The clearing of the arena, on which a multitude lounge till the last moment, is part of the show, and has the appropriate appellation of Despejo. This is performed by a regiment of infantry. The soldiers. entering at one of the gates in a column, display their ranks, at the sound of martial music, and sweep the people before them as they march across the ground. This done, the gates are closed, the soldiers perform some evolutions, in which the commanding officer is expected to show his ingenuity, till having placed his men in a convenient position, they disband in a moment, and hide themselves behind the fence.!

The band of Toreros (bull-fighters) one half in blue, the other in scarlet cloaks, now advance in two lines across the arena, to make obeisance to the president. Their number is generally twelve or fourteen, including the two Matadores, each attended by an assistant called Mediaespada (demi-sword). Close in their rear follow the Picadores (pikemen) on horseback, wearing scarlet jackets trimmed with silver lace. The shape of the horsemen's jackets resembles those in use among the English post-boys. As a protection to the legs and thighs, they have strong leather overalls, stuffed to an enormous size with soft brown paper-a substance which is said to offer great resistance to the bull's horns. After making their bow to the president, the horsemen take their post in a line to the left of the gate which is to let in the bulls, standing in the direction of the barrier at the distance of thirty or forty paces from each other. The fighters on foot, without any weapon or means of defence, except their cloaks, wait, not far from the horses, ready to give assistance to the pikemen. Every thing being thus in readiness, a constable, in the ancient Spanish costume, rides up to the front of the principal gallery, and receives into his hat the key of the Toril or bulls' den, which the president flings from the balcony. Scarcely has the constable delivered the key under the steward's gallery when, at the waving of the president's handkerchief, the bugles sound amid a storm of applause, the gates are flung open, and the first bull rushes into the amphitheatre. I shall describe what, on the day I allude to, our connoisseurs deemed an interesting fight, and if you imagine it repeated, with more or less danger and carnage, eight times in the morning and ten in the evening, you will have a pretty accurate notion of the whole performance.

The bull paused a moment and looked wildly upon the scene; then, taking notice of the first horseman, made a desperate charge against him. The ferocious animal was received at the point of the pike, which, according to the laws of the game, was aimed at the fleshy part of the neck. A dexterous motion of the bridle-hand and right leg made the horse evade the bull's horn, by turning to the left. Made fiercer by the wound, he instantly attacked the next pikeman, whose horse, less obedient to the rider, was so deeply gored in the chest that he fell dead on the spot. The impulse of the bull's thrust threw the rider on the other side of the horse. An awful silence ensued. The spectators, rising from their seats, beheld in fearful suspense the wild bull goring the fallen horse, while the man, whose only chance of safety depended on lying motionless, seemed dead to all

appearance. This painful scene lasted but a few seconds; for the men on foot, by running towards the bull, in various directions, waving their cloaks and uttering loud cries, soon made him quit the horse to pursue them. When the danger of the pikeman was passed, and he rose on his legs to vault upon another horse, the burst of applause might be heard at the farthest extremity of the town. Dauntless and urged by revenge, he now galloped forth to meet the bull. But, without detailing the shocking sights that followed, I shall only mention that the ferocious animal attacked the horsemen ten successive times, wounded four horses and killed two. One of these noble creatures, though wounded in two places, continued to face the bull without shrinking, till growing too weak he fell down with the rider. Yet these horses are never trained for the fights; but are bought for the amount of thirty or forty shillings, when, worn out with labour, or broken by disease, they are unfit for any other service.

A flourish of the bugles discharged the horsemen till the beginning of the next combat, and the amusement of the people devolved on the Banderilleros,-the same whom we have hitherto seen attentive to the safety of the horsemen. The Banderilla, literally, little flag, from which they take their name, is a shaft of two feet in length, pointed with a barbed steel, and gaily ornamented with many sheets of painted paper, cut into reticulated coverings. Without a cloak, and holding one of these darts in each hand, the fighter runs up to the bull, and stopping short when he sees himself attacked, he fixes the two shafts, without flinging them, behind the horns of the beast at the very moment when it stoops to toss him. The painful sensation makes the bull throw up his head without inflicting the intended blow, and while he rages in impotent endeavours to shake off the hanging darts that gall him, the man has full leisure to escape. It is on these occasions, when the Banderilleros fail to fix the darts, that they require their surprising swiftness of foot. Being without the protection of a cloak they are obliged to take instantly to flight. The bull follows them at full gallop; and I have seen the man leap the barrier, so closely pursued by the enraged brute, that it seemed as if he had sprung up, by placing the feet on its head. Townsend thought it was literally so. Some of the darts are set with squibs and crackers. The match, a piece of tinder, made of a dried fungus, is so fitted to the barbed point that, rising by the pressure which makes it penetrate the skin, it touches the train of the fireworks. The only object of this refinement of cruelty is to confuse the bull's instinctive powers, and, by making him completely frantic, to diminish the danger of the Matador, who is never so exposed as when the beast is collected enough to meditate the attack.

At the waving of the president's handkerchief, the bugles sounded the death signal, and the Matador came forward. Pepe Illo, the pride of this town, and certainly one of the most graceful and dexterous fighters that Spain has ever produced, having flung off his cloak, approached the bull with a quick, light, and fearless step. In his left hand he held a square piece of red cloth, spread upon a staff about two feet in length, and in his right a broad sword not much

longer. His attendants followed him at a distance. Facing the bull, within six or eight yards, he presented the red flag, keeping his body partially concealed behind it, and the sword entirely out of view. The bull rushed against the red cloth, and our hero slipped by his side by a slight circular motion, while the beast passed under the lure which the Matador held in the first direction, till he had evaded the horns. Enraged by this deception, and unchecked by any painful sensation, the bull collected all his strength for a desperate charge. Pepe Illo now levelled his sword at the left side of the bull's neck, and, turning upon his right foot as the animal approached him, ran the weapon nearly up to the hilt into its body. The bull staggered, tottered, and dropped gently upon his bent legs; but had yet too much life in him for any man to venture near with safety. The unfortunate Illo has since perished from a wound inflicted by a bull in a similar state. The Matador observed, for one or two minutes, the signs of approaching death in the fierce animal now crouching before him, and at his bidding, an attendant crept behind the bull and struck him dead, by driving a small poignard at the jointure of the spine and the head. This operation is never performed, except when the prostrate bull lingers. I once saw Illo, at the desire of the spectators, inflict this merciful blow in a manner which nothing but ocular demonstration would have made me believe. Taking the poignard, called Puntilla, by the blade, he poised it for a few moments, and jerked it with such unerring aim on the bull's neck, as he lay on his bent legs, that he killed the animal with the quickness of lightning.

Four mules, ornamented with large morrice-bells and ribbons, harnessed a-breast, and drawing a beam furnished with an iron hook in the middle, galloped to the place where the bull lay. This machine being fastened to a rope previously thrown round the dead animal's horns, he was swiftly dragged out of the amphitheatre.

I have now given you a more minute, and, I trust, more correct description of every thing connected with the bull-fights than has ever been drawn by any traveller. Townsend's is the best account of these sports I ever met with; yet it is not free from mistakes. So difficult is it to see distinctly scenes with which we are not familiarly acquainted.

The risk of the fighters is great, and their dexterity alone prevents its being imminent. The lives most exposed are those of the Matadores; and few of them have retired in time to avoid a tragical end. Bull-fighters rise from the dregs of the people. As most of their equals, they unite superstition and profligacy in their character. None of them will venture upon the arena without a scapulary, two small square pieces of cloth suspended by ribbons, on the breast and back, between the shirt and the waistcoat. In the front square there is a print, on linen, of the Virgin Mary-generally, the Carmel Mary, who is the patron goddess of all the rogues and vagabonds in Spain. These scapularies are blessed and sold by the Carmelite Friars. Our great Matador, Pepe Illo, besides the usual amulet, trusted for safety to the patronage of St. Joseph, whose chapel adjoins the Seville amphitheatre. The doors of this chapel were, during Illo's life,

thrown open as long as the fight continued, the image of the saint being all that time encircled by a great number of lighted wax candles, which the devout gladiator provided at his own expense. The Saint, however, unmindful of this homage, allowed his client often to be wounded, and finally left him to his fate at Madrid.

To enjoy the spectacle I have described, the feelings must be greatly perverted; yet that degree of perversion is very easily accomplished. The display of courage and address which is made at these exhibitions, and the contagious nature of all emotions in numerous assemblies, are more than sufficient to blunt, in a short time, the natural disgust arising from the first view of blood and slaughter. If we consider that even the Vestals at Rome were passionately fond of gladiatorial shows, we shall not be surprised at the Spanish taste for sports which, with infinite less waste of human life, can give rise to the strongest emotions.

The following instance, with which I shall conclude, will shew you to what degree the passion for bull-fights can grow. A gentleman of my acquaintance had, some years ago, the misfortune of losing his sight. It might be supposed, that a blind man would avoid the scene of his former enjoyment. a scene where every thing is addressed to the eye. This gentleman, however, is a constant attendant at the amphitheatre. Morning and evening he takes his place with the Maestranza, of which he is a member, having his guide by his side, Upon the appearance of every bull he greedily listens to the description of the animal, and of all that takes place in the fight. His mental conception of the exhibition, aided by the well known cries of the multitude, is so vivid, that when a burst of applause allows his attendant just to hint at the event that drew it from the spectators, the unfortunate man's face gleams with pleasure, and he echoes the last clappings of the circus. L. D.

SONG.

RENAUD hastes him home from the war,

And rapid and hot is his speed,

His silver crest beaming afar,

And love is the spur of his steed.

Then hark to the trumpet and drum!

See to the cap and the feather;

Oh! my heart, how it beats like the one, the one;
And trembles, though glad, like the other.

Though laurels are wreathing his brow,
Though trumpets are sounding his fame,
Yet his sparkling eye tells, even now,
That he dreams a far tenderer dream.

Then hark to the trumpet and drum!
See to the cap and the feather;

And the cry of the maidens, they come, they come,
Heroes and lovers together.

Y.

ACQUAINTANCES.

"Let others fear their foes; you beware only of your friends."

ANASTASIUS.

I Do not wonder at people being fond of hating, for it is truly a much more comfortable feeling in society than its opposite. To tell a person, either by word or look, that you hate him, is easy, and easily understood; but you must find out some more complicated method of informing an acquaintance that you like him. In one there is the semblance of a thousand things to be avoided -servility and adulation, if he be above you-self-importance and an air of patronage, if beneath; but plain, downright hatred is not to be mistaken; if it is not altogether spirit and independence, it is something very like them, and may fairly pass for a virtue in these cursedly civil times.

you

If there be any unpleasant feeling in hatred, it is in the first conception; the subsequent indulgence of it (I do not mean in outward action) is one of the most agreeable feelings we possess'I'm sure, ma'am, you'll agree with me, if reflect for a moment.' But friendship is a bore as long as ever it exists-the continual source of those petty uneasinesses which, it is truly observed, contribute more to embitter life than the most serious misfortunes. From the first pique to the last satisfaction, the regulations of quarrel are known and defined; so are those of love; but no moral legislator has yet thought it worth his while to regulate the province of friendship. It is a mongrel state-a neutral and anarchical sort of territory, like the Isle of Man of old, a refuge for all the outlaws from more worthy and decided feelings. As long as people remain friends, mutual behaviour is a puzzle; but the instant they quarrel, the road is plain before them, and no one can be at a loss how to proceed. While in the several degrees of intimacy, men seem to be acting out of nature -every second step is an awkwardness or an absurdity.

First come the horrors of introduction-the anticipated ideas of face, manner, character, that regularly prove erroneous—our own idea of ourselves-their idea of us-our's of them-the same compared-d civil-rather haughty-he might have done so and so-but no matter. Then the departure, and we retrace the interview: how treacherously exact the memory is in noting every circumstance, while if we wanted a name, it would see us hanged before it would tell us! Then all the way home, all that day, all that night, the over-consciousness of thought sticking in us like pins and needles.

"Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place,

With one fair spirit for my minister.'

But ladies won't go into the desert even to spend the honey-moon; and if the fair spirits won't go with us, why we must e'en stay with them.