men especially in attendance to put him out of his misery at once. It is doubtful whether the animal suffers more than, or as much as, the unhappy favourites, that are sent alive, and in extremest torture, to Amsterdam and other foreign cities, to be manufactured into essence of meat and such-like dainties, after a life of cruelly hard work in our omnibuses and cabs has made them no longer of use as draught animals. The bull-fighter of to-day is by no means drawn from the dregs of the people; there is, at any rate, one instance of a man of good birth and education attaining celebrity as a professional _torero_. He risks his life at every point of the conflict, and it is his coolness, his courage, his dexterity in giving the _coup de grâce_ so as to cause no suffering, that raise the audience to such a pitch of frenzied excitement. I speak wholly from hearsay, for I have myself only witnessed a _corrida de novillos_--in which the bulls are never killed, and have cushions fixed on their horns--and a curious fight between a bull and an elephant, who might have been described as an "old campaigner," in which there was no bloodshed, and much amusement. My sympathies always went with the bull,--who, at least, was not consulted in the matter of the fight,--as I have seen the popular _espada_, with his own particular _chulo_, a mass of white satin and gold embroidery, driving out to the bull-ring on the afternoon of a _fiesta_, bowing with right royal grace and dignity to the plaudits of the people. I was even accused of having given the evil eye to one well-known favourite as he passed my balcony, when I wished, almost audibly, that the bull might have his turn for once in a way that afternoon. And he had; for the popular _espada_ was carried out of the ring apparently dead, the spectators came back looking white and sick, and I felt like a very murderess until I learned later that he was not dead. All Madrid, almost literally, called to inquire for him daily, filling books of signatures, as if he had been an emperor at least. Personally, I was more interested in his courage after the event and the devotion of his _chulo_, who never left his side, but held his hands while the injured leg was cut off, in three separate operations, without any anæsthetic. Eventually, he completely recovered, and was fitted with an admirable mechanical cork limb in place of the one removed in three detachments; and my sense of evil responsibility was quite removed when I heard that his young wife was delighted to think that he could never enter the bull-ring as a fighter again, and her anxieties were at an end. [Illustration: PLAZA DE TOROS. PICADOR CAUGHT BY THE BULL]