iards, and diminished their respect for ancient customs. I know not that it is forbidden the clergy to engage in these amusements; but I have seen but one ecclesiastic in costume at Seville. I am told that many come here in disguise. At a signal given by the president of the day, a high constable, attended by two constables in the costume of Crispin, all mounted and followed by a company of cavalry, clear the arena and the narrow gallery which separates it from the benches. When they have retired with their suite, a herald, escorted by a notary and other constables on foot, enters the middle of the place to read a proclamation, which forbids the casting of anything into the arena, or the disturbing of the combatants by cries, signs, or in any other manner. Hardly does he appear, when, in spite of the reasonable formula - In the name of the king our lord, whom God long preserve!'-shouts and hisses are raised in every quarter, and continue during the reading of the proclamation, which is never observed. In the cities, and there only, the people are sovereign, and can do and say just what they please. There are two classes of bull-fighters: the picadors, who fight on horseback and with spears; and the chulos, on foot, who harrass the bull by shaking drapery, of various brilliant colors. Among the last are the banderilleros and the matadors, of whom I shall again speak. All wear the Andalusian costume, very like that of Figaro in the Barber of Seville; but, instead of breeches and silk stockings, the picadors wear pantaloons of thick hide, ribbed with wood and iron, to protect their legs and thighs from the horns of the bull. On foot, they walk straddling like a pair of compasses; and when thrown, they can hardly raise themselves without the aid of the chulos. Their seats are very high, after the Turkish fashion, with stirrups of iron, like a shoe, entirely covering the foot. To guide their horses, they wear spurs with points six inches long. Their spear is large, very heavy, and topped with a very sharp point; but, as the pleasure must be economized, this point is furnished with a bandage of cord, which allows but about an inch of steel to penetrate the body ofthe bull. One of the constables catches in his hat a key, which the president of the sports throws to him. This key opens nothing, but he carries it to the man who opens the door which confines the bull, and then escapes at full gallop, followed by the shouts of the multitude, who cry out to him that the bull is out and in pursuit of him. This joke is repeated at every exhibition. -- Well the picadors have taken their places. There are usually two mounted in the arena; two or three others hold themselves in readiness to take their places, in case of any accident, such as death or severe wounds. A dozen chulos, on foot, are distributed about the place, within reach, if their assistance be required. The bull, which has been previously irritated in his cage, by picking with the pike and rubbing with nitric acid, comes forth furiously. Ordinarily, he passes by a bound to the centre of the arena, and there stops short, astounded by the noise and spectacle about him. He wears on his neck a knot of ribbons, fastened by a little hook, which enters the skin. The color of these ribbons indicates the drove to which he belongs; but an experienced amateur knows at a glance to what province and race he belongs. The chulos draw near, shake their brilliant capes, and try to draw the bull towards one of the picadors. If the beast is brave, he attacks without hesitation. The picador, holding his horse well collected, is placed, his spear under his arm, directly in the face of the bull; he seizes the moment when he lowers his head, in readiness for a blow with his horns, to give him a thrust in the nape of the neck, but nowhere else; he bends on this blow all the strength of his body, and at the same time gives the horse a direction to the left, so that he may leave the bull on the right. If all these movements are well executed, if the picador is strong, and his horse manageable, the bull, borne along by his own impetuosity, passes him without touching. Then it is the duty of the chulo to engage the bull, while the picador has time to recover himself. But the animal often too well distinguishes his enemy; he turns abruptly, overtakes the horse, plunges his horns into his belly, and overthrows him with his rider. In this event he is also rescued by the chulos; some raise the fallen combatant, others divert the bull by throwing their capes at his head, draw him upon themselves, and escape him by gaining the barrier, which they leap with astonishing agility. The Spanish bulls run as swiftly as a horse; and if the chulo were any distance from the barrier, he could hardly escape. It is seldom, therefore, that the rider, whose life always depends on the skill of the chulos, trust themselves in the centre of the arena; when they do, it is thought a mark of extraordinary boldness. Having once regained his feet, the picador remounts his horse, if the horse can again rise. It matters little that the poor beast has lost torrents of blood; if he can stand, he must face the bull. If he remains utterly prostrated, the picador leaves the arena and returns immediately with a fresh horse. I have said that the spears can only give a slight wound to the bull, and that they have no other effect than to irritate him. However, the onsets of the horse and rider, his own action, especially the shock that he suffers in stopping himself short on his hams, soon weary him out. Often, also, the pain of the spear wounds overcome him, and then he is afraid again to attack the horses or, to speak the jargon of the bull-fight, he refuses to enter. However, if a bull of vigor, he has already killed four or five horses. The picadors now rest themselves, and the signal is given to throw the banderillas. These are staffs, about two and a half feet long, terminating in a sharp and barbed point. The chulos hold one of these darts in each hand. The surest mode of giving them effect is to advance quietly behind the bull, and then to excite him by striking these banderillas against each other with a sudden clash. Astonished, the bull suddenly turns and attacks his enemy without hesitation. At the moment when he almost touches him, as he lowers his head to strike, the chulo at once thrusts the two darts one on each side of the necka feat which he can perform only by standing a moment directly opposite the bull, very near, and almost between his horns; then he slips aside to put himself out of harm's way. A mistake, a movement of doubt or fear, would be his destruction. Connoisseurs regard the offices of the banderillo as the least dangerous of all. If he fall by accident, in planting his dart, he need not attempt to rise; he remains quiet in the place where he has fallen. The bull but seldom strikes on the ground, not from generosity, but because in the onset he closes his eyes, and passes the man without seeing him. Sometimes, however, he stops and smells him, to ascertain whether he is alive; then, recoiling some paces, he lowers his head to raise him on his horns; but the comrades of the banderillo surround him, and engage him so busily that he is obliged to abandon the pretended carcass. When the bull has shown cowardice, that is, when he has not gallantly received four blows of the spear for that is the requisite number, the spectators sovereign judges-condemn him by acclamation to a process, which is at once a punishment and a means of exciting his fury. On all sides they raise the cry of 'Fire Fire! Then they distribute among the chulos-instead of their ordinary arms banderillas, whose hafts are surrounded with fire-works. The point is provided with a bit of lighted tinder. As soon as it penetrates the skin, the tinder is forced back upon the fire-works; they ignite, and the flame, which turns toward the bull, burns him to the quick, and drives him to leap and bound about, to the great amusement of the spectators. It is indeed a wonderful exhibition the sight of this enormous animal, foaming with rage, shaking the burning banderillas, and driving about enveloped in fire and smoke. Poets to the contrary notwithstanding, I must say that, of all animals that ever fell under my observation, none has less expression in his eyes than the bull. None changes the expression less; for his is almost always that of brutal and savage stupidity. He rarely indicates his suffering by groans; wounds irritate or frighten him; but pardon me the phrase he never seems to reflect on his fate; he never weeps like the stag; consequently, he never inspires pity, except when it is excited by his courage. When the bull has three or four banderillas fixed in his neck, it is time to finish with him. A roll of drums is heard; when one of the chulos, designated beforehand, advances from the group of his comrades. He is the matador. Richly clad in garments of gold and silk, he carries a long sword, and a scarlet mantle attached to a staff, that he may the more easily manage it. This mantle is called the muleta. He advances under the box of the president, and with a profound reverence asks permission to kill the bull. This formality is observed but once for the whole exhibition. The president nods assent. Then the matador raises a viva, makes a pirouette, throws his hat on the ground, and advances to encounter the bull. In the bull-fight there are laws as strict as those of the duel; to violate them, would be as infamous as the assassination of an adversary. For instance: the matador can only strike the bull at the point of union of the nape of the neck with the back, which the Spaniards call the cross. The blows ought to be struck from above, never underneath. Better a thousand times die than strike a bull below, on the side, or from the rear. sword used by the matadors is long, strong, and double-edged; the handle, very short, terminates in a ball, which rests against the palm of the hand. Great practice and skill are requisite in the use of this weapon. The Now to kill a bull handsomely, it is desirable to understand his character. On this knowledge depends not merely the fame, but the life of the matador. We can suppose that there are as many different characters among bulls as among men; however, they are separated into two divisions: the clear and the obscure. I speak here the language of the circus. The clear bulls attack openly; the obscure, on the contrary, resort to a variety of ruses to entrap their enemy. This last class are exceedingly dangerous. We fre Before trying to strike the bull with his sword, the matador presents the muleta, excites him, and observes carefully if he rushes openly forward as soon as he perceives it, or if he approaches gently to gain ground, and not to rush upon his adversary till he seems too near to be able to avoid the shock. quently see a bull shake his head with an air of menace, grate the ground with his foot without advancing, or even recoil with a slow pace, trying to draw his enemy towards the middle of the arena, where he could not escape him. Others, instead of rushing on in a straight line, approach by a roundabout course, slowly, and affecting fatigue; but when they feel satisfied with the dis tance, they spring forward with the swiftness and directness of an arrow. To any one who understands the matter, it is very interesting to witness the approaches of the matador and the bull, who, like two skilful generals, seem to divine each other's intentions, and every instant vary their manoeuvres. A motion of the head, a side glance, the sinking of an ear, are, to an experienced matador, unequivocal signs of the intentions of his enemy. At last, the impatient bull shoots against the red drapery, with which the matador has enveloped himself. His face is such that he would batter down a wall with his horns; but the man avoids him by a pliant movement of the body; he disappears as by enchantment, and leaves him only the light drapery, which, in escaping, he throws over his horns. The impetuosity of the bull makes him pass his enemy some distance; he then stops himself short by stiffening his hams, and these sudden and violent reactions are so exhausting, that, if the combat were prolonged, they would alone be sufficient to cause his death. This led to the remark of Romero, the famous professor, that a good matador ought to kill eight bulls by seven blows of his sword. One of the eight would die of fatigue and rage. After many passes, when the matador thinks that he understands his antagonist, he prepares to give him his last blow. Taking a firm attitude, he places himself directly in front of the bull, and remains immovably at a suitable distance. The right hand, holding a sword, is raised to the height of his head; the left, extended, holds the muleta, which, almost touching the ground, induces the bull to lower his head. It is at this moment that he inflicts the fatal blow, with all the strength of his arm, aided by the weight of his body and the impetuosity of the bull. The sword, three feet long, often enters to the very hilt; and if the blow is well directed, the man has nothing more to fear. The bull stops short; the blood hardly flows; he raises his head; his legs tremble and he falls suddenly, like a weight of lead. Then, from all the benches, rise the deafening vivas; handkerchiefs are waved; hats are thrown into the arena, and the victorious hero kisses his hand modestly to the spectators on all sides. Formerly, it is said, they never carried more than one rapier; but in these days of degeneracy, it is seldom that a bull falls by the first blow. If, however, he appears mortally wounded, the matador does not repeat his thrust; aided by the chulos, he turns him about the circle by exciting him with the mantles, so as to make him dizzy in a very short space of time. When he falls, a chulo finishes him by planting a poniard in the nape of his neck; the animal dies at the moment. It has been observed that almost all the bulls have a place in |