64 



last century on the lines originally laid down by him. To-day, reclamation 

 and afforestation have, more or less, completely shorn these moving sands 

 of their power for evil ; nevertheless, they continue to call for constant 

 watchfulness, lest the toil of a long century should, after all, go for nothing ; 

 and the cost of the upkeep of the reclamation works is said to exceed 12,000 

 a year. 



With our present superabundance of territory we do not always realise 

 how dangerous, in time to come, may prove these sandhills which we ruth- 

 lessly strip of their covering of native shrubs and trees, that our flocks and 

 herds may the more readily graze thereon. But, even within our days, the 

 late Albert Molineux never wearied of pointing to the damage that was already 

 being done by the moving dunes of the Coorong ; and from time to time we 

 hear of the spasmodic efforts of private individuals to stem the advancing 

 sand. But not until the whole power of the State is brought to bear on the 

 matter, and a scheme of protection be worked out on rational lines, as was 

 the case in France some hundred years ago, will anything like success be 

 obtained ; and the longer the time we take to realise that such must be the 

 case the costlier and more difficult is the task likely to prove. 



As one approaches Bayonne and the Pyrenees the general character of the 

 country changes for the better. One gets glimpses of opulent pasture lands 

 confined by luxuriantly overgrown hedges, curiously iem'n ; cent of Ireland. 



I spent five days in the neighborhood of Bayonne and Biarritz, but find 

 that the only note of general interest made thereon has reference to the 

 sumptuous trappings of the bullocks hauling the local carts. The pride of 

 each driver appears to have become concentrated upon his yoke, which is 

 not only useful, but ornamental into the bargain ; it is generally bedecked 

 with the whitest of sheepskins. 



One day we spent in motoring into the Pyrenees and over the Spanish 

 frontier ; from sea-level we gradually rose to 3,500ft. at Koncevaux. The 

 scenery was fine and the mountains well wooded ; but, unfortunately, more 

 or less continuous rain took some of the gilt off the outing. We passed 

 through Saint-Jean-Pied-du-Port, now a picturesque village, once the capital 

 city of Basse-Navarre. We crossed the Bidassoa and stood on the bridge 

 separating France from Spain, and finally ascended to Roncevaux, where, 

 according to legend, Charlemagne and his Paladins were defeated by the 

 Saracens. In appearance, at all events, there is little to choose between the 

 Basque of the French slopes of the Pyrenees and his cousin of the Spanish 

 slopes. He is clean-shaven, wears a " b6ret " a sort of Tarn o'Shanter 

 cap and on festive or ceremonious occasions is addicted to sombre garments, 

 knee-breeches, and flat-brimmed hats. I was not much impressed with the 

 cows occasionally to be met with grazing on the hill slopes ; they have coarse, 

 stag-like heads, and very defective milk vessels. Oxen, mules, and asses 

 appear to be the usual beasts of burden ; horses are but rarely met with. 



