civilization, which were at their height,
one, while our forefathers were yet heathen and almost savage, the
other, while they were but emerging from a rude barbarism. We should
never forget that this peninsula was the high road which arts and
letters traveled on their progress into Western Europe, and to our own
land."

"We are much indebted to letters and the arts for the unanimity with
which they came on to us; for certainly," said Lady Mabel, looking
round her, "little of either appears to have loitered behind. Every
object around us makes the impression of a country and a people who
have seen better days; and you cannot help wondering and fearing where
this downward path may end."

"The history of humanity is not always the story of progress," said
L'Isle; "one nation may be like a young barbarian, his face turned
toward civilization, gazing on it with dazzled but admiring eyes;
another, a scowling, hoary outlaw, turning his back on human culture
and social order."

"Your young barbarian," said Lady Mabel, "makes the more pleasing
picture of the two."

"Are there your hoary outlaws?" exclaimed Mrs. Shortridge, as a party
of beggars from the door of the Franciscan church hobbled toward them,
and beset them for alms.

"Oh, no!" said Lady Mabel, "they are angels in disguise, tempting us
to deeds of charity;" and with the devout air of a zealous daughter of
the one true church, she distributed sundry small coin among
them. "Come, Moodie," she exclaimed, "I know your pocket is never
without a store of sixpences, those _canny_ little dogs, that often do
the work of shillings. Seize the occasion of doing good works, of
appropriating to yourself a meritorious charity; for charity covers a
multitude of sins. Lay up some treasure in heaven without loss of
time."

The beggars, on this hint, surrounded Moodie; but he, repudiating such
perversion of Scripture doctrine, shook them off with little
ceremony. And the beggars' instinct saw, in his hard, indignant face,
no hope of alms.

"If you will give nothing, at least buy something," said Lady Mabel;
"that fellow bawling at you _pelus almas_, is offering snuff for sale;
and the love of snuff, at least, is common ground to Scot and
Portuguese."

Thus urged, Moodie paid liberally for a package, and was putting it in
his pocket, when Lady Mabel exclaimed, "You do not know, Moodie, what
a charitable and Christian deed you have done. Every thing is done in
Portugal _pel