pointed hat, with velvet band and
trimmings--the genuine melodramatic castor--protects head and face from
the sun; a jacket, frequently of sheepskin, overalls, often of a
half-military cut and colour, and a red sash round the waist, compose
the habitual attire of Spanish wayfarers. Such a dress is not usual out
of Spain, and to French and English imaginations does not suggest the
idea of domestic habits and regular tax-paying. And when the cavaliers
thus accoutred possess olive or chocolate complexions, with dark
flashing eyes and a considerable amount of beard, and are elevated upon
demi-pique saddles, whose holsters may or may not contain "pistols as
long as my arm," whilst some of their number have perhaps fowling-pieces
slung on their shoulder, it is scarcely surprising if the English
Cockney or Parisian _badaud_ mistakes them for the banditti whom he has
dreamed about ever since he crossed the Bidassoa or landed at Cadiz. And
upon encounters of this kind, and incidents of very little more gravity,
repeated, distorted, and hugely exaggerated, are founded five-sixths of
the robber stories to which poor Spain is indebted for its popular
reputation of a country of cut-throats and highwaymen.

Amongst the measures adopted for the extirpation of banditti, was the
establishment of the _guardias civiles_, a species of gendarmerie,
dressed upon the French model, and who, from their stations in towns,
patrol the roads and wander about the country in the same prying and
important style observable amongst their brethren of the cocked hat
north of the Pyrenees. Spaniards have a sneaking regard for bold
robbers, whom they look upon as half-brothers of the contrabandist--that
popular hero of the Peninsula: they have also an innate dislike of
policemen, and a still stronger one for every thing French. They have
bestowed upon the Frenchified _guardias_ the appellations of
_polizones_,--a word borrowed from their neighbours,--and of _hijos de
Luis Felipe_, sons of Louis Philippe. "Spaniards," saith Richard Ford,
"are full of dry humour;" he might have added, and of sharp wit. Nothing
escapes them: they are ever ready with a sarcasm on public men and
passing events, and when offended, especially when their pride is hurt,
they become savage in their satire. When it was attempted to force Count
Trapani upon Spain as a husband for the Queen, the indignation of the
people burst out in innumerable jokes and current allusions, any thing
bu