“After the loss of my brother, I know not what strange calamity fell on me. I sometimes think I could not have been in my right mind. Memory retains a confused notion of my having once formed a visionary project of colonizing Florida, then but newly discovered, erecting over it the sovereignty of an order still purer and more self-denying than the orders of Jerusalem and Malta: I can recollect displeasing the young queen Elizabeth with my romantic ambition. At length, when my intellect recovered its cruel shock, I found myself in a court, filled with the professors of a new religion; it was impossible for me to stay, even to hear their doctrines. I passed from England to Ireland, from Ireland to Italy, sorrowing and self-condemned for my involuntary crime; there, my arms have been constantly employed against the enemies of our holy church. This wandering warfare; this renunciation of home, country, and kindred, is the penance to which I have condemned myself: may it tend to expiate my guilt!--My grief it cannot cure.” Again Stukeley mused awhile, and again he abruptly added, “’Tis a distinguished privilege to die in defence of the sacred cross! I swear never to abandon it! We will plant the blessed banner on every mosque in Morocco, or perish in the attempt.” Gladly seizing the last subject suggested by Stukeley, Sebastian forbore to comment on the melancholy commencement of their discourse, leading him to talk of the meditated war, of which religion formed the only basis. Public affairs now hastened to a crisis: the armament was complete, and the fleet equipped; the Pope had transmitted his blessing, with a present exceeding in value that of the consecrated rose: it was an arrow which had pierced the side of St. Sebastian! In their armour and field accoutrements, the nobility displayed infinite splendour; and as desolated Portugal could not furnish many private soldiers, the troops composed chiefly of gentlemen volunteers, seemed but a gallant shew of accomplished knights. The royal-standard (embroidered by Donna Gonsalva) was carried in procession through the streets of Lisbon, to receive the benediction of the archbishop; it was then delivered into the hand of the Marquis Villa-real, and the army marshalled around it. After this august ceremony, the troops prepared to embark, while his officers and men were exchanging adieus with wives, sisters, and parents, Sebastian hurried to take leave of Donna Gonsalva: she had for some days yielded to an excess of grief, and had shut herself up from all society. At sight of her royal lover clad in the shining livery of war, she flung herself into his arms with tears and cries; distracted at the possibility of eventually losing him either by death or changed sentiments, she wildly expressed a wish to become his by a secret, but binding tie.