The moonlit scenery of the distant bay smiles in all eternal Nature's loveliness upon the dull-grey piles of ruined, desolate habitations, the short-lived labours of man; delicately beautiful are the dark hills, clothed with semi-transparent mist, the little streams glistening like lines of silver over the opposite plain, and the purple surface of the creek stretched at our feet. Musically, the mimic waves splashing against the barrier of stone, and the soft whisperings of the night breeze, alternately rose and fell with the voice of the waters. During all our drives and long walks we were chiefly struck by the poverty of the people and the unhealthiness of the air: but we were healthy and strong, and we did not mind it. We drove once to a large village called Ribandar for the purpose of seeing the Convent of the Misericordia. Here are closely kept under strict surveillance, both religious and civil, seventy orphan girls of all colours, class, and ages, educated by the nuns, and who, when grown up, remain in the house till they receive an offer of marriage. They look like birds in a cage, and I pitied them; for, with the world full of nice pretty girls and spontaneous love affairs, who would think of going to the World's End to overhaul this cage of forgotten captives? Richard gives a rather amusing account of his visit to this convent when he was a young lieutenant thirty years before.[3] We had two nice boat expeditions; one to Mr. Major's coffee plantation, in which is a petrified forest, and one to Seroda; each expedition occupying two or three days. Seroda is a Hindú town of houses, pagodas, tombs, tanks, lofty parapets, and a huge flight of steps, people, trees, and bazars, all massed together. It is fearfully hot, dirty, and shut in on all sides. In old days it was a nursery for _Nach_ girls. [Sidenote: _The Inquisition_.] Goa is well worth visiting, its history well worth learning. It is one of those kingdoms that has been; that grew, reigned in magnificence, declined, and is now a pauper. I studied its history on the spot in Portuguese, and I thought that none of the English books upon it are worth reading. I cannot give an account of it here, for the reason of overweighting my book, but of all its grandeur there are only two interests attaching to its name that _last_--one infamous, the Inquisition; the other glorious, the poor Jesuit, St. Francis Xavier. The Inquisition practically ceased in 1732, and was officially effaced in 1812, being abolished by the interference of the British Government, and its offices were shut up in the reign of the Count of Sarzedas, who was Viceroy from 1807 to 1816; but for eighty years the Inquisition had been _only a name_.