"They clear it.The great gate is flung open,and the procession marches in,splendidly costumed and glittering:the marshals of the day,then the picadores on horseback,then the matadores on foot,each surrounded by his quadrille of CHULOS.They march to the box of the city fathers,and formally salute.The key is thrown,the bull-gate is unlocked.Another bugle blast -the gate flies open,the bull plunges in,furious,trembling,blinking in the blinding light,and stands there,a magnificent creature,centre of those multitudinous and admiring eyes,brave,ready for battle,his attitude a challenge.He sees his enemy:horsemen sitting motionless,with long spears in rest,upon blindfolded broken-down nags,lean and starved,fit only for sport and sacrifice,then the carrion-heap.

"The bull makes a rush,with murder in his eye,but a picador meets him with a spear-thrust in the shoulder.He flinches with the pain,and the picador skips out of danger.A burst of applause for the picador,hisses for the bull.Some shout 'Cow!'at the bull,and call him offensive names.But he is not listening to them,he is there for business;he is not minding the cloak-bearers that come fluttering around to confuse him;he chases this way,he chases that way,and hither and yon,scattering the nimble banderillos in every direction like a spray,and receiving their maddening darts in his neck as they dodge and fly -oh,but it's a lively spectacle,and brings down the house!Ah,you should hear the thundering roar that goes up when the game is at its wildest and brilliant things are done!

"Oh,that first bull,that day,was great!From the moment the spirit of war rose to flood-tide in him and he got down to his work,he began to do wonders.He tore his way through his persecutors,flinging one of them clear over the parapet;he bowled a horse and his rider down,and plunged straight for the next,got home with his horns,wounding both horse and man;on again,here and there and this way and that;and one after another he tore the bowels out of two horses so that they gushed to the ground,and ripped a third one so badly that although they rushed him to cover and shoved his bowels back and stuffed the rents with tow and rode him against the bull again,he couldn't make the trip;he tried to gallop,under the spur,but soon reeled and tottered and fell,all in a heap.For a while,that bull-ring was the most thrilling and glorious and inspiring sight that ever was seen.The bull absolutely cleared it,and stood there alone!monarch of the place.

The people went mad for pride in him,and joy and delight,and you couldn't hear yourself think,for the roar and boom and crash of applause.""Antonio,it carries me clear out of myself just to hear you tell it;it must have been perfectly splendid.If I live,I'll see a bull-fight yet before I die.Did they kill him?""Oh yes;that is what the bull is for.They tired him out,and got him at last.He kept rushing the matador,who always slipped smartly and gracefully aside in time,waiting for a sure chance;and at last it came;the bull made a deadly plunge for him -was avoided neatly,and as he sped by,the long sword glided silently into him,between left shoulder and spine -in and in,to the hilt.

He crumpled down,dying."

"Ah,Antonio,it IS the noblest sport that ever was.I would give a year of my life to see it.Is the bull always killed?""Yes.Sometimes a bull is timid,finding himself in so strange a place,and he stands trembling,or tries to retreat.Then everybody despises him for his cowardice and wants him punished and made ridiculous;so they hough him from behind,and it is the funniest thing in the world to see him hobbling around on his severed legs;the whole vast house goes into hurricanes of laughter over it;I have laughed till the tears ran down my cheeks to see it.When he has furnished all the sport he can,he is not any longer useful,and is killed.""Well,it is perfectly grand,Antonio,perfectly beautiful.

Burning a nigger don't begin."