After the pillory and the gaol we had another memory of the Middle Ages.  Shortly before we got to Coimbra we met one of the great local families, the Pinto-Bastos, travelling along the road, the ladies in litters, each borne by two gaily-caparisoned mules, the gentlemen on horseback, in the costume of the country, and escorted by numerous serving-men, also mounted, and wearing big caps, breeches, and handsome velvet jackets with silver buttons.  Each man carried his striped wrapper over his shoulder, and was armed with the huge stick the Portuguese know how to wield so well.  The whole caravan made a fine effect.  Looking at it pass by, you might fancy yourself in the sixteenth century.  All at once, from the crest of some rising ground, we caught sight of the beautiful and smiling Mondego Valley, with Coimbra rising in terraces along the river against a fine mountain background.  It was most picturesque.  We descended towards a long stone bridge leading to the town, and each members of our caravan made himself ready as best he could to give the least handle possible to the jests with which the students habitually salute all newly-arrived strangers.  The whole corporation was under arms, indeed, in the sable costume, doublet, breeches and cloak, with which the “Estudiantinas Espagnoles” have familiarised us, only in this case the Spanish cocked hat and spoon was replaced by a sort of black Phrygian cap.  To our astonishment, these young gentlemen, instead of poking fun at us, got off the parapet on which they had been sitting, pulled off their caps to us, and welcomed us with the most kindly politeness.  They knew, perhaps, that we too had worn our breeches out upon school benches, and thus saluted us as comrades!

Beyond this friendly row of men in black, we saw the river dotted with white sails, and on its banks, among the willows, we beheld not a few of those well-shaped washer-women with turned-up skirts, whom Camoens christened the nymphs of the Mondego.  At the far end of the bridge, between tall irregular walls, stood a gateway as dark as the entrance to a Turkish town; and just as we would have passed through it, mournful objurgations and sorrowful appeals from some invisible mortals rose around us, while baskets hanging on pulleys came down upon our heads, and porringers fastened to long reeds started out of holes in the walls and terrified our horses.  The prisoners shut up within those walls were thus beseeching us to deposit our alms, pecuniary or other, in their baskets or their porringers!  Having dismounted at a good inn, we discovered that the “Mesonero” (in other words, our host) was the possessor of two pretty daughters, whom he kept in a tower under lock and key, so dangerous a town is Coimbra!  But we set our wits to work to catch a sight of the beautiful recluses.  By means of a nosegay tied to the end of a long stick we drew two sprightly faces, well worthy their reputation, to the window, and so we made acquaintance.  Then