There is a town in Spain where a feather is preserved which is reported by the common people to have been shed by the Archangel Michael on the occasion of a miraculous visit to the place. An archÆologist who was at great pains to investigate this matter, after spending much time over the inquiry, traced it very satisfactorily to an occasion in which, some hundreds of years ago, an Auto Sacramentale, or, as we say in English, a Mystery Play—that is, a dramatic representation of a religious subject—was being shown, in which St. Michael was one of the dramatis personÆ. A feather having fallen from the wings employed on the occasion, was picked up and preserved with the care which so religious a people naturally bestowed on any thing connected, however remotely, with a sacred matter; and in process of time, the local circumstances being forgotten, the feather was ascribed to St. Michael the Archangel himself.

Alfonso Tostato, an Archbishop of AlcalÁ de HenÁres in the Middle Ages, wrote some commentaries on the Bible which were regarded as a work of great piety and erudition. Difficult passages were elucidated with so much plainness, that it was said metaphorically in his epitaph, that his works enabled the blind to see1, which sentence getting to be reported among the common people, it was confidently believed that in virtue of the services rendered by his works to the Word of God, any blind person who could be brought within reach of his writings would be instantly restored to sight.

Cardinal XimÉnez, who founded the celebrated University of AlcalÁ, was desirous to spread the knowledge of these commentaries, which were falling into oblivion; and he thought to render a service to religion by having a new edition of them published. As the art of printing was at that time more developed in the Republic of Venice than in Spain, he found he could bring it out more advantageously there; accordingly the manuscripts were packed and sent thither.

It happened, however, that crossing the Mediterranean, the ship in which they were was overtaken by a tremendous gale; and to save the lives of the passengers, the captain ordered all the merchandize to be thrown overboard, so as to lighten the ship. The chest containing Alfonso Tostato’s works was cast into the sea with the rest.

Next morning, when the danger was past, the person who had been entrusted by XimÉnez with the care of the manuscripts was in great distress at the irreparable loss: not daring to return to Spain, he wandered along the shore, hardly knowing what he did, when, lo and behold! to his intense delight, there appeared suddenly, floating in the sea, the identical chest, the loss of which was the cause of his mortification. A boat was quickly despatched to haul it in with great joy, and the event was commonly regarded as a marvellous interposition. But it would seem that the sagacious XimÉnez, foreseeing the possible calamity, had ordered that the chest should be constructed of the lightest wood; and all who have ever had a swim in the Mediterranean know the peculiar buoyancy of its waters. Perhaps we may now account for the chest floating.

A modern Spanish writer gives the following solution of a popular tradition that a whale was once seen making its way up the ManzanÁres. The ManzanÁres is a singularly shallow river, at certain times of the year not half covering its bed, which rendered the tradition still more marvellous2.

The solution is this: “A wine-merchant living on its banks was once unfortunate enough to have an accident in his storehouse or cellar, by which a number of wine-skins were sent floating down the stream. The wine-merchant ran along the bank, calling on the neighbours to arrest the float, the rather that one of the skins was full of wine; and as the danger of losing them increased, he went on crying frantically, “Una va llena!” (“One of them is full!”)

Now Spaniards make but a scarcely perceptible difference between the sound of b and v, so that his cry sounded in the people’s ears like una ballena, which would have meant a whale!