My plumy pairs, in gay embroidery dressed,
Form with ingenious skill the pensile nest;
To Love's sweet notes attune the listening dell,
And Echo sounds her soft symphonious shell.

_The Botanic Garden_.

Betimes the next morning the botanical party were in the saddle.
Mrs. Shortridge rode a mule, the especial favorite of the commissary,
for her sure foot and easy gaits, and Lady Mabel was mounted on her
Andalusian, on whose education Lieut. Goring had bestowed such pains:
but on this occasion she ungratefully omitted to summon her equerry to
attend her.

Descending the granite hill of Elvas, they rode westward across the
fertile valley, their road shut in on either hand by luxuriant
evergreen hedges; for here the dark clay soil was all under
cultivation, and carefully laid out into garden, orchard, or field.
They passed under the arches of the great aqueduct that stretched its
tortuous length across the undulating vale; they paused to admire its
peculiarity of style and structure, and the greatness of the work; to
wonder at the crooked course it ran, and yet more at the little use
the people of Elvas made of its waters for cleaning purposes. Then,
hastening on, they found themselves, at the end of some five miles, in
an open and elevated country. Dismounting here, they left the horses
to the care of their servants. The riding skirts fell to the ground,
the ladies stepped forth in walking costume, and the party commenced
their ramble after flowers, plants, and scenery, directing their steps
toward the high grounds to the northwest of Elvas.

For two or three hours they got on famously. There was much that was
new, curious, and beautiful, to be gazed on and admired, wondered at,
and collected. Lady Mabel, with the enthusiasm of a young botanist and
a younger traveler, found treasures at every step. The gentle morning
breeze came refreshingly down from the hills before them, laden with
the perfumes of opening spring; the rich aroma of the gum-cistus, the
fragrance of the wild rosemary, and many another sweet-scented plant,
pervading the air, yet not oppressing the breath. Mrs. Shortridge
expressed, rather strongly, perhaps, her delight at the contrast
between the sweet-smelling country and the unsavory towns of the
Portuguese. She quoted, with no little unction, the proverb: "God made
the country, man made the town," as if she had never fully felt its
force till now.

"We