During my stay at Salamanca, I took measures that the word of God might become generally known in this celebrated city.  The principal bookseller of the town, Blanco, a man of great wealth and respectability, consented to become my agent here, and I in consequence deposited in his shop a certain number of New Testaments.  He was the proprietor of a small printing press, where the official bulletin of the place was published.  For this bulletin I prepared an advertisement of the work, in which, amongst other things, I said that the New Testament was the only guide to salvation; I also spoke of the Bible Society, and the great pecuniary sacrifices which it was making with the view of proclaiming Christ crucified, and of making his doctrine known.  This step will perhaps be considered by some as too bold, but I was not aware that I could take any more calculated to arouse the attention of the people—­a considerable point.  I also ordered numbers of the same advertisement to be struck off in the shape of bills, which I caused to be stuck up in various parts of the town.  I had great hope that by means of these a considerable number of New Testaments would be sold.  I intended to repeat this experiment in Valladolid, Leon, St. Jago, and all the principal towns which I visited, and to distribute them likewise as I rode along:  the children of Spain would thus be brought to know that such a work as the New Testament is in existence, a fact of which not five in one hundred were then aware, notwithstanding their so frequently-repeated boasts of their Catholicity and Christianity.

CHAPTER XXI

Departure from Salamanca—­Reception at Pitiegua—­The Dilemma—­
Sudden Inspiration—­The Good Presbyter—­Combat of Quadrupeds—­Irish
Christians—­Plains of Spain—­The Catalans—­The Fatal Pool—­
Valladolid—­Circulation of the Scriptures—­Philippine Missions—­
English College—­A Conversation—­The Gaoleress.

On Saturday, the tenth of June, I left Salamanca for Valladolid.  As the village where we intended to rest was only five leagues distant, we did not sally forth till midday was past.  There was a haze in the heavens which overcast the sun, nearly hiding his countenance from our view.  My friend, Mr. Patrick Cantwell, of the Irish College, was kind enough to ride with me part of the way.  He was mounted on a most sorry-looking hired mule, which, I expected would be unable to keep pace with the spirited horses of myself and man, for he seemed to be twin brother of the mule of Gil Perez, on which his nephew made his celebrated journey from Oviedo to Penaflor.  I was, however, very much mistaken.  The creature on being mounted instantly set off at that rapid walk which I have so often admired in Spanish mules, and which no horse can emulate.  Our more stately animals were speedily left in the rear, and we were continually obliged to break into a trot to follow the singular quadruped, who, ever and anon, would