were the centre of all missionary work, is felt
throughout Spain ; but nowhere more than in this
grand old town, which is absolutely dead. The
children are neglected, the poor without a friend,
the widow and orphan are desolate, and all seek
in vain for a helper or a guide.
On the opposite side of the Tagus, and not far from the railway station, are the ruins of a curious old ch&teau, to which a legend is attached, so cha- racteristic of the tone of thought of the people that it is given verbatim here.[1] 'The owner had been a bad and tyrannical man, hard and unjust to his people, selfish in his vices as in his plea- sures ; the only redeeming point about him was his great love for his wife, a pious, gentle, loving woman, who spent her days and nights in deplor- ing the orgies of her husband, and praying for God's mercy on his crimes. One winter's night, in the midst of a terrible tempest, a knocking was heard at the castle door, and presently a ser- vant came in and told his mistress that two monks, half dead with cold and hunger, and drenched by the pitiless storm, had lost their way, and were begging for a night's lodging in the castle. The poor lady did not know what to do, for her hus-
- ↑ This legend has been translated by Feman Caballero, in her 'Fleurs des Champs.'
