when late arriving at our inn of rest,

?whose roof exposed to many a winter sky,

half shelters from the wind the shivering guest,

by the pale lamp's dreary gloom

i mark the miserable room,

and gaze with angry eye

on the hard lot of honest poverty,

and sickening at the monster brood

who fill with wretchedness a world so good.

???????? ???????? ???????? southey.

it was twilight when they reached the venda, a large but somewhat ruinous building, surrounded by a few scattered trees, on the sloping ground near the foot of the hill. the arriero led his mules through the archway which formed the only entrance, and the travelers following found themselves beside and almost in a large apartment, which served at once as kitchen, parlor and dining-room to this house of refuge, which betrayed by many signs, that if it had ever done a thriving business, that day had long gone by. dismounting here, their horses were led on into the stable under the same roof, and imperfectly separated from the kitchen by a rude wall.

the people of the house, an old man and two women, sat staring at them without making any hospitable demonstrations. so l'isle made the first advances, and, addressing them with a studied courtesy that seemed ironical to the ladies, awakened them somewhat to a sense of their duty to the wayfarers. seats were got for the ladies on one side of the huge fire-place, in which some embers were smouldering, and l'isle placed two cork stools to raise their feet above the damp pavement of flat stone. on the young friar's now coming forward (for with a modesty rare in his order he had hitherto kept in the background), l'isle resumed his sociable conversation with him, and accepted the proffered pinch of snuff, that olive-branch of the portuguese. this evidently had a good effect on their hosts; while shortridge was surprised to see the colonel, whose hauteur he had himself felt, demean himself by familiarity with these low people. he did not know that a proud man, if his be generous pride, is apt to keep it for those who assume superiority, or at least equality, with himself.

that was not the commissary's way. so he began to question abruptly, in very bad portuguese, as to the state of her larder, the elder woman, who, ugly and blear-eyed, with ragged, scanty dress, and bare feet, yet wore a necklace of beads and earrings of gold. she answered tartly, that it being a fast-day, there was no flesh in the house. they had bacalhao and sardinhas, and garlic, and pepper, and onions, and oil; and everything that christians wanted on a fast-day. she forgot to say that the house was without flesh many more days than the church commands. l'isle, with more address, applied to the younger woman with better success, inquiring after accommodations for the ladies. he so moved her that she snatched up the only lamp in the room, and, leaving the rest of the party in the growing darkness, ushered the ladies up the ladder, like stairs, to the only two chambers where they could be private.

shortridge, meanwhile, finding out the desolate state of the larder, let the woman know that they had not come unprovided with a stock of edibles of their own. he urged her to make preparations for cooking it; so rousing the old man from his chimney corner, she carried him out with her, and they soon returned with no small part of a cork-tree; and when lady mabel and mrs. shortridge came down, a cheerful blaze had brought out more fully the desolation of the room in dispelling half its gloom.

"i trust you have found a habitable chamber over head," said l'isle to lady mabel.

"i were a heretic to complain," she answered. "it is true the room has no window; but it has a square hole in the wall to let in the light and let out the foul air. the bed is hard and not over tidy. but what is wanting in cleanliness is made up in holiness; for the bedstead has an elaborate crucifix carved at its head, and i shall sleep under its immediate protection. on the slightest alarm, by merely throwing my arms upward, i can lay hold on the cross, and nothing will be wanting to the sense of security but faith in this material symbol of my faith. i shall have saintly company, too. on the wall to the right is a print of st. christopher carrying the infant christ over a river, and a bishop, in full canonicals, waiting on the other side, with outstretched arms, to receive him; on the left, is a picture of st. antony, of padua, preaching to the fishes. religion is truly part and parcel of this people's every day life; and the reality of their devotion, and the falsehood and frivolity of many of its objects, make a contrast truly painful to me."

old moodie, the muleteer, and the servants, having seen after their horses and mules, now came straggling into this hall, common to all the inmates of the house. here they accommodated themselves with such seats as they could find, or contrive out of the baggage; and one of l'isle's servants produced the rabbits and partridges purchased on the road, with some other provisions brought from elvas. these he gave to the woman of the house to cook for the travelers, and no objection was started as to cooking flesh, that other people might commit the sin of eating it on a fast day. the whole party sat in a large semi-circle around the fire, conversing and watching the cooking of their supper; but no sooner did the savory fumes diffuse themselves through the building than another personage joined them. a stout pig, evidently a denizen of the house, came trotting and grunting out of the stable, and pushed his way into the interior of the social circle. though he received some rude buffets, he persisted in keeping within it, until, trenching on lady mabel's precincts, she made such an application of her riding-wand that he was glad to seek refuge again among his four-legged companions.

"it would seem," lady mabel remarked, "that these vendas are caravansaries, providing only shelter for the traveler, who is expected to bring his own food."

"this is so true, that it is a blessing there are no game laws in the peninsula," said l'isle. "the traveler would often starve at the inn but for the game purchased on the road. and it is well to travel prepared to shoot one's own game, as you are perpetually threatened with famine or robbers. the cookery, too, of this country is peculiar, and if you ladies watch the process closely, you may carry home some valuable hints in what some people think the first of the arts."

they accordingly closely watched the cooking, of the rabbits particularly. each was spitted on a little spit, which had four legs at the handle, the other end resting on a piece of the fuel. when one side was roasted, the other was turned to the fire. to know when they were done, the woman cracked the joints; laying them by until cool, she then tore them to pieces with her fingers; and afterward fried the already over-roasted meat with onions, garlic, red pepper, and oil, which is always rancid in portugal, from the custom of never pressing the olives until they are stale.

the commissary knew too much about portuguese cookery to trust to it. he had provided himself before leaving elvas with the commissary's cut, which is always the best steak from the best bullock. he now produced from among his baggage that implement so truly indicative of the march of english civilization—the gridiron; and not until the large table, at the other side of the room, had been spread, and supper was ready, did his man proceed to dress it skillfully and quickly, under the vigilant superintendance of the commissary himself.

they were sitting down to supper when l'isle, seeing that the young friar remained by the fire, pointed out a vacant seat, and asked him to join them. but he shook his head.

"you are eating flesh. i must fast to-day."

"because the scriptures bid you?" l'isle inquired.

"because the church commands me."

"you are aware, then, that there is no absolute injunction in scripture to fast on particular days."

"yet the church may have authority—it doubtless has authority to appoint such days," the young friar answered, seeming at once to stifle a doubt and his appetite.

cookery must be judged of by the palate, and not by the eye. so lady mabel made a strong effort to try the rabbits by the latter test—having had ocular proof that they were not cats in disguise. but, after persevering through two or three mouthfuls, the garlic, red pepper, and rancid oil, and the fact of having witnessed the whole process of cooking and fingering the fricassee, proved too much for her; and she was fain to be indebted to the commissary for a small piece of his steak, reeking hot, and dripping with its natural juices.

the woman of the house now placed on a bench before the friar, some broa, or maize bread, and a piece of bacalhao, fried in oil. from the size of the morsel, the stock in the larder seemed to have run low, even in this article, which is nothing but codfish salted by british heretics for the benefit of the souls and bodies of the true sons of the church. the friar eat alone and in silence, less intent on his meal than in watching and listening to the party at the table.

"they are, every one of them, eating flesh, and this day is a fast," said the elder woman to the friar, in a tone of affected horror.

"and they eat it almost raw," answered the friar, as shortridge thrust an ounce of red beef into his mouth. "but i know not that the church has prohibited that."

the ladies and the commissary retired soon, fatigued with their long day's ride. the friar was devoutly telling his beads, and l'isle sat musing by the fire, while the servants, in turn, took their places at the supper table. presently the friar, having got through his devotions, rose as if about to retire for the night; but, as he passed l'isle, he loitered, as if wishing to converse, perhaps for the last time, with this foreigner, whose position, character, and ideas, differed so much from his own, and who yet could make himself so well understood. as l'isle looked up, he said:

"men of your profession see a great deal of the world."

"yes. a soldier is a traveler, even if he never goes out of his own country."

"but the soldiers of your country visit the remotest parts of the world, the indies in the east and west, and now this, our country, and many a land besides."

"at one time the soldiers of portugal did the same," said l'isle.

"yes; there was a time when we conquered and colonized many a remote land, where the banner of no other european nation had ever been seen. we still have our colonies, but, some how or other, they do not seem to do us any good."

"but men of your profession," said l'isle, "have been as great or even greater travelers than soldiers. they are few regions, however remote or inaccessible, which the priests of the church of rome, and members of your own order, have not explored."

the friar was silent and thoughtful for a moment, and then said: "what you say is true; yet it seems to me, that is no longer the case, or, at least, that our order here has been remiss in sending forth missionaries to foreign lands. here most of us follow through life the same dull round. it is, however, the round of our duties. but, perhaps, to find one's self in a strange country, surrounded by new scenes, an unknown, perhaps heathen people, with difficulties to struggle with, obstacles to overcome, might awaken in a man powers that he did not know were slumbering in him, and enable him to do some good, perchance great work, he never would have accomplished at home." and the young friar drew himself up to his full height, while his frame seemed to expand with the struggling energies that were shut up unemployed within him.

visions of travel, toil, adventure, perhaps martyrdom, seemed to float before his eyes, and without another word, he strode off with a step more like that of a soldier than a franciscan.

l'isle gazed after him with interest and pity, then ordering the table to be cleared, stretched himself on it for the night, wrapped in his cloak, rather than rely on the accommodations of the large room up stairs, common to wayfarers of every grade, and populous with vermin.