After a pleasant meal we made a move to inspect the town and its environs, and were not long in forming an opinion, at any rate, on the former, which we think most visitors at this season of the year would be inclined to endorse.  One long ascending street lined with houses all shut up, occasional breaks where a narrow alley or the roads to the hospitals and promenades branched off, the bathing establishments under much-needed repair, the dirty-looking river dashing down behind, on the left; the beech boughs clad in dead leaves rustling on the slopes, in the opposite direction; and a few natives here and there, very untidy and sleepy-looking, as though with difficulty awaking from the “dormouse” state, complete the picture of Bareges, which we need hardly add is in itself a most desolate and dreary-looking place.  In mid-summer, with the sun shining and the trees in full leaf, an improvement in the scene would be noticeable; but very few, except invalids specially recommended for a course of the waters, are at anytime likely to stay there more than a few hours.

[Illustration:  BAREGES.]

We took the road leading up, to the right of the “Grand Etablissement,” to the Promenade Horizontale, the great summer rendezvous, and passing the “Hospice de Ste. Eugenie” began the ascent up the easy zigzags of the “Allee Verte.”  We had not made much progress when we startled, from what was doubtless a contemplative mood, a very fine jay.  He did not seem to like the disturbance at all, but kept flying from branch to branch in the vicinity, repeatedly uttering his guttural cries.

As the tenor of his thoughts—­uttered in rather a shrill treble—­seemed to bear considerably on topics of general interest, in spite of the apparent selfishness that was the key-note of the whole, we think it expedient to let posterity enjoy the enlightenment we received from

“THE JAY OF BAREGES.”

  Lawks a mussy! and shiver my feathers! 
    Why this is a wonderful sight;
  In spite of my earnest endeavours,
    I can’t quite get over my fright.

  ’Tis so long since the strangers departed,
    They ne’er would return, I had thought;
  So no shame at their coming I started,
    Though perchance I felt worse than I ought.

  Still to think through the days cold and lonely
    I’ve wandered about at my will,
  With no one to chase me, and only
    The need to prevent getting chill.

  Well, I say—­when I think of the quiet
    And rest that is now at its close—­
  I have doubts of enduring the riot
    After such a long time of repose.

  It is not that I hate to see pleasure,
    It is not that the world I detest;
  But I like to have comfort and leisure,
    And not to be teased and oppress’d.

  I don’t mind the smell from the fountains,
    —­Though a rotten-egg scent is not sweet—­
  For I always can fly to the mountains
    And seek some umbrageous retreat.