at human life is rated at a much lower value
in Spain than in any other civilized country we are acquainted with, and
that the natural consequence of that low valuation is the cool
indifference with which blood is there so frequently and abundantly
poured out upon the most trifling and insufficient grounds.

At the end of a chapter on the church in Spain, we find a notice of Mr
Borrow's proceedings for the propagation of the Scriptures in the
Peninsula--proceedings which seem to have resulted in perfect failure.
"As to the object of the undertaking, it was not only a most complete
and entire failure, but of such a nature as entirely to defeat any
future attempt of the same kind." The meaning of this is clear, although
the sentence is of a curious turn. Further on, the Captain says--"It is
impossible not to regret, that the very large sums annually sent out of
the country, from the most pure and really religious and conscientious
motives, on this and other undertakings, producing equally little
result, were not devoted to the building or endowing of churches and
chapels in our own manufacturing districts, where they are so very much
needed."

How can Captain Widdrington make such an observation as this latter one?
Surely he must be aware how much more interesting it is to provide for
the spiritual wants of people at a distance than for those of people in
our country. What missionary society, worthy of the name, would
undertake a church-building crusade into Lancashire or Yorkshire? It is
too near home, too commonplace. But let them discover some region at the
antipodes, inhabited by copper-coloured gentry with feathers upon their
heads and curtain rings through their noses, and _there_ is a worthy
field for the labours of the pious. In like manner, poor Spain, which
really might be allowed to set its temporal house a little in order,
before being expected to a depart from the faith that has been universal
in it since the expulsion of the Saracen, was deemed sufficiently
distant and dangerous to be interesting, and "the great London Caloro"
girded up his loins and departed thither. Of the peril he encountered,
the acquaintances he made, of how he galloped through the country on
silver-grey _burras--Anglice_, female donkeys--and dropped tracts in
public walks and concealed Testaments in ruins and other queer places,
where robbers _might_ go, _might_ find them, and _might_ be improved by
their perusal, has he not written a