In a day or two I made an excursion to Mafra, distant about three
leagues from Cintra; the principal part of the way lay over steep
hills, somewhat dangerous for horses; however, I reached the place
in safety.

Mafra is a large village in the neighbourhood of an immense
building, intended to serve as a convent and palace, and which is
built somewhat after the fashion of the Escurial. In this edifice
exists the finest library in Portugal, containing books on all
sciences and in all languages, and well suited to the size and
grandeur of the edifice which contains it. There were no monks,
however, to take care of it, as in former times; they had been
driven forth, some to beg their bread, some to serve under the
banners of Don Carlos, in Spain, and many, as I was informed, to
prowl about as banditti. I found the place abandoned to two or
three menials, and exhibiting an aspect of solitude and desolation
truly appalling. Whilst I was viewing the cloisters, a fine
intelligent-looking lad came up and asked (I suppose in the hope of
obtaining a trifle) whether I would permit him to show me the
village church, which he informed me was well worth seeing; I said
no, but added, that it he would show me the village school I should
feel much obliged to him. He looked at me with astonishment, and
assured me that there was nothing to be seen at the school, which
did not contain more than half a dozen boys, and that he himself
was one of the number. On my telling him, however, that he should
show me no other place, he at length unwillingly attended me. On
the way I learned from him that the schoolmaster was one of the
friars who had lately been expelled from the convent, that he was a
very learned man, and spoke French and Greek. We passed a stone
cross, and the boy bent his head and crossed himself with much