and turbaned Mussulmans, plunged in solemn meditation.  With the Christian conquest, the mosque became a Christian church, and the mirhab in its centre the high altar.  After the Moors came the Templars, and then the Knights of Christ, who bravely defended the convent against an attempted Moorish recapture.  A gate is still shown, called the “Gate of blood” on account of the carnage of which it was the scene.  The Templars and the Knights of Christ have both left their mark upon the edifice.  Later in the day came Don Emmanuel, and with him the rich and quaint style of his period.  A choir and a wonderful doorway were added to the old mosque, the cloisters were lengthened, and beautiful halls were erected.  Then the Spanish Philips, during their suzerainty over Portugal, made Thomar their residence, and in the new cloisters they added to the edifice, the severe and heavy style of architecture which the gloomy character of Philip II. brought into fashion is exemplified.  The convent is at once an architectural and historical museum, and the most striking of religious monuments.  The silence of the immense cloisters—­there are six or seven of them—­is deeply impressive.  I could not tear myself away, every moment seemed to reveal some new and striking detail.  I was roused from my admiration and my reverie by a volunteer guide who had attached himself to me, and who, seeing me pause before an exquisite statuette, said, “I’ll take it down for you to carry away with you,” adding, when I exclaimed in horror at the idea “But everybody takes what they like here!” I am happy to be able to add that we denounced this vandalism as soon as we got back to Lisbon, at the same time so exciting King Ferdinand’s truly artistic feelings by our description of Thomar that he went there in his turn, and, thanks to him, the preservation of that unique edifice was thenceforth assured.

We made a delightful journey from Thomar to Lisbon, by Abrantes, at which place I saw an old gentleman in an antediluvian uniform, wearing his sword transversely like a powdered marquis in a play, advance towards me, and throw himself on his knees, embracing mine, and exclaiming, “Let me embrace the man who brought back Napoleon!” (Le conducteur de Napoleon), an allusion to my St. Helena expedition, which somewhat amazed me.  When we got back to Lisbon I bade a sorrowful farewell to Aumale, who departed on board a steamship for Algiers, there to commence the brilliant campaign which ended in the capture of Abd-el-Kader’s smalah.  Horace Vernet’s fine picture in the Versailles Museum perpetuates the memory of this splendid exploit.

My readers are aware that having started to capture the smalah, my brother got up to it with nothing but his cavalry and far from his supports, after several night marches, which he contrived to steal on the enemy.  “The enemy is very strong,” said Colonel Yusuf, a gallant officer, who was with the advance guard, hurrying back.  “No prince of my race has ever turned back,” was the answer.  “Forward!” and the little force, with the general at its head, threw itself unhesitatingly on the mass of warriors in front.  Its audacity was justified by its success.