It was at this town of Badajoz, the capital of Estremadura, that I
first fell in with those singular people, the Zincali, Gitanos, or
Spanish gypsies. It was here I met with the wild Paco, the man
with the withered arm, who wielded the cachas (shears) with his
left hand; his shrewd wife, Antonia, skilled in hokkano baro, or
the great trick; the fierce gypsy, Antonio Lopez, their father-in-
law; and many other almost equally singular individuals of the
Errate, or gypsy blood. It was here that I first preached the
gospel to the gypsy people, and commenced that translation of the
New Testament in the Spanish gypsy tongue, a portion of which I
subsequently printed at Madrid.

After a stay of three weeks at Badajoz, I prepared to depart for
Madrid: late one afternoon, as I was arranging my scanty baggage,
the gypsy Antonio entered my apartment, dressed in his zamarra and
high-peaked Andalusian hat.

Antonio.--Good evening, brother; they tell me that on the
callicaste (day after to-morrow) you intend to set out for
Madrilati.

Myself.--Such is my intention; I can stay here no longer.

Antonio.--The way is far to Madrilati: there are, moreover, wars
in the land and many chories (thieves) walk about; are you not
afraid to journey?

Myself.--I have no fears; every man must accomplish his destiny:
what befalls my body or soul was written in a gabicote (book) a
thousand years before the foundation of the world.