and hardily:  his alforjas of coarse cloth hold his scanty stock of provisions; a leathern bottle, hanging at his saddle-bow, contains wine or water, for a supply across barren mountains and thirsty plains.  A mule-cloth spread upon the ground, is his bed at night, and his pack-saddle is his pillow.  His low, but clean-limbed and sinewy form betokens strength; his complexion is dark and sunburnt; his eye resolute, but quiet in its expression, except when kindled by sudden emotion; his demeanour is frank, manly, and courteous, and he never passes you without a grave salutation:  ‘Dios guarde a usted!’ ’Va usted con Dios, Caballero!’ ‘God guard you!  God be with you, Cavalier!’

“As these men have often their whole fortune at stake upon the burthen of their mule, they have their weapons at hand, slung to their saddles, and ready to be snatched out for desperate defence.  But their united numbers render them secure against petty bands of marauders, and the solitary bandolero, armed to the teeth, and mounted on his Andalusian steed, hovers about them, like a pirate about a merchant convoy, without daring to make an assault.

“The Spanish muleteer has an inexhaustible stock of songs and ballads, with which to beguile his incessant wayfaring.  The airs are rude and simple, consisting of but few inflexions.  These he chants forth with a loud voice, and long, drawling cadence, seated sideways on his mule, who seems to listen with infinite gravity, and to keep time, with his paces, to the tune.  The couplets thus chanted, are often old traditional romances about the Moors, or some legend of a saint, or some love-ditty; or what is still more frequent, some ballad about a bold contrabandista, or hardy bandolero, for the smuggler and the robber are poetical heroes among the common people of Spain.  Often the song of the muleteer is composed at the instant, and relates to some local scenes or some incident of the journey.  This talent of singing and improvising is frequent in Spain, and is said to have been inherited from the Moors.  There is something wildly pleasing in listening to these ditties among the rude and lonely scenes that they illustrate; accompanied, as they are, by the occasional jingle of the mule-bell.

“It has a most picturesque effect also to meet a train of muleteers in some mountain-pass.  First you hear the bells of the leading mules, breaking with their simple melody the stillness of the airy height; or, perhaps, the voice of the muleteer admonishing some tardy or wandering animal, or chanting, at the full stretch of his lungs, some traditionary ballad.  At length you see the mules slowly winding along the cragged defile, sometimes descending precipitous cliffs, so as to present themselves in full relief against the sky, sometimes toiling up the deep arid chasms below you.  As they approach, you descry their gay decorations of worsted tufts, tassels, and saddle-cloths, while, as they pass by, the ever-ready trabuco slung behind the packs and saddles, gives a hint of the insecurity of the road.