The clearing of the arena, on which a multitude lounges till the last moment, is part of the show, and has the appropriate appellation of _Despejo_. This is performed by a battalion 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 shew 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 postboys. 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 bull’s 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.