Jonquieres 37 



watched by shepherds^ who have fire-arms^ and the assistance 

 of many stout and fierce dogs; and cattle are shut up in stables 

 every night in the year. Sometimes, by accident, they wander 

 from their keepers, and if left abroad, they run a considerable 

 risk of being devoured. — The bears attack these animals by 

 leaping on their back, force the head to the ground, thrust their 

 paws into the body in the violence of a dreadful hug. There 

 are many hunting days every year for destroying them; 

 several parishes joining for that purpose. Great numbers of 

 men and boys form a cordon, and drive the wood where the bears 

 are known or suspected to be. They are the fattest in winter, 

 when a good one is worth three louis. A bear never ventures 

 to attack a wolf; but several wolves together, when hungry, 

 will attack a bear, and kill and eat him. Wolves are here only 

 in winter. In summer, they are in the very remotest parts of 

 the Pyrenees — the most distant from human habitations: they 

 are here, as everywhere else in France, dreadful to sheep. 



A part of our original plan of travelling to the Pyrenees was 

 an excursion into Spain. Our landlord at Luchon had before 

 procured mules and guides for persons travelling on business 

 to Saragossa and Barcelona, and at our request wrote to Vielle, 

 the first Spanish town across the mountains, for three mules and 

 a conductor who speaks French; and being arrived according 

 to appointment, we set out on our expedition. For the register 

 of this Tour into Spain, I must refer the reader to the Annals of 

 Agriculture, vol. viii. p. 193. 



July 21. Return. — Leave Jonquieres, where the countenances 

 and manners of the people would make one believe all the 

 inhabitants were smugglers. Come to a most noble road which 

 the King of Spain is making; it begins at the pillars that mark 

 the boundaries of the two monarchies, joining with the French 

 road: it is admirably executed. Here take leave of Spain and 

 re-enter France: the contrast is striking. When one crosses 

 the sea from Dover to Calais, the preparation and circumstance 

 of a naval passage lead the mind by some gradation to a change : 

 but here, without going through a town, a barrier, or even a 

 wall, you enter a new world. From the natural and miserable 

 roads of Catalonia, you tread at once on a noble causeway, made 

 with all the soUdity and magnificence that distinguishes the 

 highways of France. Instead of beds of torrents you have 

 well built bridges; and from a country wild, desert, and poor, 

 we found ourselves in the midst of cultivation and improvement. 

 Every other circumstance spoke the same language, and told 



