I got no credit, however, for my frank dealing.  The corregidor and his confederates could not persuade themselves but that by some means mysterious and unknown to them, I was daily selling hundreds of these Gypsy books, which were to revolutionize the country, and annihilate the power of the Father of Rome.  A plan was therefore resolved upon, by means of which they hoped to have an opportunity of placing me in a position which would incapacitate me for some time from taking any active measures to circulate the Scriptures, either in Gypsy or in any other language.

It was on the morning of the first of May, if I forget not, that an unknown individual made his appearance in my apartment as I was seated at breakfast; he was a mean-looking fellow, about the middle stature, with a countenance on which knave was written in legible characters.  The hostess ushered him in, and then withdrew.  I did not like the appearance of my visitor, but assuming some degree of courtesy, I requested him to sit down, and demanded his business.  “I come from his excellency the political chief of Madrid,” he replied, “and my business is to inform you that his excellency is perfectly aware of your proceedings, and is at any time able to prove that you are still disposing of in secret those evil books which you have been forbidden to sell.”  “Is he so,” I replied; “pray let him do so forthwith, but what need of giving me information?” “Perhaps,” continued the fellow, “you think his worship has no witnesses; know, however, that he has many, and respectable ones too.”  “Doubtless,” I replied, “and from the respectability of your own appearance, you are perhaps one of them.  But you are occupying my time unprofitably; begone, therefore, and tell whoever sent you, that I have by no means a high opinion of his wisdom.”  “I shall go when I please,” retorted the fellow; “do you know to whom you are speaking?  Are you aware that if I think fit I can search your apartment, yes, even below your bed?  What have we here,” he continued; and commenced with his stick poking a heap of papers which lay upon a chair; “what have we here; are these also papers of the Gypsies?” I instantly determined upon submitting no longer to this behaviour, and taking the fellow by the arm, led him out of the apartment, and then still holding him, conducted him downstairs from the third floor in which I lived, into the street, looking him steadfastly in the face the whole while.

The fellow had left his sombrero on the table, which I dispatched to him by the landlady, who delivered it into his hand as he stood in the street staring with distended eyes at the balcony of my apartment.

“A trampa has been laid for you, Don Jorge,” said Maria Diaz, when she had reascended from the street; “that corchete came here with no other intention than to have a dispute with you; out of every word you have said he will make a long history, as is the custom with these people:  indeed he said, as I handed him his hat, that ere twenty-four hours were over, you should see the inside of the prison of Madrid.”