unmusical and melancholy; but such is the true type of Oriental _melody_, as it is called. The same absence of thought which is shown in England by whistling is displayed in Spain by singing. “_Quien canta sus males espanta:_” he who sings frightens away ills, a philosophic consolation in travel as old and as classical as Virgil:--“Cantantes licet usque, minus via tædet, camus,” which may be thus translated for the benefit of country gentlemen:-- If we join in doleful chorus, The dull highway will much less bore us. The Spanish muleteer is a fine fellow; he is intelligent, active, and enduring; he braves hunger and thirst, heat and cold, mud and dust; he works as hard as his cattle, never robs or is robbed; and while his betters in this land put off everything till to-morrow except bankruptcy, he is punctual and honest, his frame is wiry and sinewy, his costume peculiar; many are the leagues and long, which we have ridden in his caravan, and longer his robber yarns, to which we paid no attention; and it must be admitted that these cavalcades are truly national and picturesque. Mingled with droves of mules and mounted horsemen, the zig-zag lines come threading down the mountain defiles, now tracking through the aromatic brushwood, now concealed amid rocks and olive-trees, now emerging bright and glittering into the sunshine, giving life and movement to the lonely nature, and breaking the usual stillness by the tinkle of the bell and the sad ditty of the muleteer--sounds which, though unmusical in themselves, are in keeping with the scene, and associated with wild Spanish rambles, just as the harsh whetting of the scythe is mixed up with the sweet spring and newly-mown hay-meadow. [Sidenote: COSTUME OF THE MARAGATOS.]