roadside all the way—­more or less—­to Behobie, was very monotonous.  At Behobie (14-1/2 miles) the road to Hendaye leaves the direct route to Spain and branches off to the right.  Following this, we were soon at the frontier.  Hendaye (16 miles) is celebrated for its cognac and a certain liquor called by its name, as well as for an excellent beach and bathing establishment, beyond which there is little worth mention.  Having put up the horses at the Hotel de France, we repaired to the jetty, where happily the tide was high enough to permit of our being ferried across, instead of carried on the back of some brawny (and garlicky) native.  As we were half-rowed, half-poled, down the narrow winding channel of the Bidassoa, we were once again indubitably “’twixt France and Spain,” though the vicinity of the ancient Spanish town, and the lazy sentinels on the river’s bank, made the scene much more Spanish than French.  Once landed, we strolled slowly across the “Embarcadero,” and entered the town by the ancient gateway.  The principal street, which we then ascended, is indeed picturesque.  The miniature verandahs and overhanging roofs of the houses, the latter approaching so close to one another as nearly to permit of shaking hands across; an occasional bright costume appearing at the window or on the verandah; the old church higher up the street, and the battered “Castilio” at the top, furnished ample materials for a very pleasant sketch.  The church is well worth a visit, being very old and of interesting appearance.  Owing to its sheltered position it did not suffer nearly as much as most of the buildings from the missiles in the late Carlist war.  We passed several groups of lazy soldiers, who leered at us offensively and made some uncomplimentary remarks, but otherwise—­beyond the fact that the women stared a good deal when Miss Blunt attempted to sketch—­we met with no discourtesy.  The new casino proves an “extra” attraction in summer, but it is to be regretted that, for gambling purposes alone, many people should be drawn to this quaint old-world town, so worthy of a visit for its picturesqueness alone.

At the time when we wished to visit San Sebastien we learnt that the “Citadol” was closed to visitors, owing to some foreigner having foolishly lighted his cigar near a powder magazine.  As the “Citadol” is the chief attraction, we penned a highly polite letter to his Excellency the Governor of the Province, asking for his permission to visit this otherwise forbidden ground.

We received a most gracious reply, to the effect that, whenever we liked to come, the place was at our disposal, and accordingly selected the first fine morning for our trip.  On this occasion we formed a party large enough for a coach and four, but were very careful to avoid a repetition of our Betharram experiences.