Mules are not only ridden; they are harnessed to many different kinds of vehicles. The market-cart is not much more than a flat platform on wheels, with a kind of bridge raised over the middle on which two people can sit. The timber-carts that carry the logs from the forests to the sea are provided with huge wooden brakes. To put on the brake, a man hangs on to a lever with all his weight. Very often, when the mule refuses to halt at the word of command, the driver applies the brake as tightly as possible, and so forces the animal to stop. He finds this an easier method than that of tugging at the reins, for the mouth of the mule is hard, and his temper stubborn. Mules are employed to pull the heavy roller that is used in mending the roads, for in this land steam-rollers are not known. Mules are also used to draw the diligence, or omnibus. Railways are very few and far between, and the omnibus is well patronized for journeys that are beyond a walking distance. The place of the diligence will some day be taken by the motor-bus. Already there is one automobile running between Ajaccio and some of the coast towns. Perhaps the people will not be so very sorry when the diligence is done away with entirely, for it is a dirty, lumbering vehicle, though, like all the dirty things in Corsica, exceedingly quaint and picturesque. In front there is a little space shut off for the first-class passengers, of whom not more than three can be carried. The back part is like an ordinary omnibus, but it rarely holds more than six people. The windows are always closed to keep out the draught. The travellers are half stifled with the heat, and almost choked with the dust. They sit with their heads poked down between their shoulders and their knees drawn up to their chins to avoid banging their heads against the roof. The mules tear up and down the mountain-sides with truly remarkable speed, and as the lumbering old coach sways from side to side, the stranger expects every moment to see it topple over into the valley below. In the field on the other side of that thick cactus hedge the mules are pulling a plough. Though three mules will drag a heavy diligence up the side of the mountain, it is no uncommon thing to find a dozen or more of them yoked to the same plough. They take their time over this kind of work, and do not fly about as they do on the roads. The peasants walk slowly after them, guiding either the plough or the mules, quite content to go at a snail’s pace. The Corsican farmers are not experts. Their vines are badly tended, their seed-potatoes are not good, and their breeds of sheep and goats are very poor. Of late years many of them have taken to growing citrons, which, in a good year, yield them a considerable profit; but owing to frosts that often come at inconvenient times and destroy the fruit, citron-growing is rather a risky occupation.