Part 3 (1/2)

'Twas only when at my request some kindly hand would chide, Or sharply thrust a pointed stick against thy s.h.a.ggy side, That the slow blood that in thee runs would quicken once again, For though my parasol I broke, my efforts _still_ were vain.

Did I ill use thee? Surely not! such things could never be!

Although thou wentest slowest when I fain would haste to tea.

Creeping at snail's pace only--while I couldn't make thee learn That donkeys' legs were never made to stop at ev'ry turn.

At ev'ry turn!--such weary work--I knew not what to do: Oh nevermore!--no, nevermore!--would I that ride renew.

How very wide thy jaws were kept--how far thrown back thine ears, As though to make me think thee ill and fill my soul with fears.

Safe and unmounted will I roam with stately step alone, No more to feel, on thee, such pains and aches in ev'ry bone: And if I rest beside a well, perchance I'll pause and think, How even if I'd brought thee there, I couldn't make thee drink.

I couldn't even make thee move! Away, the ride is o'er!

Away! for I shall rue the day on which I see thee more!

They said thou wert so meek and good, and I'm not over strong, I took their _kind_ advice, but oh! their _kind_ advice was _wrong._

Who said I'd gladly give thee up? Who said that thou were old?

'Tis true! 'tis true! my donkey steed! and I alas was _sold._ With joy I see thy form depart--that form which ne'er again Shall bear me up the mountain-side and fill my soul with pain.

After such a potent warning posterity will doubtless avoid ”donkey steeds” altogether.

Sat.u.r.day is the great market-day of the week, and not only then is the ”Place de Strasbourg,” at the end of the ”Rue du Centre,” well crowded, but even--as happens on no other day--the Place Lafayette, in front of the hotel, and the top of the Coustous as well. The first-named is the fruit, flower, and vegetable market; the second, the grain and potato; and the third, the iron and old shoe market.

The amount and variety of old iron and cast-off shoes exposed for sale is astonis.h.i.+ng. And if the vendors were given to crying their wares they might indulge in something like the following--of course translated:--

”Now who's for an 'upper,' a 'heel,' or a 'sole'?

This way for some fine rusty chain!

The sum of ten halfpence will purchase the whole, And surely you cannot complain!

”Just glance at this slipper, whose fellow is lost; Here's a boot that was only worn thrice; A hammer, your honour, at half what it cost; I'm sure that's a reasonable price.”

The curious characters loafing, begging, buying and selling, quite defy description, though the resemblance of many to the ape tribe was conspicuous. One ancient individual, presiding over an ”umbrella hospital,” presented an interesting spectacle surrounded by _adult_ shoe-blacks whose trade did not appear to be too lucrative.

Sunday is usually a very quiet day out of the season, but on our first Sunday morning the Place de Strasbourg was the scene of a real cat-fight. The combatants quite tabooed spitting and scratching, and went to work with their teeth. After a few squeaks and a great deal of rolling in the dust, a magnanimous dog appeared on the scene, and after separating them, pursued the victor down the street. The rest of the day, as usual, pa.s.sed peacefully, and the pleasant services in the pretty little English Church were much enjoyed. It is situated near Dussert and Labal's marble works, just off the Rue des Pyrenees, leading to Campan, about a hundred yards beyond the Coustous, and is reached by crossing a small wooden bridge.

Monday broke very fine, and as the market people had notified that the Col d'Aspin was now open, we made up a party of ten, just filling two landaus, for this fifteen-mile drive. We did not start till eleven, and by that time the clouds had commenced to show themselves, but hoping for better things, we went ahead. Following the Campan road, we soon left Gerde and the Palomieres above it, in the distance, and in a few moments the village of Aste as well. A little further on we met a barouche, lolling back in which sat a priest. His hands were clasped o'er his breast, his spectacled eyes were fixed upwards, and judging by the expression of his mouth and the movement of his lips, he was endeavouring to put some pleasant, self-contented thoughts into words. We took the liberty of guessing what he was saying, and set it down as

”THE ABBe'S SONG.”

Oh! I am an Abbe, an Abbe am I, And I'm fond of my dinner and wine.

Some say I'm a sinner, but that I deny, And I never am heard to repine.

'Tis said what a pity I can't have a wife, But I'm saved from the _chance_ of all naggings and strife, While in my barouche I can ride where I will, Feeling life not half bad, though the world may be ill.

I always wear gla.s.ses, but that's to look sage, And not 'cause my eyesight is dim, For when sweet maids I view of a loveable age, I contrive to look over the rim.

And when I'm alone with the gla.s.s at my lips, I am ready to swear, as I pause 'twixt the sips, That as long as the world does not hamper my will, I think I can manage to live in it still.

A short distance before reaching Baudean a road strikes to the right up the Vallon de Serris, and a short distance beyond, another, in the same direction, strikes up the Vallee de Lesponne, _en route_ for the Lac Bleu (6457 ft.) and the Montaigu (7681 ft.).