Another town that has filled an important position in Portuguese history is Coimbra. A charming old place it is, built on a hill, the River Mondego flowing at its foot, and the University buildings crowning the summit. Its steep, narrow streets are full of picturesque peasants and of students clad in long black cloaks, of the selfsame pattern as the _togas_ worn by the Romans of old. This ancient city witnessed the days of the Gothic occupation; saw the Goths supplanted by the Moors, and the Moors by the Christians; was for many years the capital of Portugal; and ever since 1306, when King Diniz founded the University, it has with but short intermission been the seat of learning and culture. The University buildings are grouped round a large quadrangle, at one side of which is a terrace commanding a view that may well have inspired the ardent souls of poets and scholars. Looking out over the town, the eye wanders up the silvery waters of the Mondego, and round the bends and turns of a beautiful and fertile valley to the blue mountains in the distance. Across the river stands the great white convent of Santa Clara, “once the glory of Coimbra and the cloister of Queens,” but now used as a factory. Lower down are the ruins of another convent, in which the Porta de Rosa recalls the pretty legend of the miracle of the roses. St. Elizabeth, the wife of King Diniz, spent all her time and money in ministering to the poor, till at length her husband remonstrated with her and forbade her to continue her good works. The Queen was very unhappy; she was loath to disobey, but her kind heart bled for the hungry women and little children who would look in vain for her coming, and one day she again sallied out with a basketful of bread on her arm. As she was passing through a doorway, who should she meet but the King. “What have you there?” cried he in anger. “Roses,” faltered the trembling Queen, not daring to tell the truth. “Let me see them!” thundered the King, lifting the cover of the basket. And lo and behold! to the good St. Elizabeth’s joy and wonder, it was full of beautiful roses. This story is also told of her aunt, St. Elizabeth of Hungary, but I like to think it was true of the sweet Portuguese Queen. To the right of the old convent lies the Quinta das Lagrimas--the Villa of Tears. The tragic history attached to this is no legend, but records the sad fate of a beautiful woman, Inez de Castro, who was a maid of honour at the Court of Portugal in the middle of the fourteenth century. Dom Pedro, the King’s son, was desperately in love with her; but his father and the nobles deemed her no fit mate for the heir to the throne, and at length, in their hatred, caused her to be foully murdered beside the waters of a deep spring which gushes out of the rock--“The Fountain of Love in the Garden of Tears,” as it is called to this day.