There are divers other trips near Luchon which should be taken by the time-wealthy.  It is a centre of more excursions than any of the other resorts; to count those which are tres recommandees alone needs all the fingers.  There is the much praised drive into the Vallee du Lys, with its white cascades, its “Gulf of Hell,” its fine view of the ice-wastes of the Crabioules.  There is the ascent to Superbagneres, an easy monticule overshading Luchon, whose view is ranked with that from the Bergonz.  There is the day’s ride through the Valley of Aran, which opened out below us from the Entecade,—­a truly Spanish valley, though in France; its natives, its customs, its inns, all Hispanian, and unwontedly unconventional.  There is the ride and climb to the Lac d’Oo, a mate of the trip from Cauterets to the Lac de Gaube.  And for a longer jaunt, one can remount to the Port de Venasque and pierce down upon the Spanish side to the village of Venasque itself, returning next day by another port and the Frozen Lakes.  Or this trip can be prolonged by making the tour of the Maladetta, passing on from Venasque entirely around that mountain system and returning within the week by still another route to Luchon.  The views on this last tour are described as remarkable, though it is a trip seldom made; the accommodation is doubtless uncomforting, but the tour, in outline at least, strongly resembles the tour of Mont Blanc, which ranks with the finest excursions in the Alps.

In short, there is a bewilderment of alternatives, each of the first rank in interest and heavily endorsed.  Luchon is as easily the belle of the spas in location as in beauty; and one might strongly suspect that the charms of its climbs cure quite as many ills as its springs.  Good as the waters may be, one does not become well by drinking merely, and sitting in wait for health; it needs precisely the invigoration of these tempting outings to quicken languid pulses and inspire sluggish systems.

Even in winter, many of these Pyrenees mountain-trips are entirely practicable.  The Cirque of Gavarnie is reputed a double marvel under a winter robe, when its cascades are stiffened into ice and the eye is lost in the sweep of the snow-fields.  Cauterets is hospitable throughout the winter, and so are both of the Eaux.  Even the Vignemale has been ascended of a February, and the more ordinary excursions can be undertaken in all seasons.  One cannot help thinking that the invalid of Pau’s winter colony could better tell over the benefits of this Pyrenees climate if he would but test it,—­if he would seek its pure, sharp, aromatic stimulus in in-roads upon the mountains themselves, in place of his mild promenadings along the Terrace in view of them with a heavy fur coat on his back and another on his tongue.