The word _matador_ is scarcely ever employed in Spain to designate the person who kills the bull; he is entitled _espada_ (sword), which is more noble and more characteristic. Neither is the word _toreador_ used, but _torero_. I just mention this as a piece of useful information for those authors who are accustomed to introduce a little local colouring into their ballads and comic operas. The fight is called _media corrida_, half-course or fight, because formerly there used to be two every Monday, one in the morning and one at five in the afternoon, the two together making up the day's amusement. At present only the fight in the afternoon is preserved. It has been asserted and reasserted on all sides, that the Spaniards are losing their taste for bull-fights, and that civilization will soon cause the amusement to be discontinued altogether. If civilization does effect this, all I can say is that it will be all the worse for civilization, as a bull-fight is one of the grandest sights that the imagination of man can conceive; but, at any rate, the time for their abolition has not yet arrived, and those sensitive writers who affirm the contrary have only to transport themselves some Monday, between the hours of four and five, to the Puerta d'Alcala, in order to be convinced that the taste for this _ferocious_ pastime is, as yet, very far from extinct. Monday, which is the bull-day, _dia de toros_, is a holiday. No one does any work, and the whole town is in commotion. Those persons who have not previously bought their tickets, hasten off towards the _Calle de Carretas_, where the ticket-office is situated, in the hope of finding some place still vacant, for the enormous amphitheatre is all numbered and portioned into stalls, a plan which cannot be praised too highly, and which might be imitated with advantage in the French theatres. The _Calle d'Alcala_, the artery into which all the populous streets of the city flow, is filled with foot-passengers, horse-men, and vehicles. To grace this solemnity, the most strange and extravagant _calesins_ and cars emerge from their dusty retreats, while the most fantastic horses, and the most phenomenal mules come forth into the light of day. The _calesins_ reminded me of the Neapolitan corricoli. They have large red wheels and no springs, the body being decorated with paintings more or less allegorical, and lined with old damask silk or faded serge with long silk fringe. Altogether, they produce a most absurd _rococo_ effect. The driver sits upon the shaft; this enables him to harangue and belabour his mule just as he thinks fit, and also makes one place more for his customers. The mule is tricked out with as many feathers, rosettes, tufts, bells, and as much fringe as it is possible to fasten to the harness of any quadruped in existence. A _calesin_ generally contains a _manola_, and a female friend as well as her _manolo_, not to mention a bunch of _muchachos_ hanging on behind.