Twas only February when we left Bordeaux for the Pyrenees, but every where were signs of early bloom: the fields were green, the hedgerows beginning to deepen, and here and there were orchards touched with pink and white. The fragrant almond-tree was in full blossom. We whirled by many garden walls within which were some yellow and red flowers growing gayly; and once I remember seeing a group of children climbing a slope with long branches of feathery purple bloom in their little hands. All these tokens of spring-time came upon us like a sudden waking up after a wintry sleep, for we had left London shrouded in fog and mist, with not a sign that summer ever meant to come again. It was with new delight we observed that on nearing Bayonne, a large town four miles from Biarritz, the verdure deepened: indeed, there was a look as of June brilliancy about the country we finally rested in. Our destination was Biarritz, but, to reach it, one goes first to a little sunny railway station called La Négresse, for what reason we always forgot to inquire. There was the name, however. in big painted letters above a picture of a dark lady with ear-rings and a heavy smile-mysterious, but no doubt the most impressive feature of the little place. There were a great many idlers about, watching, with the same interest shown by such people all the world over, for

new arrivals; but we noticed at once a certain picturesqueness of dress and attitude among the people-something which redeemed the most worthless from looking commonplace. Carriages, landaus, hotel omnibuses, stood in waiting. Ahead of us stretched a long white road bordered by a pretty and very fertile country, beyond which rose occasional glimpses of the hills, shining in rather a fierce light, that made it hard just then to gather distinct impressions of form and color. The long roadway was softened here and there by the green of some feathery-looking trees, which cast only faint shadows on the hot white ground, yet swayed now and then daintily in the breeze. This road led to Biarritz, and we were very soon seated in a big landau driving comfortably in that direction. Our driver wore the gay dress of his class in the Pyrenees. It had a very good effect, although on a short, stout man it looked a little fantastic. There were a great many silver buttons on his short little coat; the horses wore bells, and somehow during our stay in Biarritz we never felt quite sure whether the driver or the horse produced the little cheerful tinkling sound which accompanied all our excursions.

We drove through a beautiful though quiet country. The features of the landscape were clearly marked: a rich sweep of green lay between soft undulations, diversified by trees, vagrant hedge-rows, villas, and gardens, with their stone walls hung with vines; a bend in the road would bring us sometimes in sudden view of a little inn, with a court-yard full of cheerful clatter. "Madame" was frequently to be seen leaning out of a window on the ground-floor, handing some tired customer a drink of beer or eau sucrée, while her strong-limbed maidens moved about, dusky shadows within.

VOL. LXIX.-No. 409.-1

The customers seemed chiefly men who were driving teams or wagons in and out between Biarritz and neighboring villages. Any

one of these men might have stepped on to the "boards" in the character of a brigand, yet I know not where a more peaceable, good-humored people are to be found. Their al fresco life, bringing bronzed cheeks, strong limbs, and a certain swaggering gait, seems also to have made them cheerful and gaytempered, and, from what we overheard them saying, they appeared to enjoy the beautiful weather with an appreciation curious in such a land of bloom. Everywhere the sunshine seemed almost unbroken. It lay in

FLOWER-GATHERING.

3

OUR POSTILION.

wide, flowing streams of light, emphasizing every bit of color, deepening every bit of green, and, in spite of the cool, soft winds, giving us an impression of midsummer. Overhead, the trails of cloud were fretted, making their way with delicate, languid movements across the radiant bosom of the sky. I think it was in that first drive from La Négresse to Biarritz that we received the impression of perpetual smiling youth and gladness in the old, old country, which we never lost; everywhere Nature seemed to lift this joyous look to heaven; her face seemed to flush and pale, to laugh and dimple, with the divine tenderness and light of happy youth; nothing then or later suggested the possibility of decay. It was all bloom and perfection, untouched, unfettered; and even after days and nights of storm, the land al