plaza, becomes deservedly a universal favorite; the conquering hero is hailed with “Viva toro! viva toro! bravo toro!” Long life is wished to the poor beast by those who know he must be killed in ten minutes. The horses destined for the plaza are of no value; this renders Spaniards, who have an eye chiefly to what a thing is worth, indifferent to their sufferings. If you remark how cruel it is to “let that poor horse struggle in death’s agonies,” they will say, “Ah que! na vale na” (“Oh! he is worth nothing”). When his tail quivers in the last death-struggle, the spasm is remarked as a jest, mira que cola! The torture of the horse is the blot of the bull-fight: no lover of the noble beast can witness his sufferings without disgust; the fact of these animals being worth nothing in a money point of view increases the danger to the rider; it renders them slow, difficult to manage, and very unlike those of the ancient combats, when the finest steeds were chosen, quick as lightning, turning at touch, and escaping the deadly rush: the eyes of these poor animals, who would not otherwise face the bull, are bound with a handkerchief like criminals about to be executed; thus they await blindfold the fatal rip which is to end their life of misery. If only wounded, the gash is sewed up and stopped with tow, as a leak! and life is prolonged for new agonies. When the poor brute is dead at last, his carcass is stripped as in a battle. The high-class Spaniard admits and regrets the cruelty to the horses, but justifies it as a necessity. The bull, says he, is a tame, almost a domestic animal, and would never fight at all unless first roused by the sight of blood. The wretched horse is employed for this purpose as a corpus vile; and the bull, having gored him once or twice, becomes “game.”