NOTES OF A LOITERER IN THE PYRENEES. BY HENRY COOKE, OF PETERBOROUGH. I. THE JOURNEY FROM ST. MALO TO PAU. I SHALL commence my observations by a short statement of the fares I paid from Southampton to Pau, and the number of hours it took me to perform the journey: 'Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, Total first-class fares, self and portmanteau, Southampton to Pau, 100 francs. One of the chief attractions of this route, independently of its cheapness, is, that on leaving the embattled town of St. Malo, you enter at once upon some of the finest scenery of Brittany. Nothing can be prettier than the sail up the Rance to Dinan, or more singularly picturesque than the situation of that interesting old town, with its dark towers and battlements, on a lofty hill, several hundred feet above the river. The old castle, famous for its gallant defence against the English, by the chivalrous Dugueslin, in the fifteenth century, is said to have once been a royal residence. It is now used as a prison for rogues and vagabonds. To such base uses may we come, Horatio! The country around is remarkable for the extreme beauty of its sylvan scenery and secluded nooks and dells, with many a mouldering ruin of historical and romantic interest to excite the imaginative mind. The feudal turrets of Lehon, about a mile from the town, are said to have been constructed by the Romans, while almost at the foot of the wooded eminence on which they stand, repose the still more interesting remains of a venerable abbey, where once The bells were rung and the mass was sung. What exquisite taste these old monks generally displayed in the choice of a site for their splendid monasteries, and how much they resembled the priests of more modern times in their fondness for the good things of this life! They loved good kale On Fridays when they fasted; But the diligence leaves for Rennes at three o'clock, and I must bid adieu to these interesting relics of bygone days. The sacred tapers' lights are gone, Grey moss has clad the altar stone, The bell has ceased to toll, The long-ribb'd aisles are burst and shrunk, The holy shrines to ruin sunk, God's blessing on his soul. The English boarding-house at Dinan is conducted by the widow of a British officer, whose kindness and unremitting attention to her guests create in their minds a perfect feeling of home. The terms, too, are so moderate, the accommodation so superior, the rooms so spacious, and the views from the windows so enchanting, that one feels reluctant to quit such comfortable quarters, even to wander in the Pyrenees. The passing glimpse I obtained of Nantes and Bourdeaux, en route from Dinan to Pau, does not enable me to give any description of those fine cities. I thought the scenery through which I passed pretty, but nothing beyond. On reaching Pau, I took up my quarters for a fortnight at the Hôtel de France. The charges were eight francs a day, which is about the average of what it cost me throughout my rambles in the Pyrenees. It is, however, an excellent plan before leaving England to make up your mind to be cheated to a certain extent; and not allow an occasional overcharge of a paltry franc or two to mar the pleasure of the excursion. The French have got a notion that we are not agreeable people as a nation that our manners are brusque and unpolished-that we are prone to make invidious comparisons between the two countries, and to sing our national hymns, wherever we go. This may to a certain extent be true, but they are not aware of the important fact, that the people who render us so unpopular as a nation are generally those who have no position whatever in their own country. The most interesting object at Pau is its venerable château built some 500 years ago, and remarkable for the extreme beauty of its situation. At the time of my visit it was occupied as a prison, by the heroic yet unfortunate Abd-el-Kader, who has since been removed to the Château of Amboise, near Tours, where he still remains-1850. Henry IV. was born in the Castle of Pau, in 1553, a prince of whom the Bearnais still speak with admiration. Le seul roi dont le peuple ait gardé la mémoire, comme dit Voltaire. Here, I saw his elegant cradle of tortoiseshell, and listened with eagerness to many an interesting incident of his earlier days. When wandering in this region of romance, he is said to have made love to almost every pretty Bearnaise he encountered, and as he was every inch a king, and nearly six feet high without his shoes, there is no doubt that his addresses were generally favourably received. The country around is richly cultivated with the vine, which covers the slopes of the hills-their summits being generally adorned with pine timber. Occasionally some mouldering ruin, or quaint-looking château, with its balustrades and terraces, breaks upon the view, while the distant mountains give a fine finish to the whole. Such is the scenery towards Orthes, where the famous battle was fought between the English and French in 1814. I visited on my way there the ancient town of Lescar, said to have once been the capital of Bearn. The church is curious, and so is the old castle. One of its towers, or rather a portion of it, has fallen in a huge mass into the vale beneath, a proof of the solidity of the masonry in days of yore. prince Henry encounHer story is affecting. She was the object of It was in this neighbourhood that the young tered Fleurette, the gardener's pretty daughter. You may get it at any shop in Pau for sixpence. the king's first love. This little story teaches us, that the course of true love never yet ran smooth, for poor Fleurette, a victim to disappointed hopes, was one day found floating in the Gave. When lovely woman stoops to folly, I drank a bottle of excellent wine at Lescar, the growth of the spot. It cost me a franc, and was somewhat potent. Pau is one of the pleasantest places at which I ever sojourned. I was charmed with its picturesque terraces, and the brilliant views they afford of the majestic Pyrenees, especially as seen from the Park, a natural terrace nearly a mile long, planted with fine beech-trees. Here, you look down upon a scene that a painter would delight to dwell upon. The venerable castle, so interesting from its historical associations, crowns the summit of a lofty eminence on your left. The Gave immediately below, wends its serpentine course through a valley of great extent and breadth. The distant hills, covered from base to summit with the vine, are backed by forest trees, and bounded by a magnificent range of mountains of singular shape and form, especially the Pic du Midi, which rears its almost perpendicular cone in isolated grandeur above the rest. But no man can form any just conception of the surpassing splendour of these mountains, who does not see them under different effects of light and shade. Sometimes they do not condescend to appear at all, but even as you gaze the clouds rise gradually like the curtain of a theatre. The mountains stand forth in bold relief. The whole unites, On the 21st of August I left Pau, with my knapsack and staff, to walk to Penticosa, in Spain, and thence to Cauterets. This is the most characteristic and delightful excursion that can be made in the Pyrenees, and affords the finest combination of lake and mountain scenery. *The first day I walked twenty-four miles, by the Val d'Ossan to Eaux Chaudes. The country for a great portion of the way is finely cultivated, and dotted with cheerful-looking hamlets and villages. The high wooded backgrounds, the beautifully-verdant meadows, with the numerous rivulets, formed a pleasing picture for the eye to dwell upon. But this order of scenery changes as you approach the mountains. The valley contracts considerably; the hills, wooded from base to summit, chiefly with birch and box, rise abruptly on each side the roaring Gave. The river is now a torrent, and huge rocks and picturesque crags are scattered about in wild confusion. There is one narrow pass, not more than six or seven yards in breadth, walled in for a considerable distance with gigantic precipices, that recalled to my recollection the Hollenthall, or Valley of Hell, near Fribourg, in Germany. It was evening when I reached Eaux Chaudes, a romantic spot, in the very midst of mountains and cataracts. The sun, slowly sinking, brought out with fine effect the darkly-wooded precipices, while the loftier mountains loomed through the increasing twilight with a grandeur that it is difficult to describe. One never feels more happy than when wandering amidst mountains and traversing a fine country on foot. The pureness of the air, the beauty of the scenery, and the healthy exercise, create a buoyancy of spirit that makes one feel how full of enjoyment life is: There is a pleasure in the pathless woods By the deep sea, and music in its roar. ; And yet, strange to say, there are many who, "with all the means and appliances to boot," have no relish whatever for seeing this our beautiful world, but who, from choice, remain constantly at home, drudging at some money-grubbing pursuit, until finally their minds become so contracted that they have scarcely a wish, or even a notion, beyond pounds, shillings, and pence And with the silent growth of ten per cent., I once heard a wealthy London banker say that a beautiful country possessed no attractions whatever for him, and that his greatest happiness consisted in sitting from one year's end to another on a high stool in his banking-house, studying his ledger, and looking on his forty clerks. He had hatched, sitting in this manner, a million of money, and must soon now, I should think, close his ledger for ever. Eaux Chaudes is much resorted to by visitors during the season, many of whom pass the entire summer here and at the Eaux Bonnes-a charming spot, about five miles distant, celebrated for the salubrity of its waters—and which, like Holloway's renowned pills, are said to cure all diseases. I found at the hotel a great deal of good society, both French and English; nor was music wanting to add to our enjoyment, for one of the young ladies sang, with a guitar accompaniment, some of our national ballads in a very pleasing and unaffected manner. I envy not the man who is insensible to the charms of music or fine scenery, for both appear to me to draw forth the finer feelings of our nature. These simple, yet touching melodies, awaken in our minds a thousand fond souvenirs. I have often, when wandering in far distant lands, felt my heart beat quicker on hearing some long familiar, but almost forgotten, air fall gently on my ear. That strain again! It had a dying fall; It came o'er my spirit like the sweet south I was occupied three days walking from Eaux Chaudes to the Baths of Penticosa, and thence to Cauterets, sleeping two nights on the road. The route is intricate, and ought on no account to be attempted without a guide, especially as mauvais sujets are sometimes skulking about the Spanish hills, who, from their love of filthy lucre (the only filth I like myself), might perhaps be tempted to send a solitary tourist on a much longer journey than his passport was viséed for. Whatever risks you're forced to run, Ah! still take care of Number One. I, therefore, bargained with a stout mountaineer of excellent character, and well known at Eaux Chaudes by the name of "Cammy," to accompany me to Cauterets. I paid him twenty-one francs for the three days' excursion, and can highly recommend him. Honesty and good faith were legibly depicted on his fine, open countenance, and he lightened the road with many a story and many a song. I rarely, however, take a guide when I can help it. The only companion I like on a roving excursion is a faithful and attached dog. In life the firmest friend The first to welcome, foremost to defend with whom you feel perfectly unrestrained, and whose sagacity is only equalled by his devoted attachment. It was my good fortune to possess a dog of this description, whose extreme beauty, playful disposition, and varied accomplishments, made him a general favourite wherever he went; but woe to any Chartist, Communist, or common fellow, who dared, even in joke, to touch his master's knapsack, for he hated low curs, as the devil hates holy water, which is more than can be said for many a high-bred dog that I could name. On our way to Ga Bas, the last French village on this route, we met numbers of peasant girls, gaily attired in their holiday costume. It was, I believe, a fête day. Some of them walked bareshod, and occasionally carried a good pair of shoes in their hands, thus punishing their flesh, as it were, to save their soles, the shoes being evidently intended more for show than general use. As in some Irish houses where things are so-so, But for eating a morsel of what they take pride in, |