“When heathen impiety, loathsome and dread, With a chaos of darkness our Spain overspread, Thou wast the first light which dispelled with its flames The hell-born obscurity, glorious Saint James! “And when terrible wars had nigh wasted our force, All bright ’midst the battle we saw thee on horse, Fierce scattering the hosts, whom their fury proclaims To be warriors of Islam, victorious Saint James! “Beneath thy direction, stretched prone at thy feet, With hearts low and humble, this day we entreat Thou wilt strengthen the hope which enlivens our frames, The hope of thy favour and presence, Saint James. “Then praise to the Son and the Father above, And to that Holy Spirit which springs from their love; To that bright emanation whose vividness shames The sun’s burst of splendour, and praise to Saint James.” At Saint James I met with a kind and cordial coadjutor in my biblical labours in the bookseller of the place, Rey Romero, a man of about sixty. This excellent individual, who was both wealthy and respected, took up the matter with an enthusiasm which doubtless emanated from on high, losing no opportunity of recommending my book to those who entered his shop, which was in the Azabacheria, {380} and was a very splendid and commodious establishment. In many instances, when the peasants of the neighbourhood came with an intention of purchasing some of the foolish popular story-books of Spain, he persuaded them to carry home Testaments instead, assuring them that the sacred volume was a better, more instructive, and even far more entertaining book than those they came in quest of. He speedily conceived a great fancy for me, and regularly came to visit me every evening at my _posada_, and accompanied me in my walks about the town and the environs. He was a man of considerable information, and though of much simplicity, possessed a kind of good-natured humour which was frequently highly diverting.