“From a village of that name, which stands on the other side of the hill, _Don Jorge_,” replied the _herrador_. “_Vaya_! it is a strange place, that castle: some say it was built by the Moors in the old times, and some by the Christians when they first laid siege to Toledo. It is not inhabited now, save by rabbits, which breed there in abundance amongst the long grass and broken stones, and by eagles and vultures, which build on the tops of the towers. I occasionally go there with my gun to shoot a rabbit. On a fine day you may descry both Toledo and Madrid from its walls. I cannot say I like the place, it is so dreary and melancholy. The hill on which it stands is all of chalk, and is very difficult of ascent. I heard my grandame say that once, when she was a girl, a cloud of smoke burst from that hill, and that flames of fire were seen, just as if it contained a volcano, as perhaps it does, _Don Jorge_.” The grand work of Scripture circulation soon commenced in the Sagra. Notwithstanding the heat of the weather, I rode about in all directions. It was well that heat agrees with my constitution, otherwise it would have been impossible to effect anything in this season, when the very _arrieros_ frequently fall dead from their mules, smitten by a sun-stroke. I had an excellent assistant in Antonio, who, disregarding the heat like myself, and afraid of nothing, visited several villages with remarkable success. “_Mon maître_,” said he, “I wish to show you that nothing is beyond my capacity.” But he who put the labours of us both to shame, was my host, Juan Lopez, whom it had pleased the Lord to render favourable to the cause. “_Don Jorge_,” said he, “_yo quiero engancharme con usted_; {195a} I am a liberal, and a foe to superstition; I will take the field, and, if necessary, will follow you to the end of the world: _Viva Inglaterra_; _viva el Evangelio_.” Thus saying, he put a large bundle of Testaments into a satchel, and, springing upon the crupper of his grey donkey, he cried, “_Arrhé_! _burra_!” {195b} and hastened away. I sat down to my journal. Ere I had finished writing I heard the voice of the _burra_ in the courtyard, and going out, I found my host returned. He had disposed of his whole cargo of twenty Testaments at the village of Vargas, distant from Villa Seca about a league. Eight poor harvest-men, who were refreshing themselves at the door of a wine-house, purchased each a copy, whilst the village schoolmaster secured the rest for the little ones beneath his care, lamenting, at the same time, the great difficulty he had long experienced in obtaining religious books, owing to their scarcity and extravagant price. Many other persons were also anxious to purchase Testaments, but Lopez was unable to supply them: at his departure they requested him to return within a few days.