In Valladolid I found both an English and Scotch College. From my obliging friends, the Irish at Salamanca, I bore a letter of introduction to the rector of the latter. I found this college an old gloomy edifice, situated in a retired street. The rector was dressed in the habiliments of a Spanish ecclesiastic, a character which he was evidently ambitious of assuming. There was something dry and cold in his manner, and nothing of that generous warmth and eager hospitality which had so captivated me in the fine Irish rector of Salamanca; he was, however, civil and polite, and offered to show me the curiosities of the place. He evidently knew who I was, and on that account was, perhaps, more reserved than he otherwise would have been: not a word passed between us on religious matters, which we seemed to avoid by common consent. Under the auspices of this gentleman, I visited the college of the Philippine Missions, which stands beyond the gate of the city, where I was introduced to the superior, a fine old man of seventy, very stout, in the habiliments of a friar. There was an air of placid benignity on his countenance which highly interested me: his words were few and simple, and he seemed to have bid adieu to all worldly passions. One little weakness was, however, still clinging to him. _Myself_.—This is a noble edifice in which you dwell, Father; I should think it would contain at least two hundred students. _Rector_.—More, my son; it is intended for more hundreds than it now contains single individuals. _Myself_.—I observe that some rude attempts have been made to fortify it; the walls are pierced with loopholes in every direction. _Rector_.—The nationals of Valladolid visited us a few days ago, and committed much useless damage; they were rather rude, and threatened me with their clubs: poor men, poor men. _Myself_.—I suppose that even these missions, which are certainly intended for a noble end, experience the sad effects of the present convulsed state of Spain? _Rector_.—But too true: we at present receive no assistance from the government, and are left to the Lord and ourselves. _Myself_.—How many aspirants for the mission are you at present instructing? _Rector_.—Not one, my son; not one. They are all fled. The flock is scattered and the shepherd left alone. _Myself_.—Your reverence has doubtless taken an active part in the mission abroad? _Rector_.—I was forty years in the Philippines, my son, forty years amongst the Indians. Ah me! how I love those Indians of the Philippines. _Myself_.—Can your reverence discourse in the language of the Indians? _Rector_.—No, my son. We teach the Indians Castilian. There is no better language, I believe. We teach them Castilian, and the adoration of the Virgin. What more need they know? _Myself_.—And what did your reverence think of the Philippines as a country?