Led with delight they thus beguile the way  When weening to return whence they did stray, 
They cannot find that path, which first was showne, 
But wander to and fro in ways unknown, 
Furthest from end then, when they nearest weene, 
That makes them doubt their wits be not their own, 
So many paths, so many turning seene, 
That which of them to take in diverse doubt they been. 
???????? ???????? ???????? Faerie Queene.
The party mustered early the next morning to continue their journey, and after breakfast L'Isle called for the innkeeper to pay him his bill. This worthy, acting on the natural supposition that the English had come into the country to indemnify the Portuguese for their losses at the hands of the French, at once named the round sum of sixty crusados. On L'Isle looking surprised, he began to run over so long a list of articles furnished, and items of trouble given, that L'Isle, who was annoyed at the interruption of an agreeable conversation with Lady Mabel, was about to pay him in full to get rid of him, when Shortridge peremptorily interfered. The demand was extortionate and aroused his indignation. Perhaps he looked upon the fellow as usurping a privilege belonging peculiarly to the commissary's own brotherhood. He abused the man roundly in very bad Portuguese, and insisted that L'Isle should pay him but half the sum.
 
The innkeeper, a dark, sallow man, with a vindictive countenance, glared on him as if fear alone withheld him from replying with his knife. When he found his tongue, he began to answer with a bitterness that was fast changing into uncontrollable rage; but the commissary, who was a master in the art of bullying, cut him short.
 
"This fellow," said he, addressing L'Isle, but still speaking Portuguese, "has three fine mules in his stable. I shall need a great many beasts to carry corn to Elvas, and will apply to the Juiz de Fora to embargo them among the first."
 
The innkeeper turned as pale as his golden skin permitted at the bare suggestion. The French had made a similar requisition on him four years ago, and when he followed his cattle to reclaim them after the required service, he got only sore bones and a broken head for his pains.
 
"You may do as you please in that matter," said L'Isle, throwing on the table half the sum demanded, and leaving their host to swallow his anger, and take it up, if he pleased.
 
The muleteer, having come in for the baggage, on finding out the nature of the controversy, now poured out a flood of vociferous eloquence on the extortioner, denouncing him as a disgrace to the nation, and no true Portuguese, but a New Christian, as might be seen in his face; and he was urgent with Shortridge to let him show him the way to the house of the Juiz de Fora without loss of time.
 
L'Isle's commanding air and contemptuous indifference overawed the innkeeper quite as much as Shortridge's threats. So, sweeping the money into his pocket, he went out hastily to find a safe and secret hiding place for his mules.
 
"Pray," said Lady Mabel to L'Isle, while they were waiting for their horses, "what is a New Christian?"
 
"The explanation of the term does not tell well in the history of the country," said he. "When Ferdinand and Isabella expelled the Jews from Spain, many of them took refuge here, where John II. gave them shelter, on condition that they should quit the kingdom in a limited time. This king endeavored to keep faith with them. Nevertheless, in his and the following reign, they were subjected to unceasing persecutions, being required to become Christians, or leave the country; at the very time every obstacle was put in the way of their escape. At length their children were taken from them to be reared in the Christian faith, and numbers abjured Judaism in order to recover possession of their own offspring. But such a conversion failed not to furnish for many a generation a crowd of hapless inmates for the 'Tremendous House of the Inquisition' in every town. Even in the last century, no diversion delighted the Lisbon mob like the burning of a relapsed Jew. The usage of them of old still influences the condition of the country and the term New Christian is yet a by-word common in the mouths of people."
 
"We certainly see a great many Jewish faces among the Portuguese Christians," said Mrs. Shortridge.
 
"So the great Marquis de Pombul thought," L'Isle answered; "for when a great crowd had assembled to see him open a fountain he had erected in Lisbon, on a courtier's saying, 'See, my Lord, like Moses, you make water flow from the rock!' 'Yes,' replied the marquis, 'and here are the Jews looking at me.'"
 
"And our host," said Mrs. Shortridge, "is doubtless one of these New Christians."
 
"But has the commissary," Lady Mabel asked, "a right to make the requisition with which he threatens him?"
 
"Not on his own authority," said L'Isle, laughing. "But these people would well deserve that we should sweep off every mule and yoke of oxen around Evora. Last year when we were collecting materials for the siege of Badajoz, the ungrateful rascals would not send a single cart to help us."
 
"Why, were we not fighting their battles?" Lady Mabel exclaimed. "Would they not assist in their own defence?"
 
"Badajoz is not within sight of Evora, and that was enough for these short-sighted patriots."
 
"Has such blind selfishness a parallel?" asked Lady Mabel.
 
"Many," said L'Isle. "We may at times find one at home, in the wisdom of a whig ministry, which consists in taking a microscopic view of the wrong side of things just under their noses."
 
They now mounted their horses, and leaving the pra?a, had entered on a narrow and somewhat crooked street, where they suddenly met a funeral procession, with its priests, crucifix and tapers, the dead being carried by several persons on a bier, and followed by a few peasants. The travelers drew up their horses close to the adjacent wall, to leave room for the procession. The face of the dead was uncovered as usual, and the friar's dress which clothed the body, with the rosaries and other paraphernalia displayed about his person, led Lady Mabel to say, "I see that one of the good fathers is gone to his account."
 
"He will now find out," said Moodie, "the worth of his beads, crucifix and holy water."
 
"I am surprised," said Lady Mabel, "at so unpretending a funeral, in the case of a member of the great order of St. Francis."
 
L'Isle asked a question of a Portuguese standing near, and then said, "The cowl does not make the monk, nor must you infer from his dress that this man was a friar. He lived all his life a peasant in a neighboring village."
 
"Indeed!" exclaimed Lady Mabel.
 
"Almost every one," said L'Isle, as they turned to ride on their way, "here and throughout the Peninsula, is buried in a religious habit—the men in the uniform of friars, the women dressed like pilgrims, and the girls like nuns. They are loaded with a freight of rosaries, agni dei, and other saintly jewelry, fastened to the neck, hands and feet, and stuffed into the clothes. Convents have often a warehouse appropriated to this posthumous wardrobe, in the sale of which they drive a profitable trade. It was a most natural mistake made by a stranger, who, after being a few weeks at Madrid, and seeing so many Franciscans interred, expressed his astonishment at the prodigious number of them in the city, and asked if their order was not entirely carried off by this violent epidemic."
 
"I suppose," said Lady Mabel, "the custom originated in the propensity so strong in us all, to live sinners and die saints."
 
"Exactly so," L'Isle answered; "it is a fraudulent custom, old as the fifth century, and common in popish countries. It is nothing less than an attempt to cheat St. Peter, who, you know, keeps the keys of heaven, by knocking at the gate in the disguise of a monk or a friar."
 
"I have too much faith in St. Peter's vigilance and penetration," said Mrs. Shortridge, "to think he has ever been so taken in."
 
They presently got out of the city; but, to Moodie's displeasure, by a gate opposite to that by which they had entered it. He was still more annoyed, when, on coming to a place where the road branched into two, the commissary took a brief though kindly leave of his wife and friends, and, followed by his man, galloped off to the right, on a professional chase after grain and bullocks.
 
L'Isle was surprised to find himself regretting the loss of their fellow-traveler. He had found him, always remembering that he was a commissary, a very good fellow; for we can find some good in every man, if we take the trouble to look for it; and Shortridge was one who, after taking care of himself, was quite willing to take care of other people.
 
But L'Isle's regret was nothing to Moodie's, whose habits of life led him to appreciate the nature and importance of the commissary's official duties. He valued him as a practical, responsible man of business, with no foolish fancies about him. He admired the summary way in which he had disposed of the extortionate inn-keeper, and now looked after him almost in despair; for he did not think the party left behind by any means fit to take care of themselves or each other. L'Isle he did not understand and mistrusted, doubting whether he were merely idly rambling about the country, or harbored some covert design, the object of which was Lady Mabel, of course.
 
"My Lady," said he, riding up beside her, and speaking in an under tone, "this is not the road we traveled coming from Elvas. Where are you going to now?"
 
Remarking his dissatisfied air, and the look of suspicion he cast on L'Isle, she answered, with provoking coolness, "Oh, we are merely rambling about; any road is the right one, if it but leads to a new place."
 
"But now the commissary has left us, do you not mean to go back to Elvas?"
 
"In returning we will make a detour."
 
"And what is a detour?" asked Moodie, with a puzzled air.
 
"It means going back the longest way. We have plenty of leisure, for the campaign will not open directly."
 
"I would like to know what you, my Lady, have to do with the opening of the campaign?"
 
"A great deal, and so have you; for, as soon as it does open, you and I must march back to Scotland."
 
"I wish it were to-morrow," said Moodie.
 
"It will not be to-morrow, or to-morrow's morrow," Lady Mabel answered. "Meanwhile, we will see all that is to be seen, and learn all that is to be known. Even you, by crowding and packing more closely your old notions, may find room for some new ones."
 
"I am too old to learn," said Moodie, sullenly.
 
"Too wise, you mean," she said, breaking off from him. "Come, Mrs. Shortridge, let me tear you from this barren spot, to which grief has rooted you on parting from the commissary;" and, seizing that lady's mule by the rein, Lady Mabel led her, as if helpless from sorrow, after the guide, who had taken the left-hand road.
 
"Somewhere hereabouts," L'Isle remarked, as they rode on, "lies what is called the field of Sertorius. I know not why it is so named; but it figures largely in the tradition, and yet more in the superstitions, of the country. 'There exists in Portugal a strange superstition concerning King Sebastian, whose reappearance is as confidently expected by many of the Portuguese, as the coming of the Messiah by the Jews. The rise and progress of this belief forms a curious part of their history. It began in hope, when the return of that prince, after his hapless expedition to Morocco, and the fatal battle of Alca?ar Quiber, was not only possible, but might have been considered likely; it was fostered by the policy of the Braganzan party after all reasonable hope had ceased; and length of time only served to ripen it into a confirmed and rooted superstition, which even the intolerance of the Inquisition spared, for the sake of the loyal and patriotic feelings in which it had its birth. The holy office never interfered farther with the sect, than to prohibit the publication of its numerous prophecies, which were suffered to circulate in private. For many years the persons who held this strange opinion had been content to enjoy their dream in private, shrinking from observation and ridicule; but as the belief had begun in a time of deep calamity, so now, when a heavier evil had overwhelmed the kingdom, it spread beyond all former example. Their prophecies were triumphantly brought to light, for only in the promises which were there held out could the Portuguese find consolation; and proselytes increased so rapidly, that half Lisbon became Sebastianists. The delusion was not confined to the lower orders; it reached the educated classes; and men who had been graduated in theology became professors of a faith which announced that Portugal was soon to be the head of the Fifth and Universal Monarchy; Sebastian was speedily to come from the Secret Island; the Queen would resign the sceptre into his hands; he would give Bonaparte battle near Evora, on the field of Sertorius, slay the tyrant, and become monarch of the world."
 
"And this superstition now prevails?" Lady Mabel asked.
 
"So widely, that at least every other man you meet is a Sebastianist."
 
As they rode on they found the country dotted over with quintas and country-houses, here called montes, from being generally seated on hills. Around each homestead the meagre and tame-hued olive was mingled with the deep rich green of the orange-tree, which here produces its fruit in the greatest perfection of flavor, at least, if not of size, and a vineyard occasionally occupied the slope of the hill. The lower grounds were covered with extensive cornfields, bearing here a thriving growth of wheat, there a young crop of maize, which furnishes these people with more than half their food.
 
"The Portuguese," said L'Isle, "like their Spanish neighbors, are often charged with indolence; but here and elsewhere, under favorable circumstances, they show no want of industry. The husbandman of this part of Alemtejo has grown rich in spite of the greatest obstacle to thrift, which the church has raised up in devoting more than half the year to holy days. Good lands are apt to make good farmers, and labor and skill well repaid, leads to the outlay of more labor and greater skill."
 
"We see around us a people," said Lady Mabel, "reveling in the Scripture blessings of corn, wine, and oil. I think there must be no little resemblance between Portugal and Palestine."
 
"The Jews think so too," answered L'Isle. "The delights of Portugal can make a Jew forget Jerusalem. They clung, and still cling to it, as another promised land. Moreover, if their fathers of old longed after the leeks and onions of Egypt, their sons may satisfy that longing here."
 
"And stuff themselves with garlic to boot, like Portuguese sausage," said Mrs. Shortridge. "The quantity of these things in it leaves little room for the pork."
 
The travelers occasionally fell in with peasants singly, or in parties on the road; and L'Isle, prompted by the ladies, let few of them pass without exchanging some words, which were easily drawn out; for English uniforms, and ladies so evidently foreigners, excited much curiosity, especially in the women. Struck with the air of comfort common among these people, and the marks of fertility and cultivation in the country around them, Lady Mabel hoped that Moodie had at last met with something to please him; so she asked the opinion of that high authority on the rural prospect and the farming around them. But he at once condemned it as unskillful, wasteful, and slovenly; in short, just what was to be looked for in this benighted land.
 
"What a pity it is, Moodie, you cannot speak Portuguese," said Lady Mabel; "you might seize many a chance of giving these benighted people a valuable hint, particularly how to ferment their wine, and press their olives."
 
"I am sure," replied Moodie, "I could make as sour wine and rancid oil as the best of them, and they make no other."
 
"You are a fault-seeking traveler," said Lady Mabel; "and so will find nothing to please you, while I enjoy all around me, and see nothing to find fault with, except the abominable custom of the women riding astride on their burras, which I am glad to see is not universal."
 
"Nay, my lady, the country pleases me well enough. The pasturage is poor and parched, yet the oxen are fine in spite of their monstrous horns; and I see corn land that might yield good oats or barley in Scotland. The land is well enough; it is the people I find fault with."
 
"Moodie's verdict on Portugal," said L'Isle, "can be summed up in four little words: 'Bona terra, mala gens.'"
 
"What pleasure," continued Moodie, not heeding the interruption, "can a Christian man find in traveling in a land where the people grovel in ignorance and a besotted superstition, which manifests that God has given them over to a reprobate heart. I cannot speak their language; I can only look on their wanderings in the dark, and think of the wrath to come."
 
"And so here is a missionary lost!" Mrs. Shortridge exclaimed.
 
"But, according to Moodie's favorite dogma," said L'Isle, "were he gifted with the purest and most eloquent Portuguese, or had he the gift of St. Francis Xavier, who, when thrown among any strange people, was soon found exhorting them in their own tongue, he could be to this people only a prophet of evil. You say that they are given over to a state of reprobation. Do you, like a great English philosopher, believe in election and reprobation by nature?"
 
"Not exactly; nor do I know any thing of your English philosopher; but since I have been among these people, I have seen much to lead my thoughts that way. And we have example for it. Had not God his chosen people of old? And the seven nations of Canaan, were they not swept off as utterly reprobate from the face of the earth?"
 
"And now," suggested L'Isle, wishing to know the old man's views, "election is for the Scotch nation, and reprobation for the Portuguese?"
 
"I do not say that all Scotchmen, even in the Kirk, are of the elect."
 
"No," interposed Lady Mabel. "You misconstrue Moodie. He holds a particular election within the Kirk, and a national reprobation outside of it."
 
"I am afraid, my lady, it is not given to you to understand that high doctrine. It is ordered that the blessing, and the comprehension of it, go hand in hand."
 
"I must despair then, for I certainly do not comprehend it. In truth, the tenor of your discourse calls up in my mind the involuntary doubt, did this people first desert God, or God them? But I trample it down as a snare laid by the evil one."
 
"We are in a land where the evil one bears full sway," said Moodie.
 
"Yet you have voluntarily put yourself in purgatory by coming to travel in it," said Lady Mabel. "But you have your consolation, and may give thankful utterance to the words of our Scotch poet:
 
'I bless and praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night, 
That I am here afore thy sight, 
??For gifts an' grace, 
A burning and a shining light, 
??To a' this place.'"
"I do not know that psalmist, if in truth he be a maker of spiritual songs," said Moodie, with a doubtful air.
 
"He did dabble a little in psalmody," said Lady Mabel; "but I doubt whether his attempts would satisfy you. How like you this sample:
 
'Orthodox, orthodox, who believe in John Knox, 
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience; 
There's a heretic blast has been blown in the Wast, 
That what is not sense must be nonsense. 
 
Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, load your spiritual guns, 
Ammunition you never can need; 
Your hearts are the stuff, will be powder enough, 
And your skulls are store-houses o' lead.'"
"'Tis that profane, lewd fellow, Burns," exclaimed Moodie, angrily. "He did worse than hide his ten talents in a napkin. I wonder, my lady, you defile your mouth with his scurrilous words."
 
"I have done with him," said Lady Mabel, laughing. "He was a profane, lewd fellow, far better at pointing out other men's errors than amending his own."
 
Moodie now fell back among the servants; and L'Isle remarked, "your old squire, Lady Mabel, holds an austere belief. I never met a man so confident of his own salvation and of the damnation of others."
 
"He reminds me," Mrs. Shortridge said, "of a dissenting neighbor of ours, when we lived in London, who was always saying, 'I am called, but my wife is not,' much to the poor woman's disquiet in this world, if not to the hazard of her happiness in the next."
 
"The old man puzzles me sadly at times," said Lady Mabel; "and he has at hand many a text to sustain his dogmas."
 
"It is a pity," said L'Isle, "that he will not bear in mind those that bid us 'Judge not that ye be not judged;' 'Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall; 'Unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall much be required;' and many others of the same tenor."
 
"Pray go on," said Lady Mabel, "and provide me with a refutation of Moodie's theology of destiny: not that I hope to silence him, for controversy is to him the breath of life."
 
Now L'Isle had acquired many things laboriously, but he had gotten his training in divinity somewhat incidentally, and hesitated, as well he might, to undertake the task imposed. But spurred on by the deference she showed to his opinions, he eagerly sought to satisfy, yet not mislead her. "Moodie is the type of a class," he said, "who are the most wilful men in the world, yet are even inculcating that man has no will of his own, but is the play thing of fate. Fatalism, indeed, is no modern invention, being as old as humanity itself, perhaps, older. We find it as strongly inculcated by the Greek tragic poet, as by the modern Calvinist. But the peculiar colors in which we see it dressed,............