When Bacchus and Lusus came to the Peninsula, sundered from Italy by the Mediterranean Sea, they discovered a delightful region of mountains and glens, well-watered and fertile, which they called Lusitania. Between the rivers Minho and Douro is a glowing tract of country, not unlike the finest parts of North Wales, with a varied sea coast, bright little villages nestling among the hills, and well-tilled fields, vineyards, and gay gardens. Mountains screen this district on the north and east, and the vast Atlantic washes it on the west. Here is the chief wine-growing quarter of Portugal, a land appropriately colonised by Bacchus; and in the centre of the wine-making and exporting industry is Porto, the capital of the province of Entre-Douro-e-Minho. [Illustration: OPORTO, 1832. FROM THE QUAY OF VILLA NOVA.] "Oporto the Proud" is a very old city and seaport on the right bank of the impetuous Douro, and within a few miles of the coast. The river is tidal and broad, and big ships come to the busy quays below the great suspension bridge. At the mouth of the Douro is a bar, much dreaded by sailors, for it is rocky at this point, and generally a rough sea breaks and foams at the outlet. Oporto is one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. I visited it in June, when the terraces and gardens were aglow with flowers, the streets steeped in perpetual sunshine, the sky a deep blue, and the sunsets gorgeous. It is a bright city, seen from the opposite bank, with houses rising one above the other on slopes that are almost precipitous. Here and there the rock juts out among the villas that overhang the river, while verdure shows on the high banks. In parts of the gorge the cliffs rise to three hundred feet. Oporto is a city of squares. There are several of these open spaces, all planted with trees, well-paved, and surrounded by tall buildings which lend a Moorish atmosphere to the towns. It is a centre of craftsmen. In one thoroughfare you will find harness-makers and hatters busily employed; in another goldsmiths and jewellers ply their trade. The markets are thronged with peasants from the vineyards, the women dressed in the gaudiest garments, with huge earrings and great gold brooches. Perhaps nowhere in Europe can so many prosperous and cheerful country-folk be seen assembled as in the streets of Oporto on a market day. Ox carts come laden with barrels; the river is dotted with the curiously shaped _barcos_ that bring the wine from the rustic presses far up the valley; and up the steep alleys clamber the pannier-donkeys, with fruit heaped in the baskets.