ied; "I must
accomplish my destiny! I shall find it--the schatz--it is still
there--it _must_ be there!"

He went, and I never saw him more. What I heard, however, was
extraordinary enough. The treasure hunt at Compostella was conducted in
a public and imposing manner. The bells pealed, the populace thronged
from their houses, troops were drawn up in the square. A procession
directed its course to the church; at its head was the captain-general
and the Swiss; numerous masons brought up the rear. The procession
enters the church, they pass through it in solemn march, they find
themselves in a vaulted passage. The Swiss looks around. "Dig here!"
said he. The masons labour, the floor is broken up--a horrible fetid
odour arises....

Enough; no treasure was found, and the unfortunate Swiss was forthwith
seized and flung into the horrid prison of Saint James, amidst the
execrations of thousands. Soon afterwards he was removed from Saint
James, whither I could not ascertain. It was said that he disappeared on
the road.

Where in the whole cycle of romance shall we find anything more wild,
grotesque and sad than the easily authenticated history of the
treasure-digger of Saint James.

A most successful journey, in which I distributed the Gospel freely in
the Sagra of Toledo and La Mancha, was interrupted by a serious illness,
which compelled me to return to Madrid, and afterwards to visit England
for a rest. On December 31, 1838, I entered Spain for the third time.
From Cadiz I travelled to Madrid by Seville, and made a number of short
journeys to the villages near the capital. The clergy, however, had
induced the government to order the confiscation of all Testaments
exposed for sale. Prevented from labouring in the villages, I organised
a distribution of Testaments in Madrid itself. I then returned to
Seville; but even here I was troubled by the government's orders for
the seizure of Testaments. I had, however, several hundred copies in my
own possession, and I remained in Seville for several months until I had
disposed of them. I lived there in extreme retirement; there was nothing
to induce me to enter much into society. The Andalusians, in all
estimable traits of character, are as far below the other Spaniards as
the country which they inhabit is superior in beauty and fertility to
the other provinces of Spain.

At the end of July, 1839, I went by steamer down the Guadalquivir to
Cadiz, then to Gibraltar, and thence