particularly, as compared with what follows; it illustrates the diabolical spirit of my persecution: for, at the time I was buried in the dungeons of the inquisition, from whence probably it was hoped I never should emerge, redress or protection was refuséd me, because of my improper conduct în Wales. And such was the only account, it is evident, which ever would have been given of me, had my existence ended there.

At length, on the 12th of February, rising from a sick bed, I embarked for Oporto, where I arrived after a pas sage of three weeks.

LETTER XI.

Taken prisoner-Released-Liberality-Mr. Nash-Abbe

Morand.

AT Oporto, as might be supposed from what had gone before, my reception was prepared for me. After being kept several days on board the ship, a party of men, armed with swords, came to take me before the Corrigidor. I insisted on calling on my way upon the English consul, Mr. Whitehead. This gentleman, as was his duty, examined my passports, and certified them to be genuine. And, as it is well known, that not only on account of the treaties that subsist between the two countries, but of the fear in which this nation stands of England, no British subject ever can be arrested without the privity of the authorities who are there for his protection: that is, without a warrant

from the Judge Conservador. So the interference of Mr. Whitehead for this time protected me. It is true, I was often told afterwards by the Portuguese, that this gentleman had injured, instead of serving me. I rather think, however, that had others, whose duty, it was still more to protect me, done their part as fairly, I should not have suffered what I did. I was, upon quitting Mr. Whitehead, taken to the Corrigidor's, where, after being detained some time in the vestibule of his palace, I was dismissed. The next difficulty was to find a lodging; for in this country the conveniences of social life are so little known, that in general to have a lodging you must buy or hire a house and furnish it. There was indeed one hotel for the accommodation of strangers, called the Factory-House. But it was given me to understand, that it would not be proper for me to go there, on account of my principles. In short, all the little dirty arts of the lowest malice had been put in practice, to strew my way with thorns. In this exigence, Mr. Miler, the gentleman to whom the ship that brought me was consigned, made me an invitation to live with him, which I accepted.

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Amongst the persons of great respectability to whom I had brought letters was Mr. Thomas Nash, an English merchant. Nothing could exceed the delicacy and at the same time the cordiality with which he came forward with offers of friendship and good counsel. It was by his advice that I determined to remain in Oporto, rather than go to Lisbon or elsewhere. He proposed going early in the spring to his country house at St. Juan de Foz, and invited me to consider myself as one of his family. I thereupon wrote to my wife to come with her children and enjoy the tranquility so dearly purchased. Mr. Nash charged him

self with finding us a habitation near his own. The invi tation was seducing, and rendered more so by the goodness of his very amiable lady. Indeed I have seen few happier pictures of domestic life than their fire side. The social bonds become, it would seem, more sacred in a foreign soil: and the ties of kindred and of tenderness draw more close as the objects of dissipation are more few. This respectable man found his pleasures in his honorable industry, and plenty in a prosperous commerce: living in as much elegance as gives grace to hospitality, and as much luxury as is compatible with virtue: and prolonging these blessings through a future generation, in the contemplation of a lovely offspring.

My course of life was in the mean time as innocent as could well be. My chief pleasure was sailing upon the river in a little boat; and my companion, an unfortunate French abbe, like me banished from his country, and like me desirous of fatiguing his body for the repose of his mind, and losing his cares amidst the amusing and captivating scenery that adorned the banks of this fine river. This gentleman had received a good education, and was not at a loss for abundant topics of conversation, without touching the contentious ones of politics and religion. The abbe was besides acquainted with the management of the boat, young and robust, and as such essential for the service: and upon the whole, though we had come there by such different roads, it was wonderful how well we agreed and understood each other; for he neither sought to make a prosclite of me nor I of him. We lived in the true spirit of christian toleration. My man, John Russel, also volunteered, more from love of me than of the element, and we three formed an epitome of my country, where the law

and the gospel predominate, and the rest of the community suffer. The abbe Morand is since, by the wiser policy of the present government of France, recalled into his country. His opinions were his only crimes: and let opinions be good or bad, it is not persecution that will change them. For a proof of this we need not go beyond the history of my miserable country, and the pitiful and hateful policy by which it has ever been insulted.

So rigorous an adherence to an agreement so disenterestedly formed, and so shamefully perverted, a life so harmless and obscure, might have sheltered me from further violence. The great work of war and extermination might have gone on; the same hundreds of thousands might have been "killed off; the same hundreds of millions been added to the debt of England; all the crowned heads of Europe might have sat upon their thrones; and the king of Great-Britain, as whose enemy, his and my enemies and the enemies of human kind were willing to persecute me, might have moved from one of his palaces to another. He might have gone from Kew to St. James's, whilst I went in my cock-boat from Oporto to St. Johns, without interruption on my side, or any ground of displeasure on his, had it not been determined by my enemies that my persecution was not to end here.

1

LETTER XII.

Again imprisoned-Palace-Prison-Corrigidor-King Queen-Prince-Variety.

ON the 22d of March, my schemes of pleasure were cut short by a visit from the Vice-Corrigidor, with a party of armed men, who seized me and my servant, and made a vigorous search for papers, shaking out every article of my linen, in hopes of finding some concealed writing. The interpreter told me, without reserve, that I was arrested by order of the English minister, for something I was supposed to be writing. All the papers I had were in my travelling secretary, lying open before me. I numbered them and gave them up, and was conducted to the Corrigidor's house, which was now to be my prison.

This mansion exhibited no bad picture of a despotic country. One half was a prison, the other a palace, and the entrance in the centre was in common, and many of the household services were performed by convict slaves, whose chains clinked as they went. For me, however, a handsome audience hall (or, if I may profane the word, a court of justice) was fitted up, and bolts newly put upon the doors. My servant, who certainly was not writing any thing against the government, was nevertheless thrown amidst the malefactors irons below; but afterwards, at my entreaty, allowed to come into the room with me: and from first to last I was in this palace treated with a degree of respect, magnificence, and gallantry, liker the old times of chivalry, or of faries, than what I had been used to in bridewell, under Mr. M'Dougall and Mr. Trevor; or even