There was no lack of guests at the Trojan Horse, where we had taken up our abode at Valladolid.  Amongst others who arrived during my sojourn was a robust buxom dame, exceedingly well dressed in black silk, with a costly mantilla.  She was accompanied by a very handsome, but sullen and malicious-looking urchin of about fifteen, who appeared to be her son.  She came from Toro, a place about a day’s journey from Valladolid, and celebrated for its wine.  One night, as we were seated in the court of the inn enjoying the fresco, the following conversation ensued between us.

Lady.—­Vaya, vaya, what a tiresome place is Valladolid!  How different from Toro.

Myself.—­I should have thought that it is at least as agreeable as Toro, which is not a third part so large.

Lady.—­As agreeable as Toro!  Vaya, vaya!  Were you ever in the prison of Toro, Sir Cavalier?

Myself.—­I have never had that honour; the prison is generally the last place which I think of visiting.

Lady.—­See the difference of tastes:  I have been to see the prison of Valladolid, and it seems as tiresome as the town.

Myself.—­Of course, if grief and tediousness exist anywhere, you will find them in the prison.

Lady.—­Not in that of Toro.

Myself.—­What does that of Toro possess to distinguish it from all others?

Lady.—­What does it possess?  Vaya!  Am I not the carcelera?  Is not my husband the alcayde?  Is not that son of mine a child of the prison?

Myself.—­I beg your pardon, I was not aware of that circumstance; it of course makes much difference.

Lady.—­I believe you.  I am a daughter of that prison, my father was alcayde, and my son might hope to be so, were he not a fool.

Myself.—­His countenance then belies him strangely:  I should be loth to purchase that youngster for a fool.

Gaoleress.—­You would have a fine bargain if you did; he has more picardias than any Calabozero in Toro.  What I mean is, that he does not take to the prison as he ought to do, considering what his fathers were before him.  He has too much pride—­too many fancies; and he has at length persuaded me to bring him to Valladolid, where I have arranged with a merchant who lives in the Plaza to take him on trial.  I wish he may not find his way to the prison:  if he do, he will find that being a prisoner is a very different thing from being a son of the prison.

Myself.—­As there is so much merriment at Toro, you of course attend to the comfort of your prisoners.

Gaoleress.—­Yes, we are very kind to them; I mean to those who are caballeros; but as for those with vermin and miseria, what can we do?  It is a merry prison that of Toro; we allow as much wine to enter as the prisoners can purchase and pay duty for.  This of Valladolid is not half so gay:  there is no prison like Toro.  I learned there to play on the guitar.  An Andalusian cavalier taught me to touch the guitar and to sing a la Gitana.  Poor fellow, he was my first novio.  Juanito, bring me the guitar, that I may play this gentleman a tune of Andalusia.