Our town itself abounds in amusements of this kind, where the professional bull-fighters learn their art, and the amateurs feast their eyes, occasionally joining in the sport with the very lowest of the people. You must know, by the way, that our town corporation enjoys the privilege of being our sole and exclusive butchers. They alone have a right to kill and sell meat; which, coming through their _noble_ hands, (for this municipal government is entailed on the first Andalusian families) is the worst and dearest in the whole kingdom. Two droves of lean cattle are brought every week to a large slaughter-house (_el matadero_) which stands between one of the city gates and the suburb of San Bernardo. To walk in that neighbourhood when the cattle approach is dangerous; for, notwithstanding the emaciated condition of the animals, and though many are oxen and cows, a crowd is sure to collect on the plain, and by the waving of their cloaks, and a sharp whistling which they make through their fingers, they generally succeed in dispersing the drove, in order to single out the fiercest for their amusement. Nothing but the Spanish cloak is used on these occasions. Holding it gracefully at arm’s length before the body, so as to conceal the person from the breast to the feet, they wave it in the eyes of the animal, shaking their heads with an air of defiance, and generally calling out _Ha! Toro, Toro!_ The bull pauses a moment before he rushes upon the nearest object. It is said that he shuts his eyes at the instant of pushing with his horns. The man keeping his cloak in the first direction, flings it over the head of the animal, while he glances his body to the left, just when the bull, led forward by the original impulse, must run on a few yards without being able to turn upon his adversary, whom, upon wheeling round, he finds prepared to delude him as before. This sport is exceedingly lively; and when practised by proficients, seldom attended with danger. It is called _Capéo_. The whole population of San Bernardo, men, women and children, are adepts in this art. Within the walls of the slaughter-house, however, is the place where the bull-fighters by profession are allowed to improve themselves. A member of the town corporation presides, and admits, gratis, his friends; among whom, notwithstanding the filth natural to such places, ladies do not disdain to appear. The _Matadero_ is so well known as a school for bull-fighting, that it bears the cant appellation of the _College_. Many of our first noblesse have frequented no other school. Fortunately, this fashion is wearing away. Yet we have often seen Viscount Miranda, the head of one of the proudest families of the proud city of Cordova, step into the public amphitheatre, and kill a bull with his own hand. This gentleman had reared up one of his favourite animals, and accustomed him to walk into his parlour, to the great consternation of the company. The bull, however, once, in a surly mood, forgot