I dined with Don Enrique, at the cane-built house of a poor priest, with whom he was acquainted. The padre was absent, but his housekeeper, a tall, pale woman, with large, expressive black eyes, welcomed us very cordially. She had about her some fifteen or twenty little children, collected from the poorest families, to whom she taught reading and writing. Her humble dwelling was destitute of a single article of luxury or embellishment, unless a finely painted face of the Virgin, suspended over a little altar in an inner room, can be called such. I asked her if she was paid for her pains? She shook her head, and her eyes kindled and her brow expanded, as she slowly raised her face to heaven: her reward was there. How little do the sectaries and bigots of our own country know of the devotion, and fervent, unselfish piety of many of those whom they so unsparingly denounce as the impure ministers of a debased religion! When I last passed through Nagarote, I called to see the gentle teacher, but the hut was deserted, and rank weeds were growing around it. I inquired for her at the posada; the old lady did not answer me, but her eyes filled with moisture. The Santa Anita was dead; she had gone to the reward for which she had striven; the reward of the meek and the lowly in spirit! Shall I confess it? The heretic stranger dropped a tear to the memory of the Santa Anita. We experienced great tribulation in Nagarote in getting animals to replace two or three of the scurvy mules which had been imposed upon us in Granada, and which were here unanimously condemned. We told the man whom the emprestador had sent with them, that he must supply their places; but he couldn’t. All the horses and mules in the place had been sent to the fields, to prevent their being seized for the use of the army. “No hay, Señor!” there are none, was the invariable response to our inquiries. But we were bound to get on; so I instructed our _comisario_ to produce the government order, which he carried in his pocket, and take it to the first alcalde, with my compliments, and the intimation that horses must be forthcoming, or his name should be faithfully reported to the “Gobierno Supremo.” The effect was magical; horses, and good ones, appeared incontinently; whereupon I conceived a high respect for the dingy bit of paper which had wrought the miracle, and copied it for the benefit of future travellers. Here it is:— _Sebastian Salinas, Ministro de Relaciones del Supmo. Gobno. del Estado de Nicaragua._