30 Travels in France 



are without stockings. Meet them coming from the market, with 

 their shoes in their baskets. The P^Tenees, 60 miles distant, 

 appear now so distinct that one would guess it not more than 

 fifteen ; the lights and shades of the snow are seen clearly. — 30 m. 



i6th. A ridge of hills on the other side of the Garonne, which 

 began at Toulouse, became more and more regular yesterday; 

 and is undoubtedly the most distant ramification of the Pyre- 

 nees, reaching into this vast vale quite to Toulouse, but no 

 farther. Approach the mountains; the lower ones are all 

 cultivated, but the higher seem covered with wood: the road 

 now is bad all the way. Meet many waggons, each loaded with 

 two casks of wine, quite backward in the carriage, and as the 

 hind wheels are much higher than the fore ones, it shows that 

 these mountaineers have more sense than John Bull. The 

 wheels of these waggons are all shod with wood instead of iron. 

 Here, for the first time, see rows of maples, with vines, trained in 

 festoons, from tree to tree; they are conducted by a rope of 

 bramble, vine cutting, or willow. They give many grapes, 

 but bad wine. Pass St. Martino,^ and then a large village of 

 well-built houses, without a single glass window. — 30 miles. 



17//1. St. Gaudens is an improving town, with many new 

 houses, something more than comfortable. An uncommon 

 \'iew of St. Bertrand; you break at once upon a vale sunk deep 

 enough beneath the point of view to command every hedge and 

 tree, with that town clustered round its large cathedral, on a 

 rising ground; if it had been built purposely to add a feature 

 to a singular prospect, it could not have been better placed. 

 The mountains rise proudly around, and give their rough frame 

 to this exquisite little picture. 



Cross the Garonne, by a new bridge of one fine arch, built 

 of hard blue limestone. Medlars, plums, cherries, maples in 

 every hedge, with vines trained. — Stop at Lauresse; after which 

 the mountains almost close, and leave only a narrow vale, the 

 Garonne and the road occupying some portion of it. Immense 

 quantities of poultry in all this country; most of it the people 

 salt and keep in grease. We tasted a soup made of the leg of a 

 goose thus kept, and it was not nearly so bad as I expected. 



Every crop here is backward, and betrays a want of sun; no 

 wonder, for we have been long travelling on the banks of a rapid 

 river, and must now be very high, though still apparently in 

 vales. The mountains, in passing on, grow more interesting. 

 Their beauty, to northern eyes, is very singular; the black and 



* St. Martory. 



