s (only at bull-fights are white
mantillas the thing), the president takes his place in a little box by
the side of the big white platform that is set apart for special
visitors.

Then the door at the far end of the arena opens, and the suite comes
forth. There are a couple of sombre-looking cloaked horsemen mounted on
rather sorry nags, and these amble forward, salute the president, and
request the key of the _Toril_, the great stable where the bulls wait to
die. Then come the matadors--they who do the killing--from two to four
of them, dressed in knickerbocker attire, with short jackets, after the
fashion of an Eton coat. These are generally of light pink or blue silk,
hung with infinite short tassels of spun gold or silver. The cloak,
which is as fine a piece of embroidery as one could find anywhere, is
lapped round the back and held tight in front. The hats are not of the
inverted saucepan-lid type that are always depicted in bull-fight
pictures, but big black furry structures, bulging at the sides. The men
are short, but well made, and carry themselves with a lithe swing that
at times savours distinctly of swagger.

In a double row the banderilleros come next--they whose duty it is to
place the papered darts--and behind them a few chulos, who are in the
first stages of the art, and whose duties are confined to agile
exercises with the red cloak.

In the rear ride the picadors--heavily clad lancers--gaily dressed
somewhat after the Mexican fashion, and carrying long wooden lances that
bear nothing more hurtful than a short blade, the size of a flattened
tea-spoon, at the end. These lancers would look still more impressive
but for the fact that their steeds are aged and weary carriage hacks,
such as would in Britain be sent to the knacker's yard.

Six picadors complete the _cortege_, with a hanger-on or two behind to
help direct the horses. They, poor brutes, are bandaged over one
eye--the eye that is to be nearest the bull.

The suite salutes the president, who is a Town Magnate of high degree,
and he bows his stateliest in reply. The gorgeous cloaks are only for
show, and they are thrown over the barrier into the little corridor that
separates the ring from the tiers of seats, and held by an official. In
return, the fighters receive their working cloaks--scarlet,
blood-stained, and ragged--and range themselves round the walls of the
ring. And here let us get rid of the word "toreador"--it is never used
in Spa