Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1891-01-18

side, with a snort and below, the bull
rushes in. As he enters the arena gay
rosette with streamers is pinned to his back,
over the hips, by barbed dart, and in-
furiated by the dart he dashes into the little
crowd opposite. In a twinkling the mata-
| dores are safely over the fence, and be
charges the horsemen one after the other,
but the long pixies hold him of. The mata-
dores venture back into the arena, faunt
their flaming mantles before him and worry
| him with darts. His fury increases, the
awkward pike fails to ward him of, and in
| q moment
His Horn is Buried
in the shoulder of one of the trembling
horses. The crowd yells with delight The
red mantles are flung in his very face and be
turns to scatter his tormentors. But look,
he dashes suddenly aside and plunges his
horn into the bowels of the other horse;
surely they will lead the poor wounded
things away and end their misery; but no
horriblel the staggering beast. his entrails
dragging in the sand of the arena, is beaten
and dubbed toward the infuriated bull.
And the absurdity of it all is, that so far
the horses are taking Ill the risks; for now
they are both down, and as they fall, the
brave toreadores step gaily off and Chamber
over the fence into safety, while the bulls
horn is still buried in the quivering horse.
AT least, their misery is now ended, and
you feel that you could see their riders gored
with far better grace.
All this has taken but few moments,
and the bull is fresh as when he entered the
arena. Sharp-pointed swords are now
brought in, and the real work of the mata-
dores begins. The red mantles are again
faunted, and behind them now are the
bright blades; as the bull comes on, a skill
full thrust will reach his heart. But the
matadore misses his aim, he is down, the
crowd rises and sways, their voices drowned
by the blare of trumpets; the bull stands
over him with lowered head, and in an in
slant he will be pinned to the ground! But
no, his comrades run to his relief, another
red mantle diverts the bull, and the fallen
hero jumps up and gets over the fence with
only his corslet ripped.
The Final Scenes.
The next thrust is more skillful and the
bull sinks to the ground. Gsyest music
plays; prancing horses, bedecked with
streamers, are hitched TO the expiring bull
and mangled horses and draw them gaily a
few times around and out of the arena.
But come away; there will only be repeti-
tion of these sickening sights. Five more
bulls must wreak their fury on wornout
horses, only to be themselves dragged out at
last, before the sand of the arena will be red
enough to satisfy this bowling mobl And
what sense is there in it all? What sport,
even if hardened to the cruelty? In the old
days of Spain, when trained and eager
horses were used, horses that entered into
the spirit of the combat and could meet the
rushes of the bull, even vaulring over him
if need be, it is conceivable that
men Injured to cruelty could watch
such a contest with intense interest;
but here it is all different. Wornout, almost
worthless, horses, that never saw bull with
out yoke, are bought up for the purpose,
brought in blindfolded, and the whole affair
is childish in the extreme, amounting sim
ply to awkward, bungling butchery.
AS you leave the disgraceful scene your
passport attains to increased respect In your
estimation, and you are profoundly grateful
that your citizenship is in land where such
useless cruelty, so degrading a spectacle,
would not be tolerated for moment.
There are many other features of Cuban
life and Cuban customs that intensity this
feeling, and much might be said of her re-
lations with Spain. and the oppression she
endures from the mother country, but all
these in no way interfere with the enjoy
ment and interest of winter week in her
summer cline. W.