“With the warm sunlight upon it, and the pure, clear blue above, into which these great shapes are wedged like a divine mosaic, the scene looks so spotless and holy in its union with the heavens that one might fancy it a link between this earthliness and the purity above, ’the heaven-kissing hill’ on which angels’ feet alight.  The great vision of marvelous John Bunyan seemed there realized, and we had found the Immanuel’s Land and these were the Delectable Mountains.  ‘For,’ said he, ’when the morning was up they bid him look South; so he did, and behold, at a great distance he saw a most pleasant mountainous country beautified with woods, vineyards, fruits of all sorts, flowers also; with springs and fountains very delectable to behold....  It was common, too, for all the pilgrims, and from thence they might see the gates of the Celestial City.’”

IV.

At the other side of the hotel we are in Pau.  There is not very much that is impressive in its general appearance.  We go by a patch of park and through a mediocre street, and find ourselves in the public square,—­the Carfax of the city.  From this run east and south its two chief streets.  All of the buildings are low and most of them dingy.  We expected newer, higher, more Parisian effects.  At the right of the square is the long, flat market-building, vocal, in and out, this early morning, with bustling hucksters superintending their stalls.  The square itself is bright with the colors of overflowing flowers and fabrics and other idols of the market-place.  Neat little heaps of fruit, apexed into “ball-piled pyramids,” are guarded by characterful old women, alert and intent, whose heads, coifed with striped kerchiefs, nod a reward to the purchaser with a hearty “Merci, monsieur!”

[Illustration]

Few of the streets in the town are well paved, and few of the villas seen in driving in the suburbs aid to raise the architectural average.  Except for its palace-hotels, Pau seems to show little of artistic building enterprise.

This city, so popular with the English, is rarely spoken of in America.  There, in fact, it is singularly little known.  This is no truer of Pau than of the Pyrenees themselves; but even to Englishmen who may know as little as we of the latter, the former is familiar ground.  Four thousand Britons winter here annually, besides French and other visitors, and Pau runs well in the hibernal race, even against Mentone and Nice.  Its hotels alone would evidence this.  Up to these, there are all grades of good accommodation,—­the pensions, of good or better class; furnished apartments, or a flat to be rented by the season; whole villas to be leased or purchased, as the intending comer may prefer.

One can leave Paris or Marseilles by the evening express and be in Pau the next afternoon,—­about the same length of time as required to reach St. Augustine from New York.  This is certainly far from a formidable journey, and it is matter for surprise that the adventurous American does not oftener take it.