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?
