“EXHORTATION TO THE FIRST SNOW.”

  Emblem of Purity,
  Chilly as Charity,
Oh, what a joy your deep whiteness to view! 
  Something is gain’d at last,
  But you are melting fast,
Why does the cruel sun put you to stew?

  Tell me, O long-lain snow,
  What of the vale below? 
What do you think about people and things? 
  Do you love forest-trees? 
  Or love you more the breeze? 
Tell me what bird you think most sweetly sings?

  What?  You’ve no heart at all? 
  Cannot help where you fall,
Caring not if you swell to a huge size: 
  Minding not how you rush,
  What you break, whom you crush? 
Surely such feelings you ought to disguise.

  Ah, well! we won’t discuss,
  Useless to make a fuss;
For, after all, I am glad that we met. 
  Emblem of Purity,
  Chilly as Charity—­
But I won’t roll in you.  No! you’re too wet!

The two dogs were amusing in their absurdity.  They were perpetually endeavouring to detach stones from the side of the pathway, so as to have the pleasure of pursuing them down the steep.  At times, when the hill was thickly strewn with leaves or particularly steep, they completely disappeared, though violent pulsations among the scattered branches and the aforesaid leaves told us they were not lost, but only temporarily buried.

When we had barely mounted another 400 feet, we came upon regular banks of snow, right over the path.  This was quite unexpected, and we had to decide whether to leave the horses and tramp through the snow, or to return.  We chose the latter—­although the Col de Riou stood out seemingly very practicable of ascent—­and, returning on foot, the horses and guides following, with the dogs here, there, and everywhere, we reached the “Grange de la Reine Hortense” and proceeded to lunch.  After giving a very good account of the pate sandwiches, and not forgetting the guides and the dogs, we made our way slowly back, defeated perhaps, but certainly not discouraged.

Although neither the Lac de Gaube nor the Pont d’Espagne were attainable, the Cerizey Fall, which is about one third of the distance to the lake along the same route, was kind enough to put itself at our disposal.  Not wishing to appear ungrateful, we availed ourselves of a fine afternoon to order round the horses and our two guides, and started about two o’clock.  For some time we followed the road known as the Rue de la Raillere, which leads to the baths of the same name from the Place St. Martin; crossing the river by a very unpretentious bridge, not far from the town.  Leaving La Raillere behind, and passing in turn the drinking establishment of Mauhourat—­near which the Gaves of Lutour and Marcadau form the Gave of Cauterets—­and the baths of Petit St. Sauveur and Le Pre, and gaining as we mounted a good view of the “Cascade de Lutour” on the left, we entered the Marcadau valley, or (more properly)