Having been built at two different periods (viz. the close of the 11th and the middle of the 14th centuries), the architecture presents two distinct styles, which in parts, are particularly incongruous. The organ and pulpit combined, which are on the left of the entrance, constitute a very handsome work of the "Renaissance" period, and are most unique. On the opposite side of the building a crocodile—or the remains of one—hangs from the wall, doubtless brought, as M. Joanne suggests, from some Egyptian crusade; but the "church" puts a very different complexion on the subject, as will be seen from the following, which—with all its faults—will be, we trust, pardoned, since it issues from the mouth of so badly-treated a reptile as

"THE CROCODILE OF ST. BERTRAND."

A crocodile truly, there's no one could doubt, On taking a look at my skin: It's as dry and as tough as a petrified clout,[1] Though, alas! there is nothing within.

I've been here on this wall for a jolly long time, And the "cronies" a legend will tell Of the wonderful things, void of reason and rhyme, That during my lifetime befell.

They'll tell you I lived in "this" beautiful vale, And found in the river a home; While even the bravest would start and turn pale, If they chanced in my pathway to roam.

They'll tell how I swallow'd the babies and lambs, And harassed the cows in the mead; And such slander completely my character damns, While I've no one to help me to plead.

And they'll whine how I met the great Bertrand himself, The miracle-worker and saint. But those women will tell any "walkers" for pelf, And swear I'm all black—when I ain't.

Yes! they actually say that St. Bertrand came by, And lifted his ivory stick, Then dealt me a terrible blow in the eye, Which levell'd me flat as a brick.

But it's false! Just as false as that "here" I was brought

On the back of that wonderful man.

But the crones just repeat what the "priesthood" have taught,

And it's part of a regular plan.

Why, believe me, they caught me afloat on the Nile

As my dinner I just had begun;

I was chased by a host of the picked "rank and file,"

And to them my destruction seem'd fun.

And when I was dead they anointed my bones,

And placed me up here on the wall;

But that organ at first was so loud in its tones,

Of rest I found nothing at all.

A crocodile truly. You've heard my sad tale,

And I say that such lies are a sin;

While the protests I make, seeming nought to avail,

Are enough to make any one thin!

[Footnote 1: This is a Yorkshire word, meaning "cloth."]



Turning away from this "priestly" monument to St. Bertrand's miraculous powers, we passed along the side of the remarkable choir stalls—which take up the greater part of the edifice—and turned inside at an opening, near the high altar. The latter, decorated with the ordinary display of 19th century tinsel, does not call for much comment, but in a passage close behind it stands the mausoleum of St. Bertrand, built in 1432. The stalls were erected in the 16th century, and are worthy of much attention.

The rood loft, which is nearest the entrance to the cathedral, is ornamented with figures of the Apostles and Saints, and the exterior panels running along both sides, and divided by small choicely-carved columns, represent a diversity of figures; none, however, seeming to bear much, if at all, on religion. In the interior, besides the throne, there is a remarkable "tree of Jesse "—near the first stall on the right hand—which we thought was well done; but what with the different figures above each stall, the arabesques uniting them, and the less minute work under each seat, there was no lack of carving to be seen; and even if it was not all of the highest order, the general effect was strikingly good. It is worth noting that the cathedral, owing to some great error, was built facing north instead of west, and that consequently the east side is on the left of the entrance. Half-way up this side is the small chapel of Notre Dame de Pitie, in which the fine marble tomb of Hugues de Chatillon lies. The sculpture is especially fine, though the beauty is somewhat marred by names scratched with a pin or written in pencil, wherever sufficient level space is afforded. Since English people as a rule are credited with being by far the most numerous of this class of travelling desecraters, it was at least a satisfaction to notice that most of the individuals, who had chosen this objectionable—though probably the only—method of handing their names down to posterity, were French. This tomb was only erected in the 15th century, although the good bishop died in 1352, the same year in which the edifice was finished.

Several relics may be seen in the sacristy, and amongst them is the wonderful ivory rod with which the great St. Bertrand is supposed to have slain the much-maligned crocodile.

Close to the entrance to the sacristy a door leads into the cloisters, where the scene of ruin and desolation is painfully evident. In the portion nearest the church, which is roofed over, several curious sarcophagi may be seen; the rest is a series of pillars and arches from which the roof has long vanished. In the photographs (which may be bought at the inn) there is some appearance of order even in the midst of the decay, but this was probably carefully effected prior to the artist's visit; for when we were there the whole space was overgrown completely with weeds, among which a rose-bush and a few other flowers struggled to bloom, untended and apparently unthought of.

Passing again through the cathedral, whose windows are well worthy of mention, we made a detour round the town, and then started for Montrejeau.

The road does not pass through such charming country as we had seen in the morning, but at times there are some pleasing little bits. At one spot, where a grove of trees skirted the way, we noticed a large herd of swine, watched over by a solitary and silent female, to whom they appeared to give no trouble, never seeming to stray far.

Going at a fairly fast pace, we only took forty-five minutes to reach the ancient town of Mons Regalis, now completely modernised into Montrejeau. The advancing years have not only altered it in name, for, with the exception of the ruins of a twelfth-century castle, there is nothing to indicate its mediaeval origin; and as to the old-world look that is so pleasant to meet with, but now so rare, this town of the "Royal Mount" has no trace of it. The "buffet" at the station, however, can be recommended, although the "lacteal fluid," either in its pure or watered form, is decidedly scarce there. The dinner and coffee are good, and, like most dinners at the stations (always excepting such places as Amiens and Tours), moderate, when taken at the table d'hote.

We had plenty of time for a meal before the train destined to carry us on to Pau was due, but in spite of that, through the boorishness of the station porters and staff generally, we did not depart without a lively experience.

It is well known that ladies as a rule are wont to travel with numerous small parcels, and there was no exception in our party to this rule, while Mr. Sydney and myself were not without impedimenta as well. In all, there were about a dozen—to put a familiar figure—too small or too fragile to share the dangers of the luggage-van. These, three respective porters promised to bring to the train, but as every porter broke his word, they remained in statu quo. And we may here remark how noticeable it is, that whereas English porters are always on the alert to earn a few coppers, their French representatives will rarely if ever help with anything but the registered luggage (which of course is in the company's charge), while a higher official, such as you would never ask in England, will occasionally assist—if desired to do so with politeness—but only occasionally. It is evident that the French Government reduce the staff to the narrowest limits, and do not intend porters to help in transporting any luggage but that which has been paid for in registration; and on the same principle as armies are organised in South America, for every "porter" there will be two or three superintendents.

To resume.—This perfidy of the porters placed us in a very unenviable position; the train was due to start, the ladies were in the carriage, but the luggage was in a pile at the other side of the station, and Mr. Sydney, thinking all was well, had followed the ladies. I was requested to do likewise, as the train was off; but instead of so doing, launched such a tirade at the head of every official within reach, that they kept the train waiting to return it; at last, seeing I was obdurate, at least half a dozen rushed to the offending pile, collared the various items, and bore them towards our compartment. As the first instalment arrived I got up, and the train started. The rest of the laden officials were ranged a few yards apart, and as our carriage passed, the packages and cloaks were thrown in. The scene they presented when the door was first shut was unique, but very deplorable, and it required the whole of the journey of four and a half hours to Pau, to calm our troubled minds, cool our heated frames, and make us look with equanimity on our experience. It would require years to efface the opinion formed on "French railway station" management; so in that we followed a method often pursued by schoolboys in early life, over the "Pons asinorum," and gave it up.



CHAPTER XII.

EAUX BONNES AND EAUX CHAUDES.

Carriage v. diligence—Early birds—Height of absurdity—Diminutive donkeys—A whitened region—"Crystal clear"—Washerwomen and their gamps—A useful town-hall—A halfway house—Moralising—A much-loved pipe—An historic ruin—A noteworthy strong box—"Ici on rase"—Where are the bears?—Women in gaiters—Picturesque costumes—A lovely road—A "perfect" cure—A spring scene—A billiard-playing priest—A well-placed pavilion—The Valentin and its cascades—Through solid rock—Gaps in the road—A grand scene—Wanted, an artist—A fine torrent—Professional fishers—Lucky guests—Musings—Poor Mr. Tubbins—Bonnes v. Chaudes—Over the Col de Gourzy—Peculiar teams—Guelder roses—Spinning.

Next year, travellers with luggage will probably be able to reach Eaux Bonnes in a much shorter time than now, since the railway ought then to be in working order as far as Laruns; but at the period when this was written, the only choice of conveyances lay between a clumsy diligence and a comfortable carriage.

Very few people would be likely to hesitate between the two, provided they were not travelling alone, and in that case even, they would probably only take the former as an "experience."

The "diligence" which starts from the Hotel de la Poste at Pau has three compartments, for a seat in any of which the respective charges are 8 frs. 80 cents, 7 frs. 70 cents, and 6 frs. 60 cents. The "first-class" seats—which are of course the best—are placed behind the driver, and a large dusty-looking hood shields the passengers from the rain, but not from the dust, nor, since it is black and low, from the heat of the sun. The position therefore, even with ample accommodation, is a trying one, but when tightly packed, and wedged in with luggage to boot, on a warm summer or even spring day, the lot of an individual during the 5-1/2 hours' journey, with only a half-hour's break between, would, like the policeman's, be certainly not "a happy one."

When a party are going it is of course cheaper to take a carriage, which may be had for from 35 to 50 francs to do the trip in one day, or at the rate of 25 francs per diem, taking it for two days or more. As the distance between Pau and either Eaux Bonnes or Eaux Chaudes is 271/2 miles, and the distance of the one watering-place from the other 61/4 miles, the actual mileage from Pau and back again is 611/4 miles, to perform which in one day, and see the two towns as well, is a feat—though often done—hardly to be recommended. At least two days should be given to the task, and we do not think they would be regretted.

The heat in Val d'Ossau during the summer months is very great, and the lumbering old diligence usually runs during the hottest part of the day; we preferred an early start, and by half-past six were on the road, meeting a few people apparently wending their way towards the market, with flowers and vegetables for sale. Crossing the bridge and through Jurancon, where hardly a soul was astir, we sped along the dusty road to Gan (5 miles), at which town—one of the chief centres of the wine district—a road to Oloron branches off to the right. Here the inhabitants were really beginning to bustle; and as it was getting on towards eight o'clock, they were nothing too early, although they may have held a different opinion. At the corner of one of the streets we came upon a team drawing a long cart, which we unanimously christened the "height of absurdity." A pair of 17-hand horses were in the shafts, and in front, attached as a leader, was the smallest of donkeys. Miss Blunt thought it the smallest donkey in the world; but we have met with so many lately in the Pyrenees which were in turn, in her opinion, the smallest she had ever seen, that by this time the smallest donkey might be but little bigger than a rat; this, however, was not the case, as Mr. Sydney will attest.

The valley grew more lovely as we progressed, with the winding Neez stream running with merry music beside the road, and although Mrs. Blunt did not indulge—as on the way to Cauterets—in any raptures of her own, she was quite willing to agree with the rest that the frequent resemblance of the scenery to many of the lovely bits we have in Wales was most pleasantly apparent.

Shortly before reaching the blanched region of the lime-works (71/2 miles), we caught a momentary glimpse of the Pic du Midi d'Ossau (9466 ft.), on which the summer sun had of late so relentlessly played, that the snowy crown had quite disappeared. Rebenac (93/4 miles) was reached at 8.40, and there we crossed the Neez by a stone bridge, the stream then running on our right, and continuing thus for three kilometres farther (11 miles from Pau), when it issues from the Grotto du Neez—only a few yards from the road. From this grotto a great part of the torrent is diverted, being utilised to supply Pau with its pure and sparkling fluid. Half-an-hour after leaving Rebenac we passed through the village of Sevignac, (123/4 miles), and had a splendid view of the Val d'Ossau from the bridge which overlooks Arudy, and which is overlooked in turn by a fine and well-situated house.

We had barely time to appreciate the curious rocks which abound near Arudy, when we passed the road leading off through that town to Oloron, and came in sight of a merry group of washerwomen, whose enormous umbrellas—being unnecessary, since it was perfectly fine—were open in a row, and with their shades of magenta, green, and blue, without mentioning sundry patches of other shades, made a wonderful contrast to the green bushes fringing the river.

At 9.40 we entered Louvie Juzon (16 miles), with its old church and curious belfry-tower, and its "mairie" turned into a school—for the nonce at least; and passing the latter, we crossed the fine bridge over the Gave d'Ossau, on the other side of which the Oloron road leads off through Izeste to the right, and the courtyard of the Hotel des Pyrenees bids us enter and rest.

How gladly the occupants of the diligences descend, for the short while adjudged sufficient, at this customary half-way house, who but themselves can tell? Even we were glad to let the horses have an hour's rest, and to enjoy meanwhile some good hot coffee and chicken. The inn itself was certainly not a paradise; but there were some lovely fields behind it, and in front, across the road, there was an old table and an older seat among the trees, down by the swift-flowing river. A charming place for moralising indeed! None of us, however, were much in the style of the "melancholy Jacques," or, with our eyes on some vigorous fisherman higher up the river, we might have begun:

"And yet it irks us, these bright speckled trout, Being native swimmers in this river, should From their own limpid pools, by gay, false flies Be cruelly decoyed."

Instead of this, however, we returned to the inn, where we saw a worthy count endeavouring to clean a huge meerschaum pipe that he handled with evident fondness, and finding our carriage ready—it being then nearly eleven o'clock—we continued our journey.

It was now that the real Val d'Ossau commenced, and though the drive so far had been much enjoyed, we soon passed into scenery both more fine and more wild. One kilometre from Louvie on the left stands the ancient Chateau de Geloz (161/2 miles) on a small hill, and on another hill beside it—of corresponding size—stands a church. The view here, with the village of Castets behind, the beautiful river below, and the wooded slopes and massive rocks above, was especially charming.

With many lovely fields on either side of us we drove at a smart pace towards Bielle (181/4 miles), and at a quarter-past eleven entered the town, which in bygone days was the capital of Ossau. Here the celebrated Coffre d'Ossau, that contained archives dating from the year 1227, was kept; and it is a noteworthy fact that the presence of the mayors of three towns, besides that of the President of the Valley Council, was necessary before this "strong box" could be opened.

There are many old houses and objects of interest, including some mosaics, to be seen in the town, and among other things that attracted our attention was a large board, painted in the most modern style, with a pair of scissors at one side and an open razor at the other, and the "welcome" information—"Ici on rase" underneath.

The village of Bilheres, situated above Bielle on the slopes of the hill, is not without interest on account of the richness of its copper mines, while during the dry season a track leads from it over the Col de Marie Blanque to the Vallee d'Aspe.

As we continued our journey the frequent puffs of dust alone gave us any trouble, but they caused us at times to screen our eyes and miss the view. The valley, now at its widest, with pastures high up on the hills seemingly as fertile as those beside the river, all bright with flowers or studded with well-leaved trees, spoke of peace and prosperity. It would have been hard indeed to imagine a huge and ferocious bear appearing among such cultivation, although the valley still retains its ancient name, signifying that it was once the resort of these animals; but a "dancing bear" is the only specimen of the race seen about there now.

At half-past eleven we passed through the village of Belesten (20 miles), and a little beyond, when once more among the fields, came in view of a curious sight. Among the many fields, variously cultivated, was a square one dotted over with small manure heaps in rows. On the top of several of the heaps, native aprons (belonging, we presumed, to girls at work in the vicinity) were neatly placed. Was this a new fashion of rearing mushrooms, or a native invention for the propagation of aprons? No one could say, so we have given it up!

Further on we noticed a lovely little village among the trees on the hillside to the left; our coachman called it Louvie la Haute, and we have heard no other name, as it is too insignificant to be mentioned in a guide-book.

One peculiarity of this valley seemed to be the wearing of frilled gaiters or leggings by the women. They seem to supply the place of stockings and shoes, being visible from just below the knee, and descending well over the instep, so as to hide everything but the toes.

It must have been market-day at Laruns (233/4 miles), for when we arrived there at noon the streets were so full of carts and people that it was a matter of difficulty to get past. If the extra bustle had betokened one of the fetes, of which the chief is held on August 15th annually, we should have been far from disposed to grumble, since it is at these Laruns fetes alone now that the old picturesque Ossalois costumes can be seen. M. Dore has depicted a few natives in these costumes at their devotions in the ancient church that stood beside the route; but no one is likely to do so again, as the edifice—when we passed it—was falling into ruins and looked in a deplorable condition, the finely-sculptured doorway being partly hidden by the fallen debris. But not only the church, but more or less the whole village, seemed in a tumble-down condition, and this appeared to us especially strange, as everywhere around prosperity seemed to reign; and further, since the railway from Pau, which was to be opened this year, appeared nearly completed, the fact of Laruns being the terminus at this end of the valley ought to render it yet more prosperous.

Just inside the village we crossed the bridge over the almost dry bed of the Arricuze (beyond which the old road to Eaux Chaudes branches off to the right), and then traversing the Gave d'Ossau, we continued under the trees along the ancient route to Eaux Bonnes. But not for many minutes, for, where the old road which leads to the Bear Grotto also begins to ascend, the new route strikes up to the right, and continues with an easy gradient to the point where it forks (24 miles), the continuation to the right leading to Eaux Chaudes, and the branch to the left—which we followed—to Eaux Bonnes.



No pains have been spared to render the remainder of the journey attractive to either the rider or the pedestrian, and to us the drive up the broad zigzags, planted with plane trees, silver beech, ash, polonia, aspen, arbutus, burberis, and innumerable other handsome trees and shrubs, was a pleasant one indeed. One rocky bit on the right of the way, completely overhung with beautiful ivy, seemed to us especially picturesque. Admiring thus all the poetic touches in form or colouring as we passed, we suddenly, and almost without warning, found ourselves entering Eaux Bonnes (271/2 miles), and but a very few moments more sufficed for our conveyance to the excellent Hotel de France, where the hostess was ready to receive us.

It would, indeed, be hard to find a more charmingly compact little town than Eaux Bonnes, anywhere: a perfect little miniature, very happily situated and beautifully clean and neat. What more could an invalid desire? Why, the very beauty of the surroundings ought to act perceptibly on the constitution, and when baths and perpetual tumblers of the rotten-egg fluid are indulged in besides, a perfect cure must be guaranteed.

It requires but few words to describe the shape and appearance of the place, but to convey an accurate idea to the reader is, we are afraid, a very difficult matter. The town is triangular in shape—almost an isosceles triangle, in fact—and this triangle is formed by the shape of the gorge, whose rocky, tree-clothed sides overlook it. Fine rows of hotels and restaurants, and other buildings—mostly let as furnished apartments—form the outer edge of the triangle. A good road separates these from the Jardin Darralde, which is likewise triangular, and planted with trees and shrubs in the most agreeable manner, both for neatness and shade. In the centre is the band-stand, and a bed of roses surrounds it. This is a general description, but it does not speak of beauty, and we thought that Eaux Bonnes was undoubtedly a beautiful place.

Suppose a triangular slice were cut out of Hyde Park, combining some leafy trees and a pleasant flower-bed with a band-stand added, and hotels and restaurants were erected around it; then, that it were transported to a narrow part of the Llanberis Pass under the very frown of Snowdon; and snow should fall on the surrounding summits; and magnificent beech groves and cascades appear down the wild slopes below, some idea of what Eaux Bonnes is like might be gained; but even then it would be little more than an idea.

It certainly has not the grandeur of Cauterets, the freedom of St. Sauveur, or the expansive loveliness of Luchon. It is hemmed in by the surrounding heights, of which, at the head of the Sourde (or Soude) valley (in which it lies) the magnificent Pic de Ger is most conspicuous, and doubtless this renders it a "warm retreat" in summer; but to see it as we saw it, with the sun shining on the rain-spangled leaves of the trees in the Jardin Darralde, on the lighter green of the beeches above, and glinting through the foam of the "Valentin" cascades; with no invalids, no gallant French horsemen, no gaily-dressed women, but only a few peasants dotted here and there, at work, to give life to the scene—to see it, in short, as it is in spring, can only give rise to pleasant feelings, which would mellow into pleasanter and more appreciative memories!

The amount of rain we had during our stay was only sufficient to cool the heated atmosphere and lay the dust; but Eaux Bonnes has rather a watery reputation, and many are the times that the visitors become victims to a shower, returning from their "constitutional" or their visit to the baths.

When we arrived the hotel had only been open a very short time, as the "season" was far from beginning, and the only other occupants, as visitors, were a rather stout man and a fat, jovial-visaged priest. We discovered them in the billiard-room as the priest was just in the throes of a most simple cannon, and our entrance appeared to damage his play, while his face rather lengthened, as though he felt ashamed at having been surprised at a worldly game. This may have been our fancy, as he was certainly the first R.C. priest we had seen with a cue in his hand; perhaps, however, he will not be the last.

After this we lunched, and after that, left the hotel and walked up the main road towards the Sourde Gorge, passing a choice marble shop, the bathing establishment, the church, and the town-hall. Beyond this last-named building the gorge narrows and extends to the base of the Pic de Ger (8571 ft.). Leaving this on our right, we followed the Promenade de l'Imperatrice, that ascends above the town-hall, till the path leading to the little kiosque—built on the summit of a rocky eminence called the "Butte du Tresor"—branched off to the right.

The view from the little pavilion is indeed a gratifying one, for though not extended, it is so entirely choice and picturesque; while the name of the eminence on which it stands, and from which some of the healing springs are said to rise, is decidedly appropriate, since there can be no doubt that they have proved a "mine of wealth" to several, although, as M. Taine remarks, it is "grotesque that a little hot water should have caused the introduction of civilised cooking in its very cauldrons."

Descending from the kiosque, we continued along the Route de l'Imperatrice, over which the beeches and other trees made a pleasant shade. This is a special walk for invalids, as it is constructed in zigzags of the easiest gradient, and while being both sheltered from west winds and open to the sun, it also commands at various points a good view of the River Valentin, the lower or Discoo Cascade, and the bridge which spans it; as well as the Route Thermale to Argeles, which follows the right bank of the river.



Most of the numerous cascades in the neighbourhood—thanks to the engineering of the "Empress's Walk" and the road to Argeles—are in easy walking distance for most people, even invalids; those usually visited being the Cascade des Eaux Bonnes, de Discoo, du Gros-Hetre and du Serpent; the Cascade de Larsessec (33/4 miles) requires some fatigue to reach.

The road leading from the river back to the Hotel de France passes between two walls of rock against which the houses are built. This passage has been made by blasting the solid rock, and it seemed that the work had been one of no small difficulty.

All great excursions were denied us, as neither the Pic de Ger nor the fatiguing Pic de Gabizos were sufficiently free from snow; while the road to Argeles still remained broken down in three places, and it seemed as though July would disappear ere the terrible gaps made by the avalanches could be built up anew.

We started for Eaux Chaudes in the cool of the afternoon, anticipating a pleasant drive, and were very far from being disappointed. After retraversing the road to the branching point above Laruns—near which the fields and banks were rich in gentians, violets, scabii, linariae, and columbines—we seemed suddenly to plunge into the Gorge de Hourat. There can be little doubt that there is no truer specimen of a gorge in the Pyrenees than this. The piled-up crags overgrown with heather, and the splendid pastures above on the hill-tops, seen in the Cauterets Gorge, were missing; so, too, the varied tints and softer landscape bits of the St. Sauveur defile were absent; but here the masses of rock rose straight up on either side, at times seemingly ambitious to hide their summits in the clouds; while the roar of the torrent issuing from the Hourat (or Trou, i.e. hole) above which the road passes, only served to heighten the grand effect of the scene.

Just after the narrowest part is passed, a small chapel may be noticed high above the river on the right. It marks the scene of a frightful accident. The old road, which was in use till 1849, passed by the spot, and a heavily-laden diligence full of passengers overturned—through the horses taking fright, it is said—and the whole complement were dashed over the rocks into the torrent below. The chapel has since been erected, but though the old road still exists, and, in fact, joins the new one at the Pont Crabe—which beautiful place is admirably depicted in the sketch—there is little danger of such an accident occurring again.

A little further on—viz. about two miles from Eaux Chaudes—we noticed below us as charming a subject as any painter could wish for. A small plot of velvet-like green-sward beside the rushing river; some trees, leafy almost to extravagance, gracefully arched above; a few sheep descending a narrow track on the hillside; and above all, the immense rocky heights, around the base of which beeches and other trees luxuriantly grew, and many beautiful flowers bloomed; and, thus garlanded at their base, their stern and massive summits looked grander still, and completed such a picture of majestic beauty as no lover of nature could fail to enthusiastically admire.

One mile further there is another fine sight, though not of the comprehensive beauty of that just mentioned. This one doubtless is not worth seeing in mid-summer, when the sun has dried up the mountain streams, but when we passed that way we could see from the very summit of the hill—above which the pointed Pic de Laruns reared its crest—a mass of foam issuing from between two rocks, no puny meandering streamlet, but a strong torrent, which, as it dashed from rock to rock, gathered strength and velocity till it rushed amid a cloud of spray into the river below.



We saw one or two gentlemen—evidently early visitors like ourselves—anxiously whipping the river for fish, but they caught nothing; in fact, they told us afterwards that it was done with hardly any hopes of catching, since the "professional"—save the name—element came out with rods and nets, so that if the rods didn't answer they could net the pools instead. It seemed to us a remarkably good thing that "professionals" can't do the same in England!

There is another lovely scene not half a mile away from the town, where a path leads from the road to the riverside. There is a plot of green-sward here, and a grove of trees; and the river passes under a bridge, that vibrates with the force of the torrent surging against its rocky base. The path over the bridge leads through the leafy glades on the heights that overlook the river, and the town may be regained by crossing another bridge higher up.

Soon after, we were entering Eaux Chaudes (271/2 miles), and having passed the Hotel de France on the left, and the gardens and bathing establishment on the right, we drove up to the Hotel Baudot and were courteously received by Madame.

It appeared that we had arrived a day too late, as the marriage of Madame's niece with the hotel chef had been celebrated the day before, and wonderful festivities had taken place in their honour; while the guests in the hotel (fortunately not more than eight in number) had been regaled with champagne and many choice dishes.

While waiting for dinner we strolled about on the terrace, opening out of the dining-room and overlooking the river. It did not need the boxes of bright flowers that lined the terrace sides to entice us there, but they certainly added to the delightful picture of river and trees; and as one face reminds us of another, so this scene carried our memory back to another, but a more lovely one even, because the beauty of the trees was heightened by large bushes of azaleas—bright with various-coloured blooms—growing between. But beauty and comfort do not always go together, and for calm enjoyment this Pyrenean scene had the preference; for the other was in the heart of Japan, at the tiny village of Sakurazawa, and we gazed on the picture through the open shoji, [Footnote: Sliding screens, being frames of wood pasted over with paper, acting as doors and windows.] lying on the neat but hard—very hard—mats, that were our tables, chairs, and beds in one; which our host's assurance, that the Mikado himself had slept upon them the year previous, didn't make any softer. The announcement of dinner cut short further musings, and we took our places at the table, profusely adorned with evidences of the previous day's ceremony.

At a table-d'hote of eight or ten people conversation is as a rule easy and general. It requires a so-called "typical Englishman" to keep himself within himself, in a shroud of pride and reserve, and the "typical Englishman" is, thank goodness, nearly out of date. We were very anxious to learn about the plateau above Gabas. Was this plateau really worth seeing; and if so, when was it best to start? Everybody was ready to give their version of the trip, but Mr. and Mrs. Tubbins (if we recollect rightly) seemed the most anxious to speak. Mrs. T. was simply a combination of bolsters which shook with the exertion of speech, while poor Mr. T., a meek, thin, haggard-looking man—and no wonder—seemed to be ready to put in a word if required, but looked in momentary terror of getting a snub instead.

This look was not an unnecessary one; for Mrs. T., with all her anxiety to give information, did not get on very fast, and made many mistakes in names, &c., which her worse-half tried to rectify, with the result that she turned on him with "Frank, I wish you wouldn't interrupt; you are quite wrong, you know!"

However, from the general company we managed to gather a good deal of information, which, as a cloudy day spoilt our own trip thither on the morrow, it may be expedient to repeat. Gabas is only a hamlet of a few houses, and is in itself uninteresting. Situated five miles from Eaux Chaudes, it is reached by a good carriage road, which, crossing the Pont d'Enfer, continues along the left bank of the river the rest of the way, the views being chiefly of granite summits and thick pine forests. But though Gabas makes an excellent resting-place or starting-point for several excursions, no one stays there for any other reason, and tourists from Eaux Chaudes usually pass it on the way to the Plateau des Bious-Artigues or to Panticosa. The road forks at Gabas, and becomes no longer anything but a bridle path, the right branch leading to the plateau, the other passing by the Broussette valley, across the Spanish frontier, to Panticosa. The plateau is reached in one hour and a half, not without exertion, and the view over the Pic du Midi d'Ossau is considered wonderfully fine. Several of our informants, however, had chosen bad days, and after all their labour, found a thick mist over everything that was worth seeing. Among these Mrs. Tubbins had figured, and her goodman had suffered in consequence. "The idea," she said, "of bringing me all this way, and at my time of life too, simply to see a mist, as if I hadn't seen plenty of them at home!" Of course she had come of her own accord, and the meek and injured one had followed as a matter of course.



The journey from Gabas to Panticosa requires a good twelve hours, and generally more; consequently an early start is advisable. It is a favourite way of entering Spain, and much more practicable than the route from Cauterets to the same spot.

Of Eaux Chaudes itself there is but little to say, for with the exception of the hotels, the bathing establishment, and a few shops, there is nothing to form a town. Like Eaux Bonnes it is shut in by the mountains on either side, but it is more oblong in shape, with two parallel streets. The Promenade du Henri IV., which leads southwards from the Hotel Baudot along the side of the river, is a cool and pleasant walk, especially of an evening.

Various opinions exist as to which place is most suitable for a residence, the "Bonnes" or the "Chaudes." In spring probably the former, but the latter certainly in summer; for not only is it free from the bustling, gaily-dressed crowd which throngs its rival, but there is a fresh breeze that blows up the valley which renders it always cool and pleasant; while the scenery is as fine as the most fastidious could wish for.

The Col de Gourzy and the lofty Pic of the same name tower above Eaux Chaudes, and a route to Eaux Bonnes—which to good pedestrians is well worth the exertion—passes over the former. The path strikes off from the Gabas road to the left, while yet in the town, and passes by the Minvieille "buvette." For the first half-hour the route is the same as that to the Eaux Chaudes grotto; this is an excursion, of two hours there and back, that is in great favour with tourists. Where the path forks, the one to the grotto is left on the right, and after some fatiguing work the Plateau de Gourzy is reached, from which the view on a fine day is splendid. The track then leads through beech glades and box thickets to the "Fontaine de Lagas" (near which a wild and beautiful valley branches off to the right), and finally joins the Promenade Jacqueminot at Eaux Bonnes. Horses may be taken the whole distance, but it is easier for them—if tourists choose this highly-recommended route—when the start is made from Eaux Bonnes.

It rained severely early on the morning of our departure, but later, cleared up into a lovely day, enabling us to start at 8.30. The river and the cascades were full, and the sun glinting on the wet leaves gave a fairy-like appearance to this magnificent gorge. As we looked back from the cascade, which seemed to tumble from the summit of the Pic de Laruns, the clouds gradually rising over the head of the valley disclosed a huge snow mountain [Footnote: The "cocher" called it the Pic d'Estremere, but we had no confirmation of this] to view, that appeared to form an impassable barrier 'twixt France and Spain.

When we reached Laruns we had a fine view of its pointed peak, and through the morning haze the lofty Pic de Ger over Eaux Bonnes looked imposing indeed. Travelling we found very pleasant. There was no dust, the air was cool, the roads just soft enough for comfort, and the whole valley refreshed with the morning's rain. The people in the fields worked with greater energy, and the bright scarlet hoods of the damsels, many of whom followed the plough, gave a pleasant colouring to an animated scene. We passed several flocks of geese, apparently unwilling to proceed at as rapid a pace as the good woman—with her frilled gaiters—who was in charge of them wished; but with those exceptions we hardly met anybody or anything on the road till we had passed Louvie.

What we then met were a couple of carts filled with coal, and as we never recollected having seen any such peculiar teams as they were drawn by, we concluded they were "Ossalois," and "peculiar" to the valley. There were eight animals to each cart, four bulls and four horses. The bulls were harnessed in pairs (as in a four-in-hand coach), and acted as wheelers, while the horses, acting as leaders, were harnessed in line, one in front of another. Curious as this arrangement seemed, they made good progress with a very heavy load!



At Sevignac a splendid Guelder rose-tree grew in a small garden over a mill stream, and a very ancient dame very willingly sold us some clusters which were peculiarly fine; in another garden a very fine bush of white cistus was completely covered with blooms. The hedgerows, too, were bright with flowers; the wild Guelder roses and medlars [Footnote: The "makilahs," or slicks peculiar to the Basque people, are made from the wild medlar. They are very heavy, tipped with iron, and unpleasant to carry.] preponderating, but elder bushes were also plentiful, and covered with blossoms.

At Rebenac we stopped at the Hotel du Perigord for coffee and a fifteen minutes' rest, the horses not requiring any more, as the day was so cool. While drinking the "welcome liquid" we watched an old woman out of the window, spinning. Her distaff was apparently very old and dirty, and as she span she seemed to be crooning some ancient ditty to herself, thinking, maybe, of her children and grandchildren, or even of the days when she was herself a child.

We started again when the quarter of an hour was up, and bowled along towards Gan, meeting on the way several natives (men) with their hair in long pigtails, like Chinamen; they looked otherwise decidedly Bearnais, but their appearance was peculiar, to say the least of it. Beyond Gan we passed into full view of the lovely Coteaux, which afford such pleasant rides and drives from Pau, and as we gradually neared the town, the heat seemed to intensify to anything but a pleasurable degree.

Four hours forty minutes after starting we were once more under the roof of Maison Colbert, with such a luncheon before us as fully justified the hospitable repute that it has always borne.

But Pau was far too hot for us to remain for more than a few days, although the heat was unusually great for that time of the year, and we were very glad when once more on our journey towards the pleasant breezes and blue waters of the Biscay.



CHAPTER XIII.

BIARRITZ.

A warm ride—Bayonne—A "Noah's ark" landscape—Amusements —Bathing—Shells—Cavillers—A canine feat—The pier and rocks—A restless sea—"The Three Cormorants"—Dragon's-mouth Rock—To the lighthouse—Maiden-hair ferns—Mrs. Blunt's adventure—The drive round the lakes—Osmunda regalis ferns—The pine-woods near the bar—St. Etienne and the Guards' cemetery—Croix de Mouguere—Cambo and the Pas de Roland—Anemones—A fat couple—A French scholar —Hendaye—Fuenterabia—A quaint old-world town—The Bidassoa —Pasages—San Sebastien—The Citadol and graves—The "Silent Sisters"—Raised prices—Parasols and spectacles.

The journey to Biarritz began comfortably enough, but after the first few miles the heat became very oppressive, and though we had no repetition of our Montrejeau experience at starting, we felt nevertheless almost as warm as if we had.

Our arrival at Bayonne was a great relief, for the sun had partially retired, and as we crossed in turn the Adour and the Nive, a scent of the "briny" was borne into our omnibus with revivifying effect. Passing up one of the narrow old streets to execute a few commissions, we regained the "Place," crossed the drawbridge, and entered the lovely avenues, from which, beyond the "fosse," the twin towers of the beautiful cathedral come into view. On the right is the station of the "steam tram-line," and some hundred yards beyond it the road to Biarritz curves in the same direction.

This road cannot be called beautiful! The never-ending line of poplars along each side turn the landscape into that Noah's ark style which even the soul that could be "contented with a tulip or lily" would hardly admire. Approaching Biarritz, however, the handsome villas and their gardens fully deserve the epithet which cannot in justice be applied to the road. They are indeed beautiful; and to pass them even in winter, with the camellia trees laden with blossoms and the roses scenting the air, makes comparison with our London gardens very odious indeed!

Under the small-gauge railway-bridge, and past the new "English Club," we soon entered the town, [Footnote: The distance between Bayonne and Biarritz is 5 miles.] and driving down the Rue Mazagran into the Place Sainte Eugenie, drew up at the familiar Hotel de Paris, in time for dinner.

Although Biarritz is in the department of the Basses-Pyrenees, it is so far away from the mountains that many might consider its introduction into this volume as questionable; we do not therefore intend to say as much as could be said about it. At the same time, it is so greatly recommended by doctors as a beneficial spot for a final "brace up" before returning to England, after a mountain trip, and is, besides, such a favourite winter residence, that we consider it would be more "questionable" to omit it.

Unlike Pau, its amusements are not of a very varied character. In winter, lawn-tennis and balls are the chief, and concerts occur generally weekly or bi-weekly. As spring asserts herself, bathing commences and picnics become the fashion; and in the early summer—as long as the English remain—tennis and bathing go almost hand-in-hand.

The tennis-ground—which is only a short distance from the English church of St. Andrew's—is well laid out and commodious, possessing an excellent reading room for members' use, as well. Of bathing establishments there are three; the large building in the Moorish style on the Plage, the less pretentious but more picturesque one in the Port Vieux, and the least pretentious and least protected one, under the "falaises" [Footnote: Blue chalk cliffs.] beyond.

The first and last are only used in the height of summer; that in the Port Vieux—from its sheltered position—opens its box-doors as soon as winter really gives place to spring. The scene, when the tide is high on a morning in June, is often an exceedingly pretty one, for to the pristine picturesqueness of the surroundings is added those touches of human nature enjoying itself, which, if it doesn't "make us kin," goes a long way towards it.

The "Port Vieux" is triangular in shape, with the apex inland, along the sides of which the boxes are erected, reaching to the water's edge at high tide. In the middle lies an expanse of deep sand, and the blue waters roll in between the rocks and gently break on a shingly beach, where the tiniest shells and pebbles mingle to make the one drop of bitterness in the bather's cup.

When the sandy expanse is crowded with merry children, the roads and seats above filled with spectators, and the water with members of both sexes in varied costumes and "headgears"—not forgetting the boatman in the tiny skiff who is here, there, and everywhere in case he is needed—the scene is a very pleasant one to look upon. Of course there are always some narrow-minded individuals to find fault, some "maiden" aunts "with spinster written on their brows," who will put up their gold-rimmed glasses with that peculiar sniff that invariably prefaces some extra sweet remarks, such as, "Dear me, how wicked! Men and women bathing together in that barefaced manner; and ... I do believe there's that forward Miss Dimplechin actually taking hold of Captain Smith's hand, and he a married man too! Thank goodness, I never did such a thing—never!" [Footnote: Did she ever have the chance?]

Above the Port Vieux, on the left, stands Cape Atalaya, with the ruins of an ancient tower, and a flagstaff on its summit. A road leads round its base, passing between a circular mound overlooking the "old harbour," and the yard where the concrete blocks are fashioned for the strengthening of the pier.

There are seats on this mound, whence people can watch the bathing; and we often saw a remarkable feat performed from it as well. A race of wonderful water-dogs—said to be a cross between the Newfoundland and the French poodle—is bred at St. Jean de Luz, eight miles from Biarritz. One of their uses is to drive the fish into the nets, and for this purpose one is taken in every boat that puts to sea. The method is extremely simple. As soon as the net surrounds a shoal, the dog is put in the centre, and by beating the water with his paws he effectually drives the finny creatures into the meshes. It was one of this same species of dogs that attracted so much attention at the Port Vieux by leaping after a stick from the mound—a distance of some fifty feet—into the sea. He would do it as often as his master would let him, and appeared to enjoy it immensely, though he always reached the water before the stick, and had then to turn round and hunt for it.

The road, after skirting one side of the yard, crosses the trackway that runs down the pier and doubles up the other side, through the tunnel and past the Port aux Pecheurs, into the Place Ste. Eugenie; whence, continuing by the base of the Hotel d'Angleterre and the casino, it extends to the bathing establishment on the Plage. In the other direction it rounds the Port Vieux, and leads under the cliffs to the other resort of summer bathers; consequently, it might be appropriately termed the "Chemin des Bains."

The pier is a very favourite resort, and many a fierce fight with the waves is enacted at its extremity, in which, alas! the sea has always proved the stronger. As a rule, visitors are not permitted to pass the "Cucurlon" rock, on which the Virgin's statue stands; but if the weather is very fine, the gate is opened to admit of any who are so minded going to the end. On a wild day, with a high wind blowing inland, the "battle of the waves" is a fine sight, especially from the platform erected below the flagstaff on Cape Atalaya. Thence the full beauty of the huge billows, dashing into clouds of spray against the pier, and, unallayed, pursuing their course with relentless energy till they boom amid the hollow caverns of the hill, may be admired and wondered at.

There are two rocks which (as one looks seaward) rise up to the left of the pier, and serve to break in some measure the force of the waves. The larger of these in calm weather is frequented by cormorants, and has gained the name of "Cormorant Rock." There were three of these birds on it one very rough day, and we saw a scene enacted which—with due apologies to the late Rev. Charles Kingsley for thus adapting his pathetic verses—we have commemorated in the following lines, under the title of

"THE THREE CORMORANTS."

Three cormorant dandies were perch'd on a rock, Were perch'd on a rock as the waves dash'd high; Each thought himself equal to any black cock, And proudly determined the sea to defy. For cormorants fish, and cormorants catch, And they swallow their prey with the utmost despatch, Without all the trouble of boning!

Three cormorant damsels were waiting at home, Were waiting at home for the dandies so dear. "Oh, say! are they fishing where fierce billows foam?" And the damsels sat chattering their bills with fear! For cormorant maidens can fish and can catch, And each one considered she'd made a good match. And now for her dandy was moaning.

Three cormorant dandies were washed off the rock, Were washed off the rock by a powerful wave; And, quite unprepared for the terrible shock, They sank in the depths of a watery grave. For cormorants fish, and cormorants catch, But if waves dash high they should use despatch, Or their loved ones will always be groaning!

There are some curious rocks in front of the new harbour, notably the "Dragon's-mouth Rock," through which on a rough day the water continuously pours; more to the right, between this and the "Plage," is a curious group known as the "Chinaougue." [Footnote: Have never found any one able to account for this title, which is more barbaric than pronounceable.] A bridge communicates with the largest, on which "petticoat daffodils" grow, and the couples that may occasionally be seen going over there doubtless do so to gather these. Beyond the Port Vieux and underneath the Villa Belzar other curious formations may be seen, to which an iron gate at the head of a few damaged steps gives access.

At Biarritz itself there is really nothing to be seen except the sea. And yet this sea is so beautiful in its varied moods, that a lover of nature can watch it day after day for any reasonable period, without a feeling of ennui or a wish for anything more lovely!



There are many pleasant walks and drives around, but most of them require a whole day, and are more preferable as a drive than as a walk. The shortest is to the lighthouse and back, and this is only a very easy promenade, taking about an hour; so we will deal with it first, leaving the longer ones to await their turn.

We started one afternoon when the sky was cloudless and the coastline very clear, hoping to obtain a good view of the Spanish coast, and a few specimens of maiden-hair fern, if fortune were favourable. We traversed half the town, when Mrs. Blunt suddenly came to a halt opposite the Hotel de France, and pointed to a three-wheeled vehicle of the bath-chair type, to which a weird and very ancient-looking steed was attached. "I think," said she, "that would be more comfortable for me than walking; please inquire if it is on hire." So we applied to a fat dame, who was busily knitting hard by, and having arranged terms, Mrs. Blunt got in and we continued our way.

Down past the bank and at an easy pace to what was once the Villa Eugenie, [Footnote: This building, where Emperor and Empress lived at different times, now belongs to a company under the title of the "Palais Biarritz," and is employed as a casino and restaurant. "Sic transit gloria imperatorum."] and continuing up the hill at the same speed, we gradually drew near the lighthouse, and when once the Villa Noailles was left behind and the level road reached again, we were soon at our destination. [Footnote: At low tide there is a way to the lighthouse along the beach in front of the Palais Biarritz, and up a steep path over the rocks. The other is much the better way, however, at all times.] The view of the coast to St. Jean de Luz, San Sebastien, and almost to Santander, was peculiarly good, as well as that on the other side in the direction of Bayonne; and while Mrs. Blunt remained in contemplation from her vehicle, we descended to view the rocks and caves below.

As a rule it is unwise to disclose where botanical treasures grow, as they generally become extinct soon afterwards, from excess of admiration on the part of collectors; but the maiden-hair ferns, for which the lighthouse rocks are known, can take very fair care of themselves, as they grow in such awkward positions—we might say dangerous—that only a few real enthusiasts, or an anxious collector with a steady head, are likely to venture to attack their strongholds.



We saw many specimens in the interstices of the rocks surrounding a moss-grown pool, but they were quite unapproachable. One clump above we did manage to reach and bear away a few roots of, in triumph; but at one time there was only two inches of stone for the foot to rest on, with sheer rocks below; and consequently, without a rope, the experiment would hardly be worth repetition. However, without mishap we started on our return journey, and all went smoothly till the Villa Noailles was again reached; but at this point we suddenly noticed that Mrs. Blunt was rapidly out-distancing us. Whether the ancient steed dreamt of its former youth and activity, and "grew young once more," or whether its long rest had made it anxious to reach its stable, we know not; but the unpleasant reality was forced upon us, that it was rapidly bearing Mrs. Blunt away. Miss Blunt had been walking near the vehicle, Mr. Sydney and rather behind; but as Miss Blunt started to run, we rapidly followed, and overtook the steed, which, having by that time pulled up at the bottom of the hill, appeared to be anxious to turn round and have a look at Mrs. Blunt. As it neighed at the same time, perhaps it was asking, "Who's my driver?" but this was mere conjecture on our part, although we were not sorry to restore the animal to the fat old lady—still knitting—and escort Mrs. Blunt back to the hotel, none the worse for her little adventure!



The favourite of the short drives is known as the "Tour des Lacs." It embraces the prettiest country in the vicinity, and the whole distance is about six miles. We found it most pleasant to start, after lunch, from the Place de la Mairie, turning up the Rue Gambetta past the market and on to the "Falaises," where the sea-breeze blows fresh and free. Keeping to the right where the road forks, the "abattoir" was soon left behind and the Villa Marbella reached; we then curved round "Lac Chabiague," and ascending slightly between fields gay with the "fleur des frontieres" [Footnote: A lovely blue flower, something like a gentian.] and the wild daphne, we dipped again slightly to the point where the road to St. Jean de Luz forks to the right. Bearing to the left between hedges overgrown with sarsaparilla, and entering a shady lane, a few minutes sufficed for us to reach the "Bois de Boulogne," where the road skirts the Lake Mouriscot, and passes beside many splendid clumps of the Osmunda regalis fern. The lake is very deep and full of fish; but bathing is certainly not advisable, as there is a great quantity of reeds and weeds all round the water's edge.

Leaving the pleasant woods, we emerged on to the Route Imperiale—the direct road from the Negresse station (on the main line to Spain) to Biarritz—and following it as far as the metals, we turned to the left up the Irun-Bayonne route. This, however, was not our road for long, as we took the first turning on the left-hand side up a pretty lane, which brought Lake Marion into full view. The other end of the lane joins the "Route Imperiale" again; which, leading in turn past the cemetery, the parish church, and the terminus of the "steam tram-line," enters the town near the International Bank.

It will be noticed that there are several ways of reaching Bayonne. The cheapest and most expeditious, for marketing or other business purposes, is by the narrow-gauge railway, with its curious double carriages, one above the other. By driving the two miles to the Negresse station, and catching the express from Spain, is another way, but one not recommended to anybody but travellers [Footnote: Travellers for the Pau line have to change at Bayonne, consequently it is simpler for them to drive the five miles from Biarritz direct to Bayonne, than drive two to the Negresse station, with the necessity of changing ten minutes after entering the train.] going to stations on the line between Bayonne and Paris. Of the three routes for driving we have already mentioned the most frequented one—at the commencement of the chapter; from the Negresse station by the Bayonne-Irun road is another; and the last and prettiest passes behind the Villa Eugenie almost to the lighthouse, but there branches off to the right past the Chambre d'Amour inn, to the pine-woods near La Barre, and thence into Bayonne! This drive may be prolonged in two directions: firstly, by crossing the Nive and the Adour to the Guards' cemetery (where those who fell in the sortie from Bayonne 1813-14, are buried) at St. Etienne; and secondly, by following the bank of the river for some distance (past the market), and turning up into the country by way of St. Pierre to the Croix de Mouguere. This latter makes a splendid picnic, and the locality is a rich hunting-ground for entomologists.

There are four other excursions that we must not omit to mention, viz., Cambo and the Pas de Roland, St. Jean de Luz, Fuenterabia, and San Sebastien. All of these, with the exception of the first, can be reached by rail, and as far as St. Jean de Luz the road from Biarritz [Footnote: There is a more direct route to Cambo from Bayonne.] is common to all; so that to save space we will only mention it on our way to Cambo.

Starting at an early hour with plenty of provisions, we bowled down to the Negresse station, crossed the line, and ascended the hill above Lake Mouriscot, at the top of which Bidart—the first of the Basque villages—comes into view.

Guetary (3 miles), standing on a hill to the southward, was next seen, and in due time we reached St. Jean de Luz (8 miles), a town of over 4000 inhabitants (possessing a very good hotel and baths, and some historical buildings), situated on a strip of sand between the River Nivelle and the sea. Here the road to Cambo branched off to the left, inland—the high road to Spain continuing near the seaboard—and frequently skirting the Nivelle as far as St. Pee, we passed on by Espelette to Cambo. The Hotel St. Martin there, which generally attracts visitors for a few days at least, was not our destination; so we took a glimpse at Fagalde's celebrated chocolate factory and the old churchyard high above the river—while our horses were being changed—and then resumed our journey to the Pas de Roland. [Footnote: So-called from the fable that Roland, coming to the place and wishing to cross, found the rocks barring his passage, so kicked them, whereupon they parted for him to pass between.] The scenery now became very charming, the winding river (Nive) adding much to the general beauty, especially where it dashed out from between the rugged rocks of the gorge with which Roland's name is associated.

After exploring this narrow pass we found a suitable place for luncheon and sat down.

In returning, we halted near the village of Itsatsou, to gather some of the lovely scarlet anemones [Footnote: A fee of 1 franc for one person, or 2 francs for three, is expected for admission into the fields.] which grow near there, and cover the fields with such a blaze of colour as makes them conspicuous from a long distance. The rest of the journey in the cool of the afternoon was very pleasant, but our route was the same till reaching Bidart, where we curved to the left, and came by a branch road (previously mentioned), via the Villa Marbella and the Falaises, back to our hotel.

At dinner that night we noticed that there had evidently been some "goings and comings" among the guests; and doubtless the new arrivals were congratulating themselves on having succeeded in getting rooms in the hotel—for be it understood this good house is nearly always full, as it deserves to be. We missed with sorrow the familiar forms of Mr. and Mrs. Berecasque, who, with all their bigoted hatred for anything approaching to High Church notions, were as a rule exceedingly genial and good-natured, as fat people usually are.

The ladies certainly used to say that Madame had a perplexing way of putting leading questions as to why somebody's daughter went with somebody else's son, or what on earth could that nice gentlemanly young curate (Low Church of course) see in that fast young lady who was always working banners and such like enormities? But we never noticed this; though that which on this particular evening probably no one could fail to notice was, that their places were now occupied by a couple of beings as strikingly thin as Mr. and Mrs. Berecasque had been fat. We were told their name, but there was rather a buzz of conversation going on at the time, and we might not have caught it properly, but it certainly sounded like "Grouser." However, that does not matter much; what is far more to the point is the amusement that Mr. Grouser gave to those who had the privilege of sitting near him. Apparently a self-made man, without any children—who by better educations might have helped him to knowledge—his acquaintance with the French language was like a peasant child's with turtle-soup; perhaps "a lick and a promise" would best explain it. But though only knowing a few words, which he pronounced with the vilest of accents, and then only when he had inserted his glass in his eye, he brought them out with ludicrous frequency whenever he had the chance. Here are examples—"Hi garsong! bring me another plate!" "Garsong poorquar don't you fetch some bread when I've asked three times for it?" "Hi garsong! sil voo plate, where are those potatoes?" And so on all through dinner; while he appeared rather to enjoy the merriment he caused, thinking he must have said something really good, although of course he hadn't the slightest idea what it was!

To sketchers and lovers of contrasts a visit to Fuenterabia cannot fail to prove a treat, and a better specimen of an old Spanish town it would be difficult to find. The only convenient train in the morning thither leaves early, and although we preferred driving, we made an early start too, in order to spend a long day. Having accomplished the eight miles and arrived at St. Jean de Luz, we had still a distance of 8 miles more before reaching Hendaye, the frontier town. There were occasional pretty bits of country to be seen, especially in the vicinity of Urrugne (10-1/2 miles), a village in which the Spanish element is noticeable, but the succession of poplars along the roadside all the way—more or less—to Behobie, was very monotonous. At Behobie (14-1/2 miles) the road to Hendaye leaves the direct route to Spain and branches off to the right. Following this, we were soon at the frontier. Hendaye (16 miles) is celebrated for its cognac and a certain liquor called by its name, as well as for an excellent beach and bathing establishment, beyond which there is little worth mention. Having put up the horses at the Hotel de France, we repaired to the jetty, where happily the tide was high enough to permit of our being ferried across, instead of carried on the back of some brawny (and garlicky) native. As we were half-rowed, half-poled, down the narrow winding channel of the Bidassoa, we were once again indubitably "'twixt France and Spain," though the vicinity of the ancient Spanish town, and the lazy sentinels on the river's bank, made the scene much more Spanish than French. Once landed, we strolled slowly across the "Embarcadero," and entered the town by the ancient gateway. The principal street, which we then ascended, is indeed picturesque. The miniature verandahs and overhanging roofs of the houses, the latter approaching so close to one another as nearly to permit of shaking hands across; an occasional bright costume appearing at the window or on the verandah; the old church higher up the street, and the battered "Castilio" at the top, furnished ample materials for a very pleasant sketch. The church is well worth a visit, being very old and of interesting appearance. Owing to its sheltered position it did not suffer nearly as much as most of the buildings from the missiles in the late Carlist war. We passed several groups of lazy soldiers, who leered at us offensively and made some uncomplimentary remarks, but otherwise—beyond the fact that the women stared a good deal when Miss Blunt attempted to sketch—we met with no discourtesy. The new casino proves an "extra" attraction in summer, but it is to be regretted that, for gambling purposes alone, many people should be drawn to this quaint old-world town, so worthy of a visit for its picturesqueness alone.

At the time when we wished to visit San Sebastien we learnt that the "Citadol" was closed to visitors, owing to some foreigner having foolishly lighted his cigar near a powder magazine. As the "Citadol" is the chief attraction, we penned a highly polite letter to his Excellency the Governor of the Province, asking for his permission to visit this otherwise forbidden ground.

We received a most gracious reply, to the effect that, whenever we liked to come, the place was at our disposal, and accordingly selected the first fine morning for our trip. On this occasion we formed a party large enough for a coach and four, but were very careful to avoid a repetition of our Betharram experiences.

We discovered no new features of interest as far as Behobie, but the day being very clear, we had a fine view of the distant Pyrenees and the Spanish coastline from various points along the road. Passing through Behobie's narrow streets and crossing the Bidassoa by the strong stone bridge, we were only a minute "'twixt France and Spain," and entering Irun found ourselves in the hands of the Customs authorities. Having "nothing to declare" and nothing contraband undeclared, we were soon permitted to proceed, although our "cocher" almost immediately afterwards stopped to change horses. Accordingly, we walked on up a pretty lane with ivied walls, near which—in the background—stood an old church. Finding a comfortable place for lunching in the vicinity, we awaited the arrival of the coach, and discussed our hamper before again moving on. Not having too much time, however, we did not delay long, and remounting, bowled merrily along to "Pasages." This was once the safest port on the coast, and in fact is yet; but the accumulation of sand, &c., at the entrance, has made it practically useless for any ships but those of very light draught. It forms a tidal basin, and houses are built on its sides, along one of which the road for some time skirts, but afterwards assumes a straight course and descends into San Sebastien. From the highest point of the road, before we commenced descending, we had a splendid view of the town, which looked busy, imposing, and clean.

When once inside, we drove to the Hotel de Londres; then crossed the street to the guardhouse, presented our "permit" for the "Citadol," and after a little fuss and red tapeism—such as Spaniards, even more than Frenchmen, dearly love—under the guidance of a soldier, commenced the ascent. How many times we presented our "carta" we know not, but at every turn some official was ready to ask to see it, and this business took almost as long as the actual mounting, though in the end we did manage to reach the summit. The view from thence was very fine, extending for miles in all directions, but after enjoying it for a short time, we descended to visit the graves of the English who fell in defending the place in 1836 against the Carlists, which lie in a little cemetery on one side of the hill. Maiden-hair ferns grow among the rocks by the path, which from time to time discloses views of the town and the pretty rocky island—Santa Clara—in the bay. After descending, we had time for a glimpse at the interior of the church of Santa Maria and the bull-ring, as well as a stroll along the beautiful beach, before it was necessary to start homewards, and when at length we were deposited in safety at our hotel, we all acknowledged that the day had been a very pleasant one indeed! With such enjoyable drives, and the tennis, and the ever-changing sea, we never found time hang heavily on our hands; and if we had, there was the little railway to carry us into the bustle of Bayonne for shopping or listening to the band, where ennui would speedily have been driven away. Speaking of this railway reminds us that at Anglet, one of the stations on the line, there is a very interesting convent of "Silent Sisters" within easy access from the train. Although it is a sad sight to see all these women deluded with the notion that their sins, however great, could not be pardoned without such a bitter expiation; yet the order and cleanliness that is patent everywhere, and the gardens and greenhouses, lend an attraction to the place in spite of its melancholy associations. [Footnote: Visitors are expected to purchase a specimen of the needlework exhibited to them, or at any rate to put a donation in the convent box.]

When June has succeeded May, Biarritz begins to empty of its English and American visitors, to give place in July to the Spaniards and French. On the 15th of that month prices go up with a bound, often becoming double and even treble what they were during the winter season. This is the time to stroll on the "Plage" and watch the bathing; to note the varied costumes, see the merry faces, and listen to the children's laughter, mingled with the splash of the waves. But we are only treating of spring, so must not encroach upon summer; but—following our countrymen's example—bid "Au revoir" to Biarritz before the glare forces us to parade the streets with blue spectacles and double-lined parasols.



CHAPTER XIV.

CONCLUSION.

"Where duty leads"—Resorts in the Eastern Pyrenees—Caen—"Riou"—Our paths diverge—"The Lesson of the Mountains"—Farewell.

Although we have in reality come to the end of our tour, and have consequently no more places to discourse on, it may be suggested that our task is but badly ended if we omit to mention such resorts as Amelie, Vernet, Molitg, and other spots, which, if of less importance than those we have visited, are nevertheless in the Pyrenees. That they are in the Pyrenees cannot be disputed, but being in the eastern portion, the way of reaching them from the resorts among the western heights is so roundabout, that but few people would think of visiting both. However, for the information of any intending travellers, we have collected what reliable facts we could about the above-mentioned places—as well as Capvern, Preste-les-Bains, Panticosa, and a few others—which will be found in the general information [Footnote: See Appendix A.] at the end of the volume, and will, we trust, be of service.

We have but little left us now to do but to take our leave, though we have one little incident to record, which, though it occurred far from the Pyrenees, resulted, nevertheless, from our visit.

Travelling slowly homeward by the route through Normandy to Cherbourg, we stopped a few days at the delightful town of Caen. While there—in consequence of negotiations that had been carried on for some time—Miss Blunt had her desires gratified by the arrival of a fine Pyrenean puppy—like a small white bear with brown points—from Cauterets, one of the identical pair about which we had such a lively scene with the old French fancier. He was christened "Riou," after the Col of that name, and his owner has very kindly drawn his portrait among his native hills, to adorn these pages.



Our party did not break up till we reached Weymouth, but after that our ways diverged. We were by no means glad to part, the memories of our trip being very pleasant ones, and we can hardly think of a more delightful way of spending a couple of months than in driving about these beautiful mountains. The people are so pleasant, and hotels so moderate (in the spring-time), and the country in the full beauty of spring is at its best; and yet, as a rule, the few English and Americans who do go, wait till the season begins, with its crowds, heat, and extra expense, and the fiery sun has effectually cleared the mountains of that snowy mantle which was their greatest charm.

We were once asked, "Are not the Pyrenees very bare mountains, without any trees or herbage?" We could only repeat, what we have so often asserted in this book, that the foliage on the mountain slopes is magnificent, and their fertility and wealth of flora are of the highest order.

They are indeed so beautiful in every way that they cannot fail to touch many a chord in the heart of any lover of nature. At one moment hid in mists, at another clear and stately under a cloudless sky; in winter, wrapped completely in their garb of snow, trees and grass and rocks and all, only to reappear under spring's influence, still retaining their snowy crown, but with their slopes bright with the contrasting tints of beech and fir, oak and maple, interspersed with banks of bright gentian and fields of golden daffodils; what could be more lovely than a scene such as this, with the morning sun gilding the snow summits, or the last rays of a roseate sunset lingeringly bidding them "Farewell"?

As we then follow their example, we do not think we could make a more fitting ending than these lines, written amid those lovely scenes, and entitled

"THE LESSON OF THE MOUNTAINS."

Look on yon mountain peaks, Mark how each summit seeks Upward to lift its crest, base earth to spurn. Tow'ring above the plain, Over the weak and vain, Ever for realms of light seeming to yearn.

Look at each snowy crown, Whiter than softest down, Oh! in what majesty thus are they drest! See how the setting sun Kisses them one by one, And slowly, solemnly, goes to his rest.

Look to the brilliant sky; —Dark though the clouds be, nigh— Wavelets of gold grandly float 'neath the blue. Mark where the shades of green Mingle with crimson's sheen, Till evening's dread decree curtains the view.

Hark to the drenching rain! Hark how it beats the pane! While the fierce fitful blast sweeps on its course. Fiercer yet swells the gale, Hark to the long-drawn wail! Tenfold more dire—in the darkness—its force.

* * * * *

See! morning's golden rays, Breaking night's gloomy haze, Tinge with a burning glow every proud height; Storms beat on them in vain, Steadfast they will remain, Till the eternal day swallows up night.

* * * * *

So may thy soul aspire Ever to climb up higher, Spurning the world's delights, caring for none; Shunning vain pomps and shows, Seeking but calm repose In the "Hereafter," when life is done.



So may'st thou yearn to wear, Like ev'ry angel there, Vestment as pure as snow, spotlessly white; And on thy face to shine That radiancy divine, God's own unquenchable, immortal light.



And, if life's courses seem Pleasant, like some sweet dream, Be thou beware of the evils around: Paths seeming paved with gold Oft mighty sins enfold, Oft where the sea looks still, quicksands abound.

Or should the trials come, Shatt'ring thy earthly home, Dashing fond hopes and despoiling thy life: Meekly thy burden bear To Jesus' throne, and there Thou wilt find rest and help—strength for the strife.

Then, when Heav'n's morning breaks, And ev'ry soul forsakes This baser earth, and flies to its last rest, Chastened by cold and heat, Wash'd by the storms that beat, Oh, may thy spirit soar 'mid God's own blest!

THE END.



APPENDIX A.

GENERAL INFORMATION CONCERNING THE PRINCIPAL TOWNS AND VILLAGES IN THE PYRENEES, INCLUDING NOTES ON THE MEDICAL PROPERTIES OF THE BATHS AT THE CHIEF RESORTS, AND THE EXCURSIONS IN THE VICINITY.

N.B. The following sign ( ) attached to hotels, &c., in this portion of the book, signifies that the Author can personally give his recommendation.

AMELIE-LES-BAINS [Footnote: For routes thither see Appendix B.] (678 ft.), on the River Tech, in the Eastern Pyrenees. A winter resort, with a dry, clear air, tonic and slightly irritant, and a mean temperature during the months of January, February, and March (taken collectively) of 48-1/3 deg. Fahr. The average number of fine days in the year is 210. The baths are naturally heated from 100 deg. to 144 deg., according to the distance from the source. They contain soda in combination with sulphur, carbon, and silica, with a very small proportion of the carbonates of iron and lime. They are recommended in skin diseases, affections of the throat and kidneys, and for chronic rheumatism. The season lasts throughout the year.

Bathing Establishments.—Thermes Pujade; Thermes Romains. With hotel accommodation at both.

Hotels.—Pujade, Romains; Du Kursal, Farret, and Martinet.

Post and Telegraph Office, Cafes, Casino, Theatre, &c.—Living is by no means expensive. In the first-named hotels the charge per diem ought not to exceed 7frs. 50c. for "pension"; in the others it is cheaper. The bathing establishments have excellent accommodation, twenty-seven baths, a large swimming bath, inhaling rooms, etc.: There are doctors in connection with the baths and others resident in the town. The scenery around is very pretty, and rich in groves of olive, cherry, cork, and fig trees, besides banks of heather and ferns, and clusters of honeysuckle.

The Chief Excursions are:—

Prats de Mollo (2618 ft.), 12 1/2 miles by mule path—15 by road; carriage (23 francs with pourboire) 5 1/4 hours.

Inns.—Maillard; Guin-Come.

Preste-les-Bains, 19 miles—8 1/2 hours; carriage 33 francs with pourboire.

Roc de France (4698 ft.): splendid view; 6 1/2 hours there and back. A stiff climb, fully compensated for by the expanse of scenery to be seen from the summit.

Gouffre de la Fou, 4 hours there and back—guide necessary to descend to the bottom of the "Gouffre," for which the "espadrilles" (cord sandals) must be worn.

Col de Faitg, Massanet, 6 hours there and back—a very charming and picturesque excursion.

La Junguera, 20 miles; carriage 23 francs, i.p. [Footnote: i.p., including pourboire.] The first Spanish village over the frontier; an interesting drive.

Le Pertus (958 ft.) 152 miles. There and back 6 hours. Carriage 23 francs, i.p. [Footnote: i.p., including pourboire.]

From Amelie to Perpignan, or vice versa, 23 1/2 miles; a carriage with luggage costs 28 francs, i.p. [Footnote: i.p., including pourboire.]

Carriages and Horses may be hired at Labrunie's or Victor Olive's.

Guide.—Bertrand Oms at Aries.

ARCACHON [Footnote: The Chaplain, Mr. Radcliffe, has issued an excellent guide-book for the locality.]—Situated in the forest, and on the shores of the basin of the same name. The English season is in winter, the French in summer. A favourite resort on account of its mild and sedative climate. Most people live in villas in the forest during the winter, where the strong winds are not felt, and where the mean temperature is 50 deg. Fahr. The calmness of the atmosphere, and the strong scent from the pines, has a beneficial tendency for those suffering from chest complaints.

To those who find it relaxing, Biarritz is recommended as a suitable change.

Hotels.—Grand (on the Plage), Continental, Grand du Foret, &c.

Pensions. Villa Riquet (Mons. Olle, proprietor), Villa Montretout, Villa Peyronnet, and Villa Buffon.

Chaplain.—Rev. W. Radcliffe.

English Church, in the forest; services every Sunday.

Cabs, during the day from 6 A.M. to 8 P.M. The course:

1-1/2 frs. with one horse; 2 frs. with two horses; by the hour, 2-1/2 and 3 frs. respectively.

Horses and Donkeys, 2 frs. and 1 fr. the hour, respectively.

Boats, from 2 frs. the hour, by arrangement.

Bankers and Money Changers.—Dubos and Mauriac, opposite Grand Hotel.

Post and Telegraph Office, Chemists, Grocers, &c.

Casino.

Principal Drives and Excursion are:—

To Moulleau, 2 miles through the forest.

To La Teste, 3 miles.

To the Oyster Beds, in the centre of the bay, on the Ile des Oiseaux.

To the Lighthouse at Cape Ferret, across the basin, whence the Biscay can be seen.

To the Dune de la Grave by boat, and across the forest to La Teste, visiting the giant trees (this must only be undertaken with an experienced guide).

ARGELES (1528 ft.), on the River Azun, in the Hautes-Pyrenees; with a genial climate that makes it a favourite resort very early in the year. Some few people use it as a winter abode also. Living costs "en pension" from 9 to 14 frs. per diem.

Hotels. De France; D'Angleterre (cheaper than the France).

Carriages. At Limoges, can be hired for the afternoon with one horse, 5 frs.; 2 horses, 8 frs.; 4 horses, 10 frs.; or by the day, or for any special excursion.

Horses, also from M. Limoges. For the afternoon, 4 frs.; for the day, 8 to 10 frs. (N.B.—These are spring prices, and not those of the season.)

Chemist.—M. Buale, near the Post Office.

Post and Telegraph Office, and a few shops.

The Chief Excursions are:—

To the Villages of Ges, Serres, Salles, and Ourous—a lovely ride, 2 hours; horses, 4 frs. each, pourboire, 1/2 fr.

Drive round the Valley, via Argeles station, the Chateau de Beaucens, Pierrefitte, and St. Savin, 2 hours 30 min.; carriage with 4 horses, 11 frs. 50 c., i.p.

Le Balandrau (1729 ft.). Lovely walk; one hour there and back.

Pic de Pibeste (4548 ft.) An easy climb: splendid view from the summit.

ARGELES-SUR-MER, 13-3/4 miles from Perpignan. In the midst of fertile fields. Ruins of the Castle de Pujols in the vicinity.

Hotels.—D'Angleterre, De France.

ARLES-SUR-TECH (909 ft.), in the Eastern Pyrenees. Chief town of the canton and the principal commercial centre in the Tech valley. 2-1/2 miles from Amelie, which was formerly known as Arles-les-Bains. Trade with Algeria in apples; and in whip-handles with the whole of France. Old twelfth-century church in the town; and outside, behind a grating, lies the tomb of the Saints Abdon and Sennen.

Hotels.—Rousseau, Pujade.

ARREAU (2190 ft.), at the junction of the valley of Louron with the Aure valley, in the "Hautes-Pyrenees," 23-3/4 miles from Bagneres de Bigorre and 19-1/4 from Luchon, on the direct mountain road. (Route Thermale.)

Hotels. De France, D'Angleterre.

Post and Telegraph Office, Chemist, Grocer, &c.

In the town are the Chapelle de St. Exupere, with a good view from the belfry; the Church of Notre Dame; and the ancient market-place. There are manganese mines in the vicinity.

Excursions to Cardiac, 2 miles. Sulphurous baths, with hotel accommodation.

To the forest of Riou-majou and the falls of Mail-Blanc and Ejet. Over the Col de Plan to the Spanish villages of St. Juan, Gestain, &c. Up the Vallee de Lastie to the Monne de Luchon (7044 ft.).

ARRENS (2950 ft.), in the valley of Azun, in the High Pyrenees, on the Route Thermale, between Eaux Bonnes (19 miles) and Argeles (7-1/2 miles).

Hotels.—De France et de la Poste, De la Paix.

Guides.—Jean Lacoste, M. Gleyre.

Excursions (for which it is an excellent starting-point).—Mont Baletous, 10,318 ft. (the most dangerous point for the ascent—from Eaux Bonnes it is much easier), 4 hours to the summit. Guide absolutely necessary.

Lac Miguelon and Pic d'Arrouy—11 hours there and back; a much-recommended trip.

Pic de Cambales, 9 hours (9728 ft.); an easy ascension; recommended.

ARUDY, in the Basses-Pyrenees, on the direct road from Oloron to Eaux Bonnes or Chaudes; 17-1/4 miles from Oloron and 2 from Louvie-Juzon. Grotte d'Arudy in the vicinity.

ASPIN, a small village in the Aure valley, Hautes-Pyrenees, below the Col of the same name, on the road between Bigorre and Luchon.

ASTE, a village at the entrance to the Gorge de Lheris, near Bagneres de Bigorre—to which refer. Ruins of an ancient castle in which Gabrielle d'Estrelle lived. Church of 16th century. Visited by Pitton de Tounefort, the naturalist.

BAGNERES DE BIGORRE (1808 ft.), standing at the mouth of the fine valley of Campan and the lesser one of Salut. It is one of the most celebrated bathing resorts in the Pyrenees, and is very rich in springs. The climate is mild, and while the season only lasts from the 1st of June to the 15th of October, several English make it a residence all the year round. It is in a great measure protected from the winds, though they blow occasionally strongly and chillily; snow is a rare visitor in the town, and with Argeles it shares the honour of being among the earliest "changes of air" from the warmth of Pau. There are nearly 50 springs divided between 17 establishments, and there is hardly any known or unknown malady for which they cannot be recommended. They may be divided into four classes: 1st, saline; 2nd, ferruginous; 3rd, saline and ferruginous; 4th, sulphurous. They are all naturally heated. The temperature ranges from 64 deg. to 123 deg. Fahr.; and amongst the hottest is the "Salies," which contains a certain limited quantity of arsenic, and is only used for drinking purposes. It is said to be beneficial in laryngitis, ulcerous diseases, and affections of the mouth and throat.

The Principal Establishment is known as the Thermes de Marie-Therese, and contains 7 different springs, and 38 baths of Pyrenean marble. In the winter the price for a bath (simple) varies from 1 fr. to 1 fr. 60 cents, including linen. For a douche-bath 1 fr.; a footbath 60 cents; and for other varieties from 1 fr. 25 cents to 3 frs. Every visit to the drinking-fountain costs 10 cents. In summer a simple bath costs from 1 fr. 25 cents to 2 frs., and douche-bath the same, while the others range from 1 fr. 25 cents to 5 frs.

The other most important establishments are those of Grand Pre, Sante, Salut, and Lassere, while the water of Labassere is brought daily to the town for drinking purposes.

This water of Labassere is sulphurous, and is considered highly beneficial in cases of chronic bronchial catarrh, congestion of the lungs, pulmonary consumption, spasmodic coughs, skin diseases, and chronic laryngitis. See Labassere in Appendix.

Grand Pre has three springs, in all of which iron is present; two are naturally heated, and are considered efficacious in scrofulous diseases, nervous rheumatism, and general debility. The other spring, which is cold and used only for drinking purposes, has a decided tonic action.

Sante possesses two sources, one of which is artificially heated; they are of a saline nature. These are par excellence the "Ladies' Springs," and have great efficacy in cases of overwork, shock to the nervous system, general nervousness, and neuralgia.

Salut possesses three sources of different temperatures, employed in baths and for drinking purposes, as well. Except in very hot weather the water is inodorous, but its sedative properties have placed it in the first rank. It has been used with great benefit in all nervous complaints, hypochondria, hysteria, intestinal complaints, indigestion, &c., its action being also diuretic.