sticks" in his hand, is a superb banderillero; so is Fuentes. These, of course, are matadores, but the public sometimes shout for the principals to banderillear a single bull, generally the fifth, and the maestros not infrequently concede the favour. The graceful perfection with which the two diestros in question and a few others execute the suerte, shows that they have never forgotten the lessons they learned by heart in earlier and humbler days. However, although the merit of any efficient banderillero is always applauded, his pay, in absolute disproportion to that of the matador, seldom exceeds a couple of hundred pesetas per corrida.

The picadores appear to run the greatest risk of all. They have a long way to fall, and are attacked by the bull while he is quite fresh, added to which, if they tumble al descubierto, on the side of the barrier furthest from it and nearest to the bull, they are in a bad plight, for a metal case is upon their leg, so that they are powerless to rise without assistance. Nevertheless, a picador is seldom killed outright, unless, which rarely happens, his head be cleanly dashed against the barrier. His body is padded

like those of Tweedledum and Tweedledee when they made ready for the duel in the forest, and frequent tumbles would seem to have converted him into a veritable pachyderm. He trusts, then, to his lucky star, if he have one, and looks about for the softest spot to fall on. If he bestrides his Rosinante firmly, sticks out his vara far enough, and marches straight upon his enemy, without indulging in the vice which is known as cuarteando, he has done all that is expected of him.

The banderillero must be cool, alert, patient, quick of eye and light of heel; the matador all this and more besides. Not only must he thoroughly understand the duties of his cuadrilla in order to capably direct their work-although nowadays there is scarcely any competent director de la lidia, with the exception of Mazzantini-but his judgment must be ripe and accurate, his nerve unflinching. He must be impervious to the animadversions of the multitude, from whom he is sure to hear, upon an "off day," a deal of ribald criticism and insolent censure. Nothing, however aggravating, must put him out of temper. He must trust implicitly to his experience of the dangerous beasts he has to kill. He must make his "passes" close to his enemy without shifting his feet, which is always ugly, and prone to be interpreted as asco or "funk." He must pass in rigid accordance with the precepts of the game, employing certain " passes to correspond with certain indications on the part of the bull, and when he has worked the latter to a proper posture, squarely planted (cuadrado), exactly facing him, with head at a suitable elevation, and each pair of feet planted closely together, he must drive the estoque home at the proper spot, and provide for his own exit. Under certain contingencies he must be ready to kill the bull recibiendo, or aguantando, effective strokes, but always dangerous and crucial. If he can do all this, and do it well and often, he is a great espada.

The magnificent costume of a matador de alternativa adds very considerably to the brilliance of the spectacle. His glittering attire costs him

between eight and fifteen hundred pesetas, and consists of the black, curly cap or montera; jacket, waistcoat, and breeches, all three elaborately worked, and heavily loaded with flashing bobbins of gold thread; white embroidered shirt, with narrow wristbands and low collar, long, narrow tie, silk sash, two pairs of stockings, and heelless runningshoes. All this, together with the gorgeous capote de paseo or "parade cloak," completes the outward matador.

Just as though he were some theatrical artiste, he is dressed by his criado, who puts him through the lengthy process of drawing on two pairs of tightfitting stockings, the under pair of white cotton, the upper of flesh-coloured silk; then winding him round and round in his sash-seven times is the approved number-and "doing his hair," that is, attaching to the natural coleta or diminutive pigtail twisted up at the back of the head, the mushroom-shaped bunch of black silk known as the moño.

Thus equipped, he smokes a cigarette or two, chats with his friends, and awaits the carriagewheels and the fateful arena.

In point of social status the bullfighters as a class have lost ground, though their trade (or is it a profession?) is just as popular as ever. The toreros de rumbo, who loaded themselves with diamonds, and basked in the adulatory smiles of dukes and duchesses, are a reminiscence of the past. The torero of to-day is commonly a respectable soul enough, associating by preference with his equals. He offends nobody so long as nobody

offends him, and makes as good a husband, father, and friend as any other citizen, while towards such of his compañeros as are sick or needy, he is generous

almost to excess.

A familiar exception to the usual run of unlettered toreros is Luis Mazzantini y Eguía. Here is—I am about to use a detestable word, but the English language has no better for the purpose-a gentleman. In private life he drops the bullfighter altogether, brushes his coleta onto his coleta onto the top of his head, so that his hat shall cover it, or his height conceal it (for he is well over the six-foot mark), and abjures the telltale short jacket and tight trousers which constitute the mufti of the normal torero. His education and tastes are unexceptionable. He is well-read, an intelligent musical critic, and a patron a patron of the fine arts generally. The very furnishing of his study betrays innate refinement and the instincts of a (here it is again!) gentleman. Pictures, and statuettes, and photographs of non-torero friends, but nothing suggestive of shop; never a bull's head stuffed, not a single framed programme of a famous corrida, no gory banderillas on the wall, or flaming moñas; only the landlord and man of means and culture, quietly busy with his books and correspondence. In aid of others less affluent or fortunate than himself his purse is always open, and the name of Luis Mazzantini must prove a grateful memory to many of his poor and suffering countrymen.

Guerrita, the greatest classic of the modern taurine art, is quite a different type, both mentally and physically. He is shorter of stature than