In a small but neat chapel, such as is usually attached to country residences among the Catholics, a number of wax candles illuminated the altar. The gray-haired sire stood before it, whilst his wife, children, and domestics knelt in a semicircle round him. He raised the emblem of redemption in his hand, and pressed it upon his breast; then kneeling down, his aged head reclined upon the cross as he poured forth his fervent petitions. Rising from this attitude, he replaced the crucifix upon the altar, and turning towards the assembled group, his hands were outstretched to dispense a parent’s blessing. There was something in the whole scene so truly descriptive of a patriarchal benediction, that I felt all the emotions of my breast indulging in their full energies. “Sidney,” whispered I to my companion, “this is indeed delicious. What fervour, what devotion, what----.” “Nonsense,” said he, “let us see the roast beef and a bottle of wine, and then I’ll talk to you.” We introduced ourselves at the close of the service, and were received with the most hospitable welcome. Servants were despatched for our poor jaded horses, we were ushered into a large hall, and the table soon groaned with substantial fare, amongst which was hot beef, cooked in the hide. Our host informed us we were upon a farm belonging to himself, and after refreshing ourselves, he introduced us to his family. They were nine in number, nor was I long in discovering from whom those dulcet warblings had proceeded, which made such an impression upon my mind. It was the old man’s pride,--his eldest daughter, in her sixteenth year. In that country, nature is extremely bountiful to females; sixteen is considered the age of maturity, and few marriages are contracted after that period. Mariqueta was lovely, yet it was not that sort of beauty that strikes the beholder with mere admiration; it was a loveliness that interested the heart. Among the attendants was one who seemed to watch our movements with marked attention; he almost anticipated our wants, and I frequently observed the shades of deep sorrow pass across his features. He had once been handsome, but age had dimmed the lustre of his eye, and I fancied that his countenance still bore marks of hurried passion and guilty daring.