“From point and saucy ermine, down
  To the plain coif and rustic gown.”

The natives have their peculiar air and customs, and the Basques are always picturesque.  Spanish guitar-players vie with Neapolitan harpists, and both with the waves and the hum of talk.  The lottery spirit shoots up here from its hot-bed in Spain.  Small boys wander about the beach with long, cylindrical tin boxes painted a bright red and carried by a strap from the shoulder.  The rim of the lid is marked off into numbered compartments, and in its centre is an upright teetotum with a bone projection; while the cylinder itself is filled with cones of crisp, flaky sweet-wafers, stacked one into another like cornucopias.  The charge is one sou for a spin, and the figure opposite which the projecting bone-piece stops indicates the number of cones due the spinner.  The figures vary from 2 to 30, and there are no blanks.  Every one appears to patronize the contrivance, and you constantly hear the click of the teetotum along the beach.  Though there are but two 30’s in the circumference, each who spins fondly hopes to gain one, and thus the same spirit which supports Monte Carlo in splendor gives these boys a thriving trade.

II.

We spend an idle morning on the projecting point of bluff overlooking the coves and the fishermen’s cabins.  This promontory uplifts a signal-station, the Atalaye.  Down at the left and rear, cutting inland, is the Port Vieux, where the second bathing pavilion stands; and, sending up their cries and shoutings to the heights, we

      “see the children sport along the shore,
  And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.”

The day is breezy and not too warm.  We feel few ambitions.  Has the dreamy spirit of the South come upon us so soon?

It will be a perfect spot for a picnic lunch.

We will imitate the fete champetre of Charles and Catherine held on the isle of the Adour.  The ladies give their sanction, and three of us are promptly appointed commissaries.  We take the path down to the street, and find a promising little grocery-store.  The madame bows a welcome.

“Can one obtain here of the bread?” we ask.

“Ah, no,” deprecatingly, “that is only with the baker.”

“A little of cheese, then? and some Albert biscuits?  And a bottle or two of lemonade, and one of light wine?”

“But yes, without doubt; monsieur shall have these instantly;” and a bright-faced little girl proceeds to collect the supplies.

“Might one carry away the bottles, and afterward return them?” we venture.

Here the madame begins to appear suspicious.  It is evidently an irregular purchase at best, and this request seems to make her a trifle frosty.

“A deposit should perhaps be necessary,” we suggest; “how much is desired?”

Madame gives the subject a moment’s thought.  “Monsieur would have to leave at least four sous on each bottle,” she finally declares.