ragged and devout than that at San Juan; hardly a single representative of the richer and better educated classes being present.
The specialty of this church is its Saint. I forget his name, but the record posted on the walls shows that he was a Roman soldier who suffered martyrdom for his faith (Christian, of course, though that is not stated,) in Rome, so the record affirms. His body was found by miracle, A. D., 901, preserved as if he were but just defunct, and he was canonized as a saint.
From Rome the body was carried to Spain, and from thence brought to Lagos and placed on the altar with the Bishop's own hands eighty years ago. The body is inclosed in a magnificent casket about five feet long, by three broad, and four high, with sides of glass, and corners and top of richly gilded metal. As a special favor to Mr. Seward, the doors before the casket, as it stands in the wall, were opened, and we went up and looked into it, while hundreds of awe-stricken worshipers knelt and crossed themselves in silent adoration.
From a close inspection of this remarkably well-preserved specimen, I am able to draw the following conclusions: First, that the ancient Roman soldiers were about four feet, eight or nine inches in height—not over five feet—allowing a fair margin for shrinkage; second, that they had no beard, and their faces were as delicate as that of a girl; third, that they had wax teeth, finger and toe-nails, and cuticle on hands, face, and shins, and wore gilt pasteboard tunics, and coats of mail, silk stockings, and fancy bootees. I respect every man's religion, and mean no disrespect for this illustrious deceased as a saint, but as a soldier I cannot refrain from the remark, that if he was in life a fair specimen of the
