charity, but merely a part of their artful policy,
by which they hoped to secure to themselves friends in time of need. The
girl then said that as it was Sunday I should perhaps like to see some of
her books, and without waiting for a reply she produced them. They
consisted principally of popular stories and lives and miracles of
saints, but amongst them was a translation of Volney's _Ruins of
Empires_. I inquired how she became possessed of this book; she said
that a young man, a great Constitutionalist, had given it her some months
since and had pressed her much to read it, telling her that it was the
best book in the world. Whereupon I told her that the author of the book
in question was an emissary of Satan and an enemy of Jesus Christ and the
souls of mankind; that he had written it with the sole view of bringing
all religion into contempt, and that he had inculcated therein the
doctrine that there was no future state nor rewards for the righteous nor
punishments for the wicked. She made no reply, but going into another
room, returned with her apron full of dry brushwood and faggot; all of
this she piled upon the fire, and produced a bright blaze. She then took
the book from my hand, and placed it upon the flaming pile; then sitting
down, took her rosary out of her pocket, and told her beads till the
volume was consumed. This was an _Auto-da-fe_, in the true sense of the
word.

On the Monday and Tuesday I paid my usual visits to the fountain, and
likewise rode about the neighbourhood for the purpose of circulating
tracts. I dropped a great many in the favourite walks of the people of
Evora, as I felt rather dubious of their accepting them had I proffered
them with my own hands; whereas if they found them on the ground, I
thought that curiosity might induce them to pick them up and examine
them. I likewise on the Tuesday evening paid a farewell visit to my
friend Don Azveto, as it was my intention to leave Evora on the Thursday
following; in which view I had engaged a cabriolet of a man who informed
me that he had served as a soldier in the _Grande Armee_ of Napoleon, and
had been present throughout the Russian campaign. He looked the image of
a drunkard; his face was covered with carbuncles, and his breath
impregnated with the fumes of strong waters. He wished much to converse
with me in French, in the speaking of which language, it seems, he prided
himself much; but I refused, and told him to speak the