summit. The weather was perfect, and the views far surpassed my descriptive powers. When gazing at the panorama of mountains and ravines, lakes and cataracts, the thought of the dear familiar old mountains of Eryri filled me with a great longing. Well, we arrived back at EauxBonnes at seven in the evening, very tired, but proud of our achievement.

From the mountains we moved a little to the north, to Pau and Bayonne. Pau is a delightful town, a great winter resort, by reason of its mild, soft climate. The castle, which stands in the middle of the town, has associations with the lives of many of France's royal personages, and some of her kings were born here. The view, looking from Pau towards the Pyrenees, is most beautiful. The foreground of the picture is a rich plain, dotted with towns and villages; over this plain a river winds in many curves, catching the sunlight here and there; behind is a range of low, richly-wooded hills, and the background is the grand Pyrenees. It is a landscape which has evoked the eloquent praise of such writers as Lamartine and Taine.

а

Bayonne is a town of about 30,000 inhabitants. It is not of much account historically, but it is supposed to be connected with the origin of that effective instrument of civilization,-especially of British progress, the bayonet. What I found most interesting in it was the curiously mixed character of the inhabitants. They are mostly Basques; next, perhaps, comes the Spanish element; then the French. The Basques are distinct race of people, with a language quite apart from and unlike any other. They are regarded as a remnant of some very early, pre-Aryan race, perhaps the first human dwellers of Europe. Some have supposed that the same early type is to be seen in parts of Wales, in the peculiar small, dark-complexioned Welsh men and women. The Basques formerly kept themselves very secluded from their neighbours, living apart in their own district; now they are plentifully scattered throughout the towns of the Pyrenees. I was surprised at the many dialects or patois spoken in different localities, dialects

9

which sounded harsh and unmusical, very different from the soft French language. In Béarn, for instance, they speak a dialect so distinct from the French that even our accomplished Madame Sery understood not a word of it, nor can the peasants understand French.

The small town of Lourdes has a notoriety of its own, on account of its "miracles," and the supposed virtues of its "holy water." Poor superstitious people flock there in great numbers. But all newspaper readers are familiar with the fame of Lourdes, so I need not describe it. Welsh people have an instance in the case of Holywell of what is going on on a much larger scale at Lourdes.

After our wanderings from place to place, in very hot weather, it was delightful at last to descend to the sea coast. Biarritz was, of course, the place we chose,

-"the queen of watering places," as it is called, in common with many other rivals to that title. The town is small, but it is the resort of the very élite of those who seek health and rest by the sea. It is built on built on a little slope, overlooking the smooth beach, with the gloriously blue Bay of Biscay lying before it, the blue water merging in the far distance with the blue sky. Such names as the "Promenade de la reine Victoria" and the "Avenue de Gladstone," tell of the visits of those illustrious personages to Biarritz. From there we went south to Hendaye, a frontier town between France and Spain; and crossing the river Bidassoa, which is the boundary between the two countries, we trod on Spanish ground for the first time. Pretty, dark-skinned, and bare-footed little boys, begging for small coin, supplied to the scene its "local colour." The first town we came to was Fuentarrabia, that town with the romantic-sounding name such as grand old magniloquent Milton delighted to set in his verse; for has he not said in the Paradise Lost ?—

"When Charlemagne with all his peerage fell By Fontarabia.'

It is a typical Spanish town, completely surrounded by strong defensive walls, through which we entered by a massive gateway. The streets are long and narrow, and the houses high, so that it

would almost seem that people could shake hands from the upper windows across the street. In front of the windows are quaint little iron balconies, and the effect of the whole to me was very strange and more foreign than anything I had ever seen. After our wanderings in mountain regions, among busy towns, pleasure towns, and old-time romantic towns, we were glad to return to pleasant Salies-de-Béarn, for a few days' "sweet doing nothing,"

dolce far niente, as the Italians say. Then it was time to journey back to Saumur. We broke our return journey at Bordeaux, and spent a day very pleasantly there. The general aspect of this large town, set in its rich border of vineyards, is very charming. Some of the streets reminded me of the boulevards of Paris; but on my remarking this to an old driver, he said, with a proud smile,-" Ah! mais il n'y a qu'un Paris, mademoiselle!"

THE

WANT OF

By Miss LOTTIE HUGHES, WE E cannot cry out that there is a lack of music in Wales, Wales, speaking generally. Our very hills and dales resound with music. In country places especially, and on summer evenings more particularly, we cannot close our ears, even were it our wish to do so, to the charming sounds of music floating in the air. The pleasant sounds we hear are mainly produced as the result of outdoor practice by our miners, artisans, and farm labourers, who meet in out of the way corners to prepare for the next local eisteddfod. On Sunday nights, in winter or summer, it is not unusual for parties to chant or sing as they wend their way to their respective hamlets or homes. There is undoubtedly a love for music born with the Welshman, and in many cases a talent that might become brilliant with the requisite polish.

The credit for bringing into view many a bright star that would otherwise have never shone in public is unquestionably due to our grand old national institution, the Eisteddfod. The emulation and consequent proficiency amongst our choirs and amateur vocalists are chiefly due to the same power.

The eisteddfodau have also, to a certain extent, encouraged instrumental music. We have now the brass band, pianoforte, harp, and violin competitions; and as a happy result we have in a few of our towns, chiefly in mining centres, highly creditable, and in some cases excellent, brass bands, which I hope, with perse

MUSIC.

F.S.Sc., Frongoch, Bala.

verance and hard work, will soon be second to none of the same calibre.

Pianoforte playing is certainly on the increase, and the quality is improving; but there is still plenty of room for improvement. The fault, in most cases, is not that of the pupil, but the root of the evil lies with the parents, as their only ambition seems to extend to the possibility of the child being able to play a polka on the piano or a hymn tune on the harmonium. A thorough technical education is not looked for,-it is too tedious; and probably, in many cases, too expensive.

Violin teaching is in its infancy in Wales, but I am glad to be of the opinion that it is making rapid strides, and I heartily wish this branch of musical education every success, as it may lead to a more general use of stringed instruments, and thereby fill a great gap.

Orchestral music is, from a musical point of view, the great want or need in Wales. It is acknowledged that we are a musical nation vocally, but not instrumentally. This should not be so; we have the ability and the national love for music, but I fear we lack the energy and application required. To play an instrument in an orchestral or string band is not as easy as learning a solfa part in a choir,-it requires more time, energy, application, and, I ought to say, determination. Why should there not be such material in each and all of our towns, large and small? There is scarcely a village in Germany and other parts of the continent that can not boast of its

string band; and I am afraid they " hound out" their poorest samples,-brass and string, and send them over to our country. With regard to orchestral, or string bands, there are, no doubt, very great obstacles to surmount. But in large towns there seems to me to be but very little trouble, comparatively speaking. It only needs a little self-sacrifice on the part of one person, and a readiness to take upon himself, or herself, to offer to conduct or manage, then to invite instrumentalists to join, and hold meetings for practice periodically till such time as they are fit to appear before the public. In such towns there are plenty to fill up gaps, and there are generally a staff of able teachers.

In villages or small towns the obstacles are very great, and the trouble increases tenfold. The material is crude and scarce, there are no fill gaps, and it is with the greatest difficulty that players are obtained for each of the instruments, especially the 'cello, bass, oboe, piccolo, and flute.

I presume, with all these difficulties in view, to say nothing of funds,-it cannot be a very easy matter to find anyone to

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undertake the conductorship or management. I do not wish to discourage small towns or villages, but "to be forewarned is to to be forearmed," and knowing the difficulties and obstacles in the way, they can judge the possibilities before making the attempt. A quartette,-two violins, 'cello, and piano,-would form a nucleus for a string band, and with a strong effort, and a little encouragement from the organist, or other recognised musician of the place, most small towns would soon boast of a quartette party which might ultimately develop into an orchestral band. My surprise is that small chapels and churches in country towns do not encourage this class of instrumental music. Where they cannot afford an organ, the quartette or small string band would, in my opinion, be an improvement upon the organ for a small building; and as the performers would probably be members of the choir, and lovers of music, the expense would be nominal. This, I suggest, would also form a nucleus for an orchestral band.

I hope to live to see "gallant little Wales" excel with instrumental music, as it undoubtedly does with vocal.

Το cross the Atlantic, in these days of fast travelling, is a matter of small importance to the young Welshman who has firmly fixed in his mind a determination to join the ranks of his fellow countrymen abroad. All attempts on the part of the good folks to keep him longer at home fail; there is no terror for him in the tales of the sufferings endured by his relatives, who crossed in the days of the old sailing ships, with their voyages of forty long days, and half of these spent at the pumps. He is very brave all along; others have crossed before him, it is only a matter of seven days or so; he feels no regret at going away, at leaving the place of his boyhood,-the mountain sward, and the flowery lanes, trending down to the little stream that hides along

its banks one of the prettiest little nooks that nature could well contrive.

Of course there are many incidents that have taken place in his life,-short as it has been,-that have served to foster in his heart a tender regard for the old place; but then a fellow must try and forget, and so he makes up his mind to brave it as well as he can. Everything goes on swimmingly until the Sunday afternoon before his departure. He was in school for the last time. His teacher had already said enough about his going away; and, to make matters worse, the superintendent gets up, and announces to the whole school that John Jones is leaving for America. Then follows the customary advice to the young, concluding with a prayer for his safety. It is a trying ordeal, but at the

same time it affords ample evidence of the warm friendship that exists between teacher and scholar in our Sunday schools.

The day for departure arrives, and there is again a crowd of well-wishers assembled at the little station. The fast travelling steamer does not make the vast ocean to be crossed any narrower. There is always the probability of a wreck occurring, and this might be the last time they will look upon the face of the emigrant. Companions from the same neighbourhood are picked up en route, and in all probability, before Liverpool is reached, he has formed an acquaintance, and, better than all, he meets with one who has crossed before. Lodging houses are found in Liverpool which are the general rendezvous of Welsh people. He must not mind if, when at night he retires, and under a strict sense of his duty to his God he bends the knees in humble prayer, some less scrupulous room-mate should request to have a word put in for him. He will get used to this, and they will get tired of their chaff.

The proprietor of the lodging house will, for a trifling sum, supply him with all the necessary utensils for the voyage, and oftentimes persuades him to take with him tins and pans for which he finds no use, and which are a trouble to him throughout the voyage. He must provide his own bed, at least on the majority of lines, and otherwise secure himself with blankets and warm clothing for his bunk at night.

What a scene there is on board,hundreds of beings wearing a look of such utter wretchedness, as clutching hold of their boxes, beds, and pans, they strive to find their way to their bunks. One comes across a steward, who is half seas over on the strength of leaving port, and tries to get some information from him about the location of the bunk. After using a few choice epithets in various foreign languages, he condescends to English, and you obtain at last the desired particulars.

Well, you first of all settle down in your cabin, and not the intermediate cabin, but the steerage cabin, and you are lucky if you get any sort of a cabin in this part of the vessel. With a due respect for in

habitants of the British Isles, they are allowed to occupy the top steerage deck, and the remaining bunks are shared amongst the more respectable foreigners, generally Germans, going back after a trip to the Fatherland. Down below are lodged the rough foreign element. They come from all parts of the earth, and seem as if they have been transported wholesale out of their mountain fastnesses. They are dressed just as you see them in pictures, wearing long knives in leather belts at their waists. The motley crowd is made up of Poles, Swedes, Russian Jews, and other people, who are assisted from their homes by a benevolent class of persons, who oftentimes show more solicitude for the welfare of their own country than they do for the future welfare of the people they are clearing out.

To describe the voyage would be merely a repetition of other ocean narratives. No luxurious living awaits the young Welshman, and he must perforce put up with the rough fare, unless he has a knack of procuring something better from the cook's curry. To be without anything to eat all day long, after partaking of an early breakfast, gives one a relish for the hot soup that is brought round late on the first night. What a treat it is, and how happy you are beginning to feel at having such excellent fare placed before you. Unless you are pretty far gone towards starvation you never touch soup again. The same might be said about the beef; the same about the coffee; faugh! what stuff it is, sweetened with treacle, and as black as ink.

Perhaps you are lucky enough to meet with a Welsh family who, taking pity on you, include you in the family circle; and now you are at home. How you already began to think of the happy home you have left; but then these are but idle thoughts, you feel it is your duty to do what you have done, and now you've got to go through with it.

What a motley crowd there are on board, and how strongly marked are the characteristics of each nationality! There you see a Pole attempting to wash his face in a drop of water that lies at the bottom of the very dish from which he has just