peared in character as vaqueros, and
before the fight they had a horse-race, which consisted in riding
across the ring, one at a time, in at one door and out at the other,
and then racing in the same way through the either two doors. It was a
fine opportunity for exhibiting horses and horsemanship, and was a sort
of pony scamper.

After these came the toreadores, or bull-fighters, who, to do them
justice, were by far the worst-looking men I saw in the country, or
anywhere else, except, perhaps, the libellous representatives of the
twelve apostles in the feet-washing scene, at which I was once a
spectator in Jerusalem. They were of a mixed blood, which makes,
perhaps, the worst race known, viz., the cross of the Indian and
African, and called Pardos. Their complexion is a black tinge laid upon
copper, and, not satisfied with the bountiful share of ugliness which
nature had given them, these worthies had done something for themselves
in the way of costume, which was a vile caricature of the common
European dress, with some touches of their own elegant fancy.
Altogether, I could imagine that they had fitted themselves out with
the unclaimed wardrobe of deceased hospital patients. Their horses,
being borrowed by the committee of arrangements, with the understanding
that if killed they were to be paid for, were spavined, foundered,
one-eyed, wretched beasts. They had saddles covered with scarlet
cloths, enormous spurs with rowels six inches long, and murderous
spears discoloured with old stains of blood. The combination of
colours, particularly the scarlet, was intended to frighten the bull,
and all together they were almost enough to frighten el demonio.

The races over, the amateur vaqueros led in the first bull, having two
real vaqueros at hand for cases of emergency. The toreadores charged
upon him with spears brandished, and presenting a vivid picture of the
infernals let loose; after which they dismounted and attacked him on
foot. The bull was brought to bay directly under our box, and twice I
saw the iron pass between his horns, enter the back of his neck with a
dull, grating sound, and come out bloody, leaving a ghastly wound. At
the third blow the bull staggered, struggled to sustain himself on his
feet, but fell back on his haunches, and, with a feeble bellow, rolled
over on his side; blood streamed from his mouth, his tongue hung out on
the ground covered with dust, and in a few moments he was dead. The
amateurs