[26] FOURTH DAY.
        A first-rate 
          Blessing.  The Duke d'Alafoens' Chateau.  The great Highway 
          to the Caldas.  Extensive Fertility.  Cadafaiz.  Boundless 
          Vineyard.  Eggs of the Sun.  A calm Retirement.  Peaceful 
          State of Portugal compared to other parts of the Continent.
          
          
          6th June.
          
          AT length it pleased heaven to inspire the Grand Prior with sufficient 
          resolution to proceed; the last dregs of excuses for loitering being 
          exhausted. The air had become much cooler; and the sun being overcast, 
          we experienced a first-rate blessing  that of travelling under 
          a canopy of clouds, which had the kindness not to disperse till we passed 
          Al Priate, a chateau belonging to the Duke d'Alafoens.
          This sumptuous abode, with pompous [27] high roofs, and courts, and 
          avenues, as Frenchified as their illustrious master, is placed in a 
          valley which would have been pleasant enough had any other trees except 
          the pale leaden-coloured olive happened to predominate.
          After jolting along in rather a convulsive manner for about a league, 
          and receiving many a pinch from my alarmed and nervous companion, we 
          emerged from a chaos of ruts and sandbanks into the great highway which 
          leads to the Caldas through Alhandra, Povos, and Villa Franca.
          All these places, not unpleasantly situated on the banks of the Tagus, 
          have quintas, palaces, and fidalgos, as well as their betters; but the 
          country which surrounds them is pretty nearly as flat, and as rich in 
          ditches, sluices, and other means of irrigation, as the environs of 
          Antwerp itself. Her most faithful majesty sometimes resorting to the 
          Caldas, the road is kept in tolerable repair.
          [28] At every league, pedestals with vases upon them meet the eye; and 
          at no very distant intervals, architectural fountains, which have not 
          yet entirely forgotten the purpose for which they were erected, and 
          still contrive to dribble out a scanty and turbid stream.
          As we approached Carregado, scenes of boundless plenty began to expand 
          themselves; unlimited fields of Turkish corn, fine barley, and black 
          Sicilian wheat, the ears bending to the ground with their weight.
          We now abandoned the high road in order to reach Cadafaiz, another ample 
          domain under the government of our hospitable friend, where we arrived 
          late in the afternoon. There we found ourselves in a most comfortable 
          antiquated mansion, perfectly cool and clean; the floors neatly matted, 
          the tables covered with the finest white linen, and, in bright clear 
          caraffes of Venetian glass, the most [27] beautiful carnations I ever 
          met with, even at Genoa in the Durazzo Gardens.
          The wide latticed windows of the apartment allotted to me commanded 
          the view of a boundless vineyard in full luxuriant leaf, divided by 
          long broad tracts of thyme and camomile, admirably well kept and nicely 
          weeded. From this immense sea of green leaves rose a number of plum, 
          pear, orange, and apricot trees; the latter procured by the monks directly 
          from Damascus, and bearing, as I can testify, that most delicious fruit 
          of its kind called "eggs of the sun" by the Persians;  
          even insects and worms seem to respect it, for no trace could I discover 
          of their having preyed on its smooth glowing rind and surrounding foliage.
          Beyond these truly Hesperian orchards, very lofty hills swell into the 
          most picturesque forms, varied by ledges of rock, and completely inclose 
          this calm retirement; wild healthful spots of delicate herbage, [30] 
          which the goats and sheep, whose bells I heard tinkling in the distance, 
          are scarcely more partial to than myself.
          How often, contrasting my present situation with the horrid disturbed 
          state of almost every part of the Continent, did I bless the hour when 
          my steps were directed to Portugal! As I sat in the nook of my retired 
          window, I looked with complacency on a roof which sheltered no scheming 
          hypocrites, on tables, on which perhaps no newspaper had ever been thrown, 
          and on neat white pillows, guiltless of propping up the heads of those 
          assassins of real prosperity  political adventurers. The very 
          air which kept playing around my temples seemed to breathe contentment; 
          it was genially warm, not oppressive, and brought with it the intermingled 
          fragrance of mountain herbs and native flowers.