from the circumstance of elephantines having been buried with the other dead. Sad is leprosy in all its forms, but most so when clephantine."
"Talking of corses," said I, "do you believe that the bones of St. James are veritably interred at Compostella?"
"What can I say?" replied the old man; "you know as much of the matter as myself. Beneath the high altar is a large stone slab or lid, which is said to cover the mouth of a profound well, at the bottom of which it is believed that the bones of the saint are interred; though why they should be placed at the bottom of a well, is a mystery which I cannot fathom. One of the officers of the church told me that at one time he and another kept watch in the church during the night, one of the chapels having shortly before been broken open and a sacrilege committed. At the dead of night, finding the time hang heavy on their hands, they took a crowbar and removed the slab and looked down into the abyss below; it was dark as the grave; whereupon they affixed a weight to the end of a long rope and lowered it down. At a very great depth it seemed to strike against something dull and solid like lead: they supposed it might be a coffin; perhaps it was, but whose is the question?"
Skippers of Padron--Caldas De Los Reyes--Pontevedra--The Notary Public--Insane Barber--An Introduction--Gallegan Language--Afternoon Ride--Vigo--The Stranger--Jews of the Desert--Bay of Vigo-- Sudden Interruption--The Governor.
AFTER a stay of about a fortnight at St. James, we again mounted our horses and proceeded in the direction of Vigo. As we did not leave St. James till late in the afternoon, we travelled that day no farther than Padron, a distance of only three leagues. This place is a small port, situate at the extremity of a firth which communicates with the sea. It is called, for brevity's sake, Padron, but its proper appellation is Villa del Padron, or the town of the patron saint; it having been, according to the legend, the principal residence of St. James during his stay in Galicia. By the Romans it was termed Iria Flavia. It is a flourishing little town, and carries on rather an extensive commerce, some of its tiny barks occasionally finding their way across the Bay of Biscay, and even so far as the Thames and London.
There is a curious anecdote connected with the skippers of Padron, which can scarcely be considered as out of place here, as it relates to the circulation of the Scriptures. I was one day in the shop of my friend the bookseller at St. James, when a stout, good-humoured- looking priest entered. He took up one of my Testaments, and forthwith burst into a violent fit of laughter. "What is the matter?" demanded the bookseller. "The sight this book reminds me of a