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.