my companions who were,by this time,a considerable way in advance.

I have always found amongst the children of the fields a more determined tendency to religion and piety than amongst the inhabitants of towns and cities,and the reason is obvious;they are less acquainted with the works of man's hands than with those of God;their occupations are simple,and requiring less of ingenuity and skill than those which engage the intention of the other portion of their fellow-creatures,are less favourable to the engendering of self-conceit and sufficiency,so utterly at variance with that lowliness of spirit which constitutes the best test of piety.The sneerers and scoffers at religion do not spring from amongst the simple children of nature,but are the excrescences of overwrought refinement,and though their baneful influence has indeed penetrated to the country and corrupted many there,the fountain-head was amongst crowded houses where nature is scarcely known.I am not one of those who look for perfection amongst the rural population of any country;perfection is not to be found amongst the children of the fall,be their abode where it may;but until the heart disbelieve the existence of a God,there is still hope for the possessor,however stained with crime he may be,for even Simon the Magician was converted.But when the heart is once steeled with infidelity,infidelity confirmed by carnal reasoning,an exuberance of the grace of God is required to melt it,which is seldom or never manifested;for we read in the blessed book that the Pharisee and the Wizard became receptacles of grace,but where is mention made of the conversion of the sneering Sadducee?and is the modern infidel aught but a Sadducee of later date?

TO BE CONTINUED.