Ir would hardly seem that January was a time for pic-nics, nor is it often so in the south of France more than in England, that sweetest of all countries, most neglected and most unjustly censured for its climate, which is infinitely better than the seekers after novelty will allow. I do not know how a pic-nic in January would answer in general in England, but arranged under the circumstances of our expedition to Coarraze on the 25th, it could scarcely have failed.

Pau is one of the gayest places imaginable: scarcely one evening passes without a féte. English, Spaniards, and Americans have nearly pushed the French inhabitants from their stools, and those who remain are rather looked upon as visitors amongst the intruders, who, like cuckoos, have turned the original birds out of their nests. The French give very few parties, but the English are never quiet; one soirée creates another, and one new expedition suggests a newer. One bright sunny day in the afternoon, when the blue sky and soft air asserted that it was summer, and was only contradicted by the leafless trees and desolate aspect of the hills, which insisted on the season being that of winter, a gay party of every body in Pau,' met together in the high terrace of the Park of Castel Beziat, and were seen standing in groups, laughing and talking, and devising for the future. The mountains were at this moment so clear and so close, that it seemed almost possible to see the bears coursing each other through the ravines and across the plains of snow, extending from peak to peak, glittering in the golden sun, which reflected their sides of tale and ice like fabled heights of looking-glass or crystal. The near coteaux, though no longer covered with vines, by their sombre hue and cold brown colour, brought out the back-ground of the transparent purple Pyrenees in fine relief. Every peak was sharply traced upon the blue sky, from the enormous pyramid of

Bagneres, above the valley of the Adour, along the line, where a space opens towards St. Sauveur, and Vignemole's shadow gleams far off, where the jagged sides of Costerillou lead the eye on to Gabisos and the Pics of the Eaux Bonnes, and the great monarch of the Val D'Ossau raises his triple crown, diademed with snow, and the high chain of Aspe sinks gradually away from view. All this, though seen so often by the promenaders in the park of Pau, has every day new attractions, so magnificent is the prospect of these gorgeous mountains and their murmuring attendant, the everclamouring Gave, which rushes impetuously along its interrupted bed, and leaps, and winds, and chafes, and glitters, without pause or delay, spurning all control, and making itself what course it pleases for its bright green waters through the sands and shingles which strive to choke its passage. Meantime the gay party increased every moment in size till the whole walk was filled with smiling faces, and the whole air rung with lively voices. A pic-nic, it was contended, would be very possible; and to lose the opportunity of the fine day was a positive misdemeanour. What so easy and what so pleasant as to order all the carriages, and let the gentlemen all mount their horses, and to-morrow morning set out for Coarraze? The castle where Henri Quatre studied, under the eye of his governess Susanne de Bourbon, Baronne de Missons, or under that of the pretty jardiniere, who taught the ready prince the lore never since forgotten, de conter Fleu

rette.

Some sage voices were faintly heard, whispering of colds and draughts, and damp grounds, and snowy mountains, but the laughter and approval drowned the sounds, and it was all agreed on without opposition, and an hour fixed. Patés, and champagne, and Bayonne hams, and all that the pastry-cooks of Pau could furnish, were soon ordered, and the sun went down in crimson and