e suppression of this evil; 'and so,'
says the tobacconist, 'sorcery flourishes, and the brujas prosper.'

I am beginning to abandon all hope of obtaining La Perpetua for a model,
when one day I receive an anonymous letter, the handwriting and diction
of which seem to be the production of an uninstructed Ethiop. The writer
assures me that somebody or other is at present engaged in the useful
occupation of working for my complete overthrow and subjugation, and
that if I require further particulars on the subject I may easily obtain
them for the small consideration of a 'punctured peseta' (a coin with a
'lucky' hole in it).

When I exhibit the mysterious document to the watchman, that individual
is of course highly pleased to find that I have, at last, received some
evidence of the existence of such mighty people as brujas, and his
advice resolves itself, as usual, into sulphur and powdered mustard. He
has now not the least doubt that Dona Choncha has made application to
the brujas for a spell, and he recommends me to pay the peseta asked of
me by my anonymous correspondent.

A communication from a live witch is worth all the money demanded for
it, and I accordingly place the coin, as directed, in a crevice under my
door. Sure enough, it disappears before daylight, and in return I obtain
a second sheet of magic manuscript, which, like its predecessor, is
unpleasantly greasy to the touch and offensive to the nose; but it is
full of information, and concludes with an offer to effect my permanent
disenchantment if I will but follow the writer's instructions. If I am
disposed to do so, I must first meet the writer, or his deputy, alone in
a certain unfrequented locality of the town at a late hour; arming
myself with a contradano in the shape of a media onza. Thirty-four
shillings may appear a high rate for disenchantment, but the watchman
assures me that the operation often costs four times that amount, and
that if the unknown bruja fulfils his promise I shall have made a great
bargain. As I do not value my malignant spirit at any price, I decline
for the present to avail myself of this opportunity to be relieved of
it.

My occupations prevent me from paying my accustomed visits at the
tobacconist's for some days, but one sunny morning I venture to look in
at the little establishment.

Don Ramon, I am told, is passing some weeks at his 'vega,' or tobacco
farm; but his black assistants are at their wooden benches as usual