the Moors,’ says another. ‘I just saw him running over the field, in the direction of ---, with the devil close behind him,’ says a third. In a word I am tricked. I wish to dispose of the donkey; no one, however, will buy him; he is a _Caló_ donkey, and every person avoids him. At last the gypsies offer thirty _reals_ for him; and after much chaffering I am glad to get rid of him at two dollars. It is all a trick, however; he returns to his master, and the brotherhood share the spoil amongst them, all which villany would be prevented, in my opinion, were the _Caló_ language not spoken; for what but the word of _Caló_ could have induced the donkey to behave in such an unaccountable manner?” Both seemed perfectly satisfied with the justness of this conclusion, and continued smoking till their cigars were burnt to stumps, when they arose, twitched their whiskers, looked at us with fierce disdain, and dashing the tobacco-ends to the ground, strode out of the apartment. “Those people seem no friends to the gypsies,” said I to Antonio, when the two bullies had departed, “nor to the _Caló_ language either.” “May evil glanders seize their nostrils,” said Antonio; “they have been _jonjabadoed_ {114a} by our people. However, brother, you did wrong to speak to me in _Caló_, in a _posada_ like this; it is a forbidden language; for, as I have often told you, the king has destroyed the law of the _Calés_. {114b} Let us away, brother, or those _juntunes_ may set the _justicia_ upon us.” Towards evening we drew near to a large town or village. “That is Merida,” said Antonio, “formerly, as the _Busné_ say, a mighty city of the _Corahai_. We shall stay here to-night, and perhaps for a day or two, for I have some business of Egypt to transact in this place. Now, brother, step aside with the horse, and wait for me beneath yonder wall. I must go before and see in what condition matters stand.” I dismounted from the horse, and sat down on a stone beneath the ruined wall to which Antonio had motioned me. The sun went down, and the air was exceedingly keen; I drew close around me an old tattered gypsy cloak with which my companion had provided me, and, being somewhat fatigued, fell into a doze which lasted for nearly an hour. “Is your worship the London _Caloró_?” said a strange voice close beside me. I started, and beheld the face of a woman peering under my hat. Notwithstanding the dusk, I could see that the features were hideously ugly and almost black; they belonged, in fact, to a gypsy crone, at least seventy years of age, leaning upon a staff. “Is your worship the London _Caloró_?” repeated she. “I am he whom you seek,” said I; “where is Antonio?” “_Curelando_, _curelando_; _baribustres curelós terela_,” {115} said the crone. “Come with me, _Caloró_ of my _garlochin_, come with me to my little _ker_; he will be there anon.”