satisfactory manner.
We have just commenced offering the book to the poor. That most
remarkable individual, Johannes Chrysostom, the Greek bricklayer, being
the agent whom we employ. I confess that we might sell more than we at
present do, were we to press the matter; but we are cautious, and
moreover our stock of Testaments is waning apace. Two or three ladies of
my acquaintance occasionally dispose of some amongst their friends, but
they say that they experience some difficulty, the cry for Bibles being
great. Dionysius also tells me that for every Testament which he sells
he could dispose of with ease fifty Bibles. Within a few weeks I propose
to cross the water to Ceuta and Tangiers with part of the books at
present in embargo at San Lucar. I shall take the liberty of giving you
a full and minute description of the state of those places, the first of
which has, I believe, never been visited by any one bearing the Gospel.
When I consider the immensity of what remains to be done, even in this
inconsiderable portion of the globe, before wretched mortals can be
brought to any sense of their lost and fallen state, I invariably lose
all hope of anything efficient being accomplished by human means, unless
it shall please the Almighty to make of straws and rushes weapons capable
of cleaving the adamantine armour of superstition and unbelief.

It is eight o'clock at night, and Johannes Chrysostom has I just arrived
from his labour. I have not spoken to him; but I hear him below in the
courtyard detailing to Antonio the progress he has made in the last two
days. He speaks barbarous Greek, plentifully interlarded with Spanish
words; but I gather from his discourse that he has already sold twelve
Testaments among his fellow-labourers. I hear copper coin falling on the
stones and Antonio, who is not of a very Christian temper, reproving him
for not having brought the proceeds of the sale in silver. He now asks
for fifteen [Testaments] more, as he says the demand is becoming great,
and that he shall have no difficulty in disposing of them in the course
of the morrow whilst pursuing his occupations. Antonio goes to fetch
them, and he now stands alone by the little marble fountain, singing a
wild song, which I believe to be a hymn of his beloved Greek Church.
Behold one of the helpers which the Lord has sent me in my Gospel labours
on the shores of the Guadalquivir.

Should you wish to transmit to me any part of the Repo