[Illustration: THE BULL FIGHT.] “Yes, killed,” they both answered, and he went on to say, “butchered;—horrid!” “Tell me all about it, please; I would like to _hear_, at least.” “Well,” said the amiable husband, “if you are going to talk _bull_, I will go into the reading-room and have a smoke.” He went out, and she went on:— “These _men_” she said; “but I ought to say, _you_ men, are so squeamish; you faint at the sight of a little blood; what would you do in a fight, a real battle with bullets and brains flying all about you and men bleeding to death by hundreds, if you can’t bear to see a bull cut down or a horse ripped up. Why, I saw a horse run all about the bull-ring with his entrails trailing on the ground, and a bull with his hamstrings cut, and making splendid fight on his knees. You must go and see it; now there’s my husband, poor fellow, he ought not to go to such places, it doesn’t agree with him!” “Well, I would rather have you describe a fight,” said I, “than to go and see it. I have no particular taste for blood, but any thing would be agreeable that you would undertake to describe.” “Thank you. You have seen the ring; every city in Spain has its bull-ring: a circular theatre, open to the sky, with seats rising from the arena in the centre. The seats on the east and southerly quarters are covered to protect the grandees, while the multitude sitting in the sun hold fans before their faces or take it as it comes. This ring will seat some fifteen to twenty thousand people, and a gayer, grander sight it is rare to see, than these bright-colored, dressy people; the women are the most beautiful in the world; they are far handsomer than American women, you _know_ they are, don’t you?” “Perhaps so, present company excepted, and one or two others: but pray go on,—I am more anxious to hear of bulls than women.”