We discovered no new features of interest as far as Behobie, but the day being very clear, we had a fine view of the distant Pyrenees and the Spanish coastline from various points along the road.  Passing through Behobie’s narrow streets and crossing the Bidassoa by the strong stone bridge, we were only a minute “’twixt France and Spain,” and entering Irun found ourselves in the hands of the Customs authorities.  Having “nothing to declare” and nothing contraband undeclared, we were soon permitted to proceed, although our “cocher” almost immediately afterwards stopped to change horses.  Accordingly, we walked on up a pretty lane with ivied walls, near which—­in the background—­stood an old church.  Finding a comfortable place for lunching in the vicinity, we awaited the arrival of the coach, and discussed our hamper before again moving on.  Not having too much time, however, we did not delay long, and remounting, bowled merrily along to “Pasages.”  This was once the safest port on the coast, and in fact is yet; but the accumulation of sand, &c., at the entrance, has made it practically useless for any ships but those of very light draught.  It forms a tidal basin, and houses are built on its sides, along one of which the road for some time skirts, but afterwards assumes a straight course and descends into San Sebastien.  From the highest point of the road, before we commenced descending, we had a splendid view of the town, which looked busy, imposing, and clean.

When once inside, we drove to the Hotel de Londres; then crossed the street to the guardhouse, presented our “permit” for the “Citadol,” and after a little fuss and red tapeism—­such as Spaniards, even more than Frenchmen, dearly love—­under the guidance of a soldier, commenced the ascent.  How many times we presented our “carta” we know not, but at every turn some official was ready to ask to see it, and this business took almost as long as the actual mounting, though in the end we did manage to reach the summit.  The view from thence was very fine, extending for miles in all directions, but after enjoying it for a short time, we descended to visit the graves of the English who fell in defending the place in 1836 against the Carlists, which lie in a little cemetery on one side of the hill.  Maiden-hair ferns grow among the rocks by the path, which from time to time discloses views of the town and the pretty rocky island—­Santa Clara—­in the bay.  After descending, we had time for a glimpse at the interior of the church of Santa Maria and the bull-ring, as well as a stroll along the beautiful beach, before it was necessary to start homewards, and when at length we were deposited in safety at our hotel, we all acknowledged that the day had been a very pleasant one indeed!  With such enjoyable drives, and the tennis, and the ever-changing sea, we never found time hang heavily on our hands; and if we had, there was the little railway to carry us into the bustle of Bayonne for shopping or listening