BULL-FIGHTS, although we are told they are condemned by the priests, are still the fashion in Spain. They are the national fiesta, and to see the Spanish public in their natural characteristics one must go to these tumultuous scenes, as the "intelligent foreigner" is supposed to go to the Derby to comprehend the nature of the free-born Briton. The best bull-fights [34] are to be seen at Seville, that favoured city having the first pick of the noble bulls which are bred only in AndaluÇia.

The season commences on the first Sunday after Lent, and, weather permitting, a funcion comes off each succeeding Sunday. During the intense heat of Midsummer there is an interval, but the sports are resumed at the end of August, continuing to the latter part of October, after which period the cold weather seems to exercise a depressing influence on the energy of the animal, preventing the full fury of the bullish nature from being aroused, and so renders this hero of the Spanish arena incapable of showing fight. The expense of each corrida is about £400 in the larger cities.

The spiritual welfare of the bull-fighters is always provided for at each funcion. Behind the scenes an altar is erected with burning candles, and a priest is ever in waiting to shrive any wounded man who may be carried dying out of the ring.

Common as may be descriptions of bull-fights to the world at large, we believe a corrida, which we had an opportunity of witnessing, has never been described before. It was a fight between an elephant and four bulls. The proprietor of the former animal was a Frenchman, who, inspired with the idea that such a novel combat would reinvigorate the palling taste of the public for scenes of slaughter, had bought an elephant, and, at an enormous outlay in loaves of bread and hay, not to speak of fresh water, was conducting him through the Spanish dominions with a challenge to all comers, in the way of bulls, to mortal combat—just as gentlemen of sporting tastes, with tight trousers, fur caps, and mufflers, go from place to place in England with a bull-terrier, backing him to kill so many rats a day.

We soon found our way, along with a babbling crowd, to the great white amphitheatre without the city, and seated ourselves on one of the benches which sloped up from the arena. The spectators consisted of the usual motley garlic-smelling multitude. All were smoking cigarillos, and, with flashing eyes awaited the commencement of the exciting spectacle. Within the circle below, and opposite to the doors which admit the bull, stood a noble elephant with long white tusks. A bright red cloth was thrown across his back, and while his small eyes seemed to survey, with a mild expression, the scene before him, he employed his time in breaking up loaves of bread, which, with the aid of his trunk, he deposited safely in his huge body—an operation which he performed apparently with much calm enjoyment.

The people of Majorca had evidently never seen an elephant before, and many were their speculations as to the nature and characteristics of the animal. One pretty young woman, with a rebosiÑo, lace mittens, and night-black tresses, who was sitting next to us, had but very confused notions as to which was the trunk and which the tail of the strange creature at which she looked with eyes flashing with wonder and curiosity. An excited youth cried out directly he saw it, "Caramba! why, the beast has got two tails!"

When the large circle within the walls was filled with the swaying crowd, and while the buzz of expectation hummed around, the blast of a trumpet was suddenly heard, and, with a loud bang, the wooden gates flew open, and in cantered, with lashing tail and glowing eye, the heavy form of the bull. For a moment he arrested his course, and looked round as if for an enemy, at the same time pawing the ground impatiently. Almost immediately he caught sight of the strange beast on the opposite side of the ring, dressed in the hated red cloth, quietly munching his loaves of bread. Greek had now met Greek, and fierce was expected to be the tug of war. As quick as lightning the levelled horns went down, and the bull rushed in full career upon the elephant. The struggle was short, for in three seconds the bull fell dead upon the sand, pierced completely through the chest to his heart, having, in the fury of his onset, impaled himself upon the long sharp tusks of his mighty foe.

The elephant, upon seeing the bull enter, simply kept his small eyes fixed upon him, and stood firm and fast on his four great pillars of legs, like some strong castle from which his tusks protruded like spears. The shock of his meeting with the bull came with a crash that made the very walls vibrate sensibly; and after the short but fearful efforts of the latter, which had no more effect upon his opponent than a wave upon a rock, the body of the assailant was hurled back, pierced by those formidable weapons of offence with which nature has endowed the elephant. After rebounding from the force with which he was hurled back, the bull rolled over and settled in a broad lake of blood.

Bravo, elefante! was the shout which rose enthusiastically from a thousand throats to congratulate the elephant on the victory which he had obtained. That peaceful but formidable animal, unmindful of their applause, resumed the operation in which he had been interrupted, applying himself again to the consumption of his loaves as unconcernedly as if he had merely knocked off some troublesome fly.

From this passage of arms the enormous strength and weight of the greatest beast of creation could in a moment be discerned. So firmly, so steadily did he maintain his position that he scarcely moved as the bull, vast in his own proportions, threw himself upon his opponent with all the impetus with which rage and fury could inspire him. The amount of exertion which the elephant expended in the affair appeared to the onlookers to be wonderfully small. In galloped the gaudy mules, and, as they wheeled gaily round, the iron hook at their heels was adjusted, and the gory carcase was in an instant swept away from the arena.

Another bull was then admitted. After a pause he perceived his opponent, and, with the blind rage of his nature, rushed furiously at him. A cloud of dust rose in the air at the place where the two beasts met, and a loud bellowing was heard to issue from it. A struggle, as of giants, continued for a few seconds. When, at last, the spectators succeeded in perceiving what had taken place, it was seen that the tusk of the elephant had entered into the eye of the bull, and had become fixed for a moment in the skull. The rage of the maddened beast was fearful to behold as he rolled and fell. Leaping from the ground he dashed his two fore-feet violently against the elephant's forehead, but the hard substance of his skull remained uninjured. The scene was, in fact, so horrid—though one's gaze was kept fixed upon it as by a spell—that it will not admit of minute description.

It was a relief when the fearful contest was brought to an end. One blow of the elephant's foot, which descended with a loud thud, beat in the chest of the martyred bull; and, as the agonised brute reeled sobbing to earth, his enormous enemy dropped upon him in a kneeling posture and simply crushed him to death. Another victory! Bravo, elefante! was again shouted with more enthusiasm than before. Fresh sand was thrown upon the bloody arena, and the surviving monster, unhurt save by a few light flesh wounds here and there, stood once again gloomily aside, swinging his proboscis slowly to and fro, or blowing up the sand into little eddies as he quietly smelt with it along the ground. Notwithstanding the horrors of the spectacle we have, as yet, only partially described, the accessories were really brilliant. Crowds of beautiful ladies applauded the successful combatant. Fans were waving in all directions, and the dazzling rays of the sun were reflected by flashing jewels and laughing eyes.

While the hubbub of excited voices mingled with the cries of water-sellers, another blast of the trumpet pealed out, and, in a moment, a gigantic bull rushed across the ring. As if descrying by instinct the destroyer of his companions, he dashed impetuously upon the elephant, with such blind ferocity that horns and tusks were instantaneously locked together. The two beasts swayed to and fro in the centre of the arena. The bull, making a violent effort to free himself, plunged suddenly upwards, and the point of his horn entered the lower jaw of his enemy. This was, apparently, the first time that the elephant had experienced any sensation of pain, his previous wounds having been but scratches, and disregarded in the heat of combat. But now the fury of the enormous animal seemed fully aroused, and, giving forth from his tossing snout a trumpeting sound, fierce, wild, and piercing, he shook off the bull and trotted ponderously round the ring.

The panting bull, although enfeebled by exertion and dropping gore from a great gash in his chest, stood still without flinching in the path of the elephant as he approached him, butting down his long horns to receive the attack. But it was seen that the small eyes of the elephant gleamed with a red and dangerous light from beneath the broad bald brow, and, in a moment, the long proboscis, like a writhing serpent, was enfolded round the neck and head of the bull, dragging him down with a crash upon the bloody sand. The gigantic brute then fell on his knees, full upon the upturned side of his prostrate foe, who was actually crushed to death. While the ribs were still heard cracking under the weight of the elephant, the roar of the human multitude mingled fearfully with the victorious trumpeting of the vengeful monster.

The following morning we started at dawn straight across the island to the town of ArtÁ, situated on the eastern coast, forty-five miles from Palma. We were accompanied by a guide, who had with him a supply of blue-lights, roman-candles, and other combustibles, with which the famous stalactite caves of ArtÁ were to be lit up for our gratification. We hired a little open carriage and a couple of small, wiry horses, which carried us over the well-made road with considerable alacrity.

In the afternoon we reached Manacor, which, next to Palma, is the largest town in Majorca, having a population of about 12,600. It is a very clean town, rather glaring in appearance, from the liberal use of whitewash. In external aspect it is a cross between the Spanish and Oriental, but, otherwise, is remarkable for nothing in particular.

Late at night we arrived at the little town of ArtÁ, and jolted over the rather undulating pavement of its streets. The sensation was by no means agreeable, though, fortunately, it was of short duration, and, therefore, was tolerated with greater patience. We slept at the smallest and most primitive of posadas imaginable! The style of architecture it would be impossible to determine, though the building was very simple in structure. It consisted of a heap of bricks, mortar, dried mud, whitewash, and a board or two, with little holes scooped in the edifice, helping to form the apartments. The supply of fresh air was not so deficient as usual; for in the sleeping-rooms window-frames were apparently regarded as superfluous luxuries.

After a frugal meal, we attempted to enjoy a little slumber; but it proved to be equally frugal in amount and quality. As early as it was possible for cocks to favour each other with their shrill responses, there was a perfect concert of cock-crowing around the house, and, we believe, on the top of it too. The ornithological entertainment began and was kept up with great spirit until our guide knocked at our door to go through the very unnecessary ceremony of calling us. It is true we were supposed to be enjoying our repose in a posada, or "place of repose," but the noises that commenced with the first dawn of morning were so numerous and so loud as effectually to murder sleep.

We started in the early morning, after a refreshing breakfast of red mud, called chocolate, some black bread, and no butter. After walking across fresh prairie lands, green with sprouting corn, and over sandy tracts interspersed with aloes and the universal olive, we began to ascend the steep pathway at the foot of the mountains covered with dark pine trees, dwarf oak, and arbutus, which led to the mouth of the cave. The cave is hewn out of a vast mass of limestone, of which the hills in this neighbourhood are composed. We toiled upwards, following the steps of our guide, who, as well as a little boy whom he had pressed into his service by the way, was laden with a perfect fagot of port-fires, blue lights, and other combustibles.

Before us was a magnificent natural arch, the vaulted roof of which rose to the height of a hundred and forty feet. By this vestibule of nature we approached the darkening galleries tunnelled in the rock, and leading to those mysterious caverns which concealed so much that was beautiful in the deep bowels of the mountains. As we advanced, the obscurity deepened, and we had to light our torches. Happening to look back, we perceived the bright archway of light at the entrance diminished into a luminous speck in the distance. Upon reaching a level space, at the foot of a rude hewn staircase, we found ourselves in the middle of a splendid hall or vaulted chamber, in which the uncertain gleam of the torch fell faintly upon tall uncouth objects, apparently white, though rather dim in hue, standing at intervals. Without any extravagant exercise of the imagination, one might have pictured to himself this chamber as the Pit of Acheron, and these gaunt shapes as the petrified forms of those doomed to imprisonment in its gloomy recesses.

The great pillars which adorn this noble hall are calcareous deposits, formed by the everlasting droppings from the percolated roof above. We picked our way further downwards over a wooden staircase, with the natural roof rising over us into arch after arch of great beauty, but irregular form. The guide, accompanied by the boy moving on in front with blazing torches, looked like some demon with his attendant imp luring us spell-bound into some vast and fatal labyrinth. One great hall in which we found ourselves was noble and grand in appearance. In the middle of the gloom loomed masses of fretted white stalactite, rising upward in spiral forms, while some tall, slender objects appeared like the graceful stems of palm-trees capped with feathery plumage. These were formed by the pillars, as they joined the roof, being pushed backwards and spread out like boughs of drooping foliage.

In another chamber called the Hall of the Virgin, a marvellous effect was produced. In the middle of the spacious concave we dimly perceived some lofty object of a grey and misty hue. "Momento," said the guide, "don't move;" and in another instant a blue light was kindled. No words can describe the effect that was instantaneously produced. The walls shone like crystal of dazzling brilliancy. The roof was like a firmament ablaze with a million stars. The numerous columns that supported it were adorned with a profusion of filigree work which had some resemblance to Gothic tracery. A lofty marble-like pedestal, apparently supporting a graceful female figure which, amidst many folds of gauzy drapery of the most brilliant whiteness was caressing a sleeping infant, composed a group at once beautiful, majestic, and serene.

In the Hall of the Organ there is a great number of airy white pillarets collected in a mass, which in the gloom natural to these subterranean halls have some resemblance to the pipes of an organ. Wandering about in passages that appeared almost like aisles in nature's temple, we anticipated every moment a burst of mysterious melody in harmony with the wonderful character of a place so rarely seen by human eye.

The name of the Hall of the Curtain is sufficiently suggestive of what is to be seen in the chamber so designated. A wall of dazzling white stone is of such airy texture that it seems in the fitful glare of the torches to be driven backwards and forwards by the wind. So, in the Hall of the Banners, a flag appears to be drooping from its staff and occasionally waving in the breeze. We know it is only a delusion, but for the moment it is wonderfully like reality. As we followed our guide in these awful caverns by stairway and corridor, through hall and gallery, we could almost imagine that we were pacing the courts of some buried palace of some long-forgotten Titan race.

In a magnificent vault called the Hall of the Theatre, the tiers of boxes and rows of benches have a startling resemblance to reality. Had spectators equally ghostly in appearance dropped in one by one, or rushed forward in a mob, we could scarcely have been more amazed. The secret processes of nature, the works of unrivalled beauty which it has produced in these deep recesses, are truly marvellous beyond all conception.

As we walked about the caves we were constantly tripped in our path by what seemed to be innumerable petrified oranges cut into halves, and adhering to the ground. On inspection these turned out to be stalagmites in embryo, coagulations of the lime-droppings from the roof, from which the water had not evaporated. They are of the brightest orange colour, a hue which is due to the presence of iron in solution. By the guide they were called "poached eggs."

We bade farewell to those realms of splendour with feelings we should vainly attempt to define. Among the many objects of interest we have visited in different lands, we never saw anything that made a deeper impression on our minds than these silent galleries. Even the thought that so few of our countrymen had ever visited, or even heard of them, tended to make us explore them with more than usual interest. The recollection of the wonders of nature hidden from all the world down in the caves of ArtÁ nothing can efface from our minds, though probably it may never be our fortune again to visit them.

We had been advised to visit the caves usque ad nauseam, but had paid little attention to the counsels of the local admirer. We had listened to them as the traveller does to the exaggerated accounts of the caves of Skye or Fingal given by the natives. When the caves of ArtÁ, however, burst upon our vision, their grandeur and novelty were so startling that we were overwhelmed with astonishment and awe. When there are so many people eager after new sensations, we would ask, why, in the name of all that is beautiful, pure, and majestic, do they not go to Majorca as well as to Homburg? Access to the island is easy enough. There are two lines of steamboats to and fro—one from Valencia, the other from Barcelona. The inhabitants are civil and hospitable to a degree. The hotels, in this respect unlike those of Spain, are both clean and comfortable. The scenery, as we have shown, is so magnificent that it cannot be surpassed in Europe, and there are several places in the island of great historical interest.