IIG A SPRING TOUR IX PORTUGAL. 



had learnt many years since at Barcelona, where oranges 

 of the finest flavour I ever tasted, but mean-lookiDg in the 

 extreme, had been selected for me by a good-natured fruit 

 seller, to whose choice I at first loudly demurred, but 

 afterwards wisely (though not, I am ashamed to say, with- 

 out suspicions of being deceived) assented. 



In the market of Coimbra we first fell in with a small 

 yellow, oblong fruit, in shape like a plum, but in general 

 appearance, and especially at the top, like an apple. They 

 grew in pairs, two upon one stalk, and in the middle of 

 the fruit were generally two, but sometimes three round 

 stones, resembling chestnuts: perhaps I should rather 

 describe them as gigantic pips than stones; for though 

 hard, they had no kernel. The market women called 

 themx ' nesperas,^ but we subsequently learned that they 

 were the Japanese or Chinese apples : we found them 

 pleasant to the taste, and very refreshing. 



It would be unpardonable did I omit to mention, that 

 immediately opposite our windows in the Hotel Lopez, 

 and across the Mondego which flowed below, we looked 

 out upon the convent of Santa Clara, famous for the 

 Fonte dos Amoves ; and farther on stood the Qitinta das 

 Lagrimas, both so notorious for the touching and most 

 romantic story of the Infante Dom Pedro, and his ill- 

 starred bride Ignez de Castro ; whose monuments we had 

 seen at Alcobafa, and for the particulars of whose romantic 

 histories, their mutual love, her barbarous murder, and 

 his implacable revenge, I will refer those who can master 

 Portuguese to the ' Lusiad ' of Camoes, and those who 

 cannot, to the excellent ' Handbook for Portugal.' 



