

LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 139 



they found words (in what language does not appear) to 

 explain to the holy father that the original of that effigy, 

 which hung pendant from his neck, had been long amongst 

 them instructing them in the elements of the Christian 

 religion, and had only lately disappeared ; informing them 

 that certain reverend men would shortly appear in the 

 land, who would finish the good work she had devoutly 

 commenced, and clench the business by baptising the one 

 million miserable sinners who now knelt before El Padre 

 Venabides. 



" Valgame Dios ! " reverently exclaimed that worthy 

 man, " qui milagro es este ! " [what a miracle is this I 

 hear !] and casting up his eyes, and speaking slowly, as if 

 he weighed every word, and taxing his memory of the his- 

 torical calendar of saints, continued, 



" Se muri6 aquella santissima muger ev el ano 

 175 es decir ya hacen mil quatro cientos anos" 

 [That most holy woman died in the year 175 ; that is to 

 say, one thousand four hundred years ago.] 



" Oh, what a strange thing is this ! " the padre continues 

 devoutly. " After so many ages spent in heaven in com- 

 pany of the angels, of most holy men, and of virgins the 

 most pure and, perhaps, also in the company of my worthy 

 and esteemed friend and patron, Don Vincente Carvajal y 

 Calvo, who died a few years ago in San Lucar of Xeres (be- 

 queathing me certain arrobas of dry wine, of a class I greatly 

 esteem for which act he deserved to be canonised, and, I 

 have no doubt, is), the said Don Vincente Carvajal y Calvo 

 being, moreover, a man of the purest and holiest thoughts 

 (Dios mio ! what a puchero that man always had on his 

 table ! ) this holy woman comes here, to these wild and 

 remote regions ; this holy woman (who died fifteen hun- 

 dred years ago), abandoning the company of angels, of holy 

 men, and sanctified women and virgins, and also of Don 

 Vincente Carvajal y Calvo (that worthy man !) comes 

 here, I say, where there are neither pucheros, nor garban- 

 zos, nor dry wine, nor sweet wine, neither of Xeres, nor 

 of Val de Penas, nor of Peralta ; where" (sobbed the 

 padre, and bellowed the last word) "there is nothing 



