strange language, which might have been Hebrew or Sanscrit, for there
was no person learned enough in the country to understand it, he would
make a long speech or prayer in a clear ringing voice, intoning his
words in a monotonous sing-song. His speech done, he would beg, in
broken Spanish, for the usual charity; and, after receiving it, he
would commence another address, possibly invoking blessings of all
kinds on the donor, and lasting an unconscionable time. Then, bidding
a ceremonious farewell, he would take his departure.

From the sound of certain oft-recurring expressions in his recitations
we children called him "Con-stair Lo-vair"; perhaps some clever pundit
will be able to tell me what these words mean--the only fragment saved
of the hermit's mysterious language. It was commonly reported that he
had at one period of his life committed some terrible crime, and that,
pursued by the phantoms of remorse, he had fled to this distant
region, where he would never be met and denounced by any former
companion, and had adopted his singular mode of life by way of
penance. This was, of course, mere conjecture, for nothing could be
extracted from him. When closely questioned or otherwise interfered
with, then old Con-stair Lo-vair would show that his long cruel
penance had not yet banished the devil from his heart. A terrible
wrath would disfigure his countenance and kindle his eyes with
demoniac fire; and in sharp ringing tones, that wounded like strokes,
he would pour forth a torrent of words in his unknown language,
doubtless invoking every imaginable curse on his tormentor.

For upwards of twenty years after I as a small child made his
acquaintance he continued faithfully pursuing his dreary rounds,
exposed to cold and rain in winter and to the more trying heats of
summer; until at last he was discovered lying dead on the plain,