heat had become so great that, finding no carriage
was forthcoming, I had almost resolved to give up the idea of visiting
the wonderful old palaces and churches which we had taken so much
trouble to come and see; but Tom and the Doctor encouraged me to make
an effort, and improvised a sort of carrying-chair for me. We
accordingly proceeded up a steep hot road, through the aforesaid arch,
to the Rua Direita, so called because it once led direct from the
Palace of the Viceroys to the Church of Misericordia. The name has
lost its meaning, for all that now remains of the splendid palace is a
portion of the chief gateway, so small in extent that when we tried to
take a photograph of it, the helmet of one of the gentlemen who
chanced to stand some distance in front of the camera completely
concealed it. Only 250 years ago the palace must have been the most
conspicuous building in the city. At that time a large square stood in
front of it to the south, surrounded by fine houses. A noble staircase
led from this square to the principal hall of the palace, in which
were hung pictures of most of the Portuguese ships which had come to
India since the time of Vasco de Gama. In an inner hall the Viceroy,
who then lived in a style of regal splendour, received ambassadors
from the Indian princes, and transacted important business. Da
Fonseca, in his historical and archaeological description of the City
of Goa, states that the Viceroy rarely stirred out of his palace,
except to make a royal progress through the city. 'A day previous to
his appearance in public, drums were beaten and trumpets sounded, as a
signal to the noblesse and gentry to accompany him on the following
day. Accordingly, early in the morning about three or four hundred
hidalgos and courtiers appeared in the _Terriero do Paco_, clad in
rich attire, mounted on noble steeds with gold and silver trappings
glittering with pearls and precious stones, and followed by European
pages in rich livery.' The palace began to fall into decay when the
city was abandoned; and although from time to time there was an idea
of repairing it, the work was never seriously undertaken. In 1820 a
considerable portion of the splendid building was ordered to be
knocked down; and though the remainder stood for some time, even so
lately as up to fifty or sixty years ago, it has gradually fallen to
pieces, and its ruins are now covered with vegetation.

The small Church of S. Cajetan was the first