bers and the most faultless costume.

There are only five great bull-fights in a year at Seville, namely, on
Easter day, on the three days of the fair, and on Corpus Christi. But
during the summer _novilladas_ are held every Sunday, with bulls of
three years old and young fighters. Long before an important _corrida_
there is quite an excitement in the town. Gaudy bills are posted on the
walls with the names of the performers and the proprietor of the bulls;
crowds stand round reading them breathlessly, discussing with one
another the chances of the fray; the papers give details and forecasts
as in England they do for the better cause of horse-racing! And the
journeyings of the _matador_ are announced as exactly as with us the
doings of the nobility and gentry.

The great _matador_, Mazzantini or Guerrita, arrives the day before the
fight, and perhaps takes a walk in the Sierpes. People turn to look at
him and acquaintances shake his hand, pleased that all the world may
know how friendly they are with so great a man. The hero himself is calm
and gracious. He feels himself a person of merit, and cannot be
unconscious that he has a fortune of several million _pesetas_ bringing
in a reasonable interest. He talks with ease and assurance, often
condescends to joke, and elegantly waves his hand, sparkling with
diamonds of great value.

* * *

Many persons have described a bull-fight, but generally their emotions
have overwhelmed them so that they have seen only part of one
performance, and consequently have been obliged to use an indignant
imagination to help out a very faulty recollection. This is my excuse
for giving one more account of an entertainment which can in no way be
defended. It is doubtless vicious and degrading; but with the constant
danger, the skill displayed, the courage, the hair-breadth escapes, the
catastrophes, it is foolish to deny that any pastime can be more
exciting.

The English humanity to animals is one of the best traits of a great
people, and they justly thank God they are not as others are. Can
anything more horrid be imagined than to kill a horse in the bull-ring,
and can any decent hack ask for a better end when he is broken down,
than to be driven to death in London streets or to stand for hours on
cab ranks in the rain and snow of an English winter? The Spaniards are
certainly cruel to animals; on the other hand, they never beat their
wives nor kick their children. From the dog's point