“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 pelo amor de Deos e pelas almas.  That fellow is employed by the priests to sell snuff pelas almas, and all the profits of the trade go to release souls from purgatory.”

“Purgatory!” exclaimed Moodie, “I will not be tricked into countenancing that popish abomination;” and he hurled the package back to the man, who gladly picked it up, and turned to seek a second purchaser.

As they walked on toward the church of the Franciscans, Mrs. Shortridge said, “You need not fear a scarcity of objects of charity, Lady Mabel, for poverty seems rife in Evora.”

“Yet, from the number of churches and monasteries, there must be much wealth,” Lady Mabel answered.  “Probably, most of the property is in their possession, and we may expect to see in their shrines and altars a gorgeous display of their riches.”

“You will be disappointed in that,” said L’Isle.  “Evora has passed too lately through the hands of the French, too systematic a people to do things by halves.  Their emperor is more systematic still.  On taking possession of Portugal, his first edict from Milan imposed a war-contribution on the country of one hundred million of francs, as a ransom for private property of every kind.  This being somewhat more than all the money in the country, allowed a sufficiently wide margin for spoliation, without making private property a whit the safer for it; the imperial coffers absorbed this public contribution, leaving the French officers and soldiers to fill their pockets and make their fortunes as they could.”