happy to translate, were my pen capable of rendering into English the robust thundering sentences of his powerful Castilian.  I had till then considered him a plain uninformed old man, almost simple, and as incapable of much emotion as a tortoise within its shell; but he had become at once inspired:  his eyes were replete with a bright fire, and every muscle of his face was quivering.  The little silk skull-cap which he wore, according to the custom of the Catholic clergy, moved up and down with his agitation, and I soon saw that I was in the presence of one of those remarkable men who so frequently spring up in the bosom of the Romish church, and who to a child-like simplicity unite immense energy and power of mind,—­equally adapted to guide a scanty flock of ignorant rustics in some obscure village in Italy or Spain, as to convert millions of heathens on the shores of Japan, China, and Paraguay.

He was a thin spare man, of about sixty-five, and was dressed in a black cloak of very coarse materials, nor were his other garments of superior quality.  This plainness, however, in the appearance of his outward man was by no means the result of poverty; quite the contrary.  The benefice was a very plentiful one, and placed at his disposal annually a sum of at least eight hundred dollars, of which the eighth part was more than sufficient to defray the expenses of his house and himself; the rest was devoted entirely to the purest acts of charity.  He fed the hungry wanderer, and dispatched him singing on his way, with meat in his wallet and a peseta in his purse, and his parishioners, when in need of money, had only to repair to his study and were sure of an immediate supply.  He was, indeed, the banker of the village, and what he lent he neither expected nor wished to be returned.  Though under the necessity of making frequent journeys to Salamanca, he kept no mule, but contented himself with an ass, borrowed from the neighbouring miller.  “I once kept a mule,” said he, “but some years since it was removed without my permission by a traveller whom I had housed for the night:  for in that alcove I keep two clean beds for the use of the wayfaring, and I shall be very much pleased if yourself and friend will occupy them, and tarry with me till the morning.”

But I was eager to continue my journey, and my friend was no less anxious to return to Salamanca.  Upon taking leave of the hospitable curate, I presented him with a copy of the New Testament.  He received it without uttering a single word, and placed it on one of the shelves of his study; but I observed him nodding significantly to the Irish student, perhaps as much as to say, “Your friend loses no opportunity of propagating his book”; for he was well aware who I was.  I shall not speedily forget the truly good presbyter, Anthonio Garcia de Aguilar, Cura of Pitiegua.