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                        TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES.

                                  BY
                           ANTHONY TROLLOPE,
                               AUTHOR OF
       “THE WEST INDIES AND THE SPANISH MAIN,” “DOCTOR THORNE,”
                          “ORLEY FARM,” ETC.

                                LONDON:
                  CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
                                 1867.

               [_The right of Translation is reserved._]




CONTENTS.


                                                                    PAGE

LA MÈRE BAUCHE                                                         1

THE O’CONORS OF CASTLE CONOR                                          30

JOHN BULL ON THE GUADALQUIVIR                                         43

MISS SARAH JACK, OF SPANISH TOWN, JAMAICA                             70

THE COURTSHIP OF SUSAN BELL                                           93

RELICS OF GENERAL CHASSÉ                                             121

AN UNPROTECTED FEMALE AT THE PYRAMIDS                                140

THE CHÂTEAU OF PRINCE POLIGNAC                                       107

AARON TROW                                                           188

MRS. GENERAL TALBOYS                                                 214

THE PARSON’S DAUGHTER OF OXNEY COLNE                                 235

GEORGE WALKER AT SUEZ                                                261

THE MISTLETOE BOUGH                                                  278

RETURNING HOME                                                       300

A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINE                                              320

THE HOUSE OF HEINE BROTHERS, IN MUNICH                               354

THE MAN WHO KEPT HIS MONEY IN A BOX                                  377


                _Republished from various Periodicals._




TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES.




LA MÈRE BAUCHE.


The Pyreneean valley in which the baths of Vernet are situated is not
much known to English, or indeed to any travellers. Tourists in search
of good hotels and picturesque beauty combined, do not generally extend
their journeys to the Eastern Pyrenees. They rarely get beyond Luchon;
and in this they are right, as they thus end their peregrinations at the
most lovely spot among these mountains, and are as a rule so deceived,
imposed on, and bewildered by guides, innkeepers, and horse-owners, at
this otherwise delightful place, as to become undesirous of further
travel. Nor do invalids from distant parts frequent Vernet. People of
fashion go to the Eaux Bonnes and to Luchon, and people who are really
ill to Baréges and Cauterets. It is at these places that one meets
crowds of Parisians, and the daughters and wives of rich merchants from
Bordeaux, with an admixture, now by no means inconsiderable, of
Englishmen and Englishwomen. But the Eastern Pyrenees are still
unfrequented. And probably they will remain so; for though there are
among them lovely valleys--and of all such the valley of Vernet is
perhaps the most lovely--they cannot compete with the mountain scenery
of other tourists-loved regions in Europe. At the Port de Venasquez and
the Brèche de Roland in the Western Pyrenees, or rather, to speak more
truly, at spots in the close vicinity of these famous mountain entrances
from France into Spain, one can make comparisons with Switzerland,
Northern Italy, the Tyrol, and Ireland, which will not be injurious to
the scenes then under view. But among the eastern mountains this can
rarely be done. The hills do not stand thickly together so as to group
themselves; the passes from one valley to another, though not wanting in
altitude, are not close pressed together with overhanging rocks, and are
deficient in grandeur as well as loveliness. And then, as a natural
consequence of all this, the hotels--are not quite as good as they
should be.

But there is one mountain among them which can claim to rank with the
Píc du Midi or the Maledetta. No one can pooh-pooh the stern old
Canigou, standing high and solitary, solemn and grand, between the two
roads which run from Perpignan into Spain, the one by Prades and the
other by Le Boulon. Under the Canigou, towards the west, lie the hot
baths of Vernet, in a close secluded valley, which, as I have said
before, is, as far as I know, the sweetest spot in these Eastern
Pyrenees.

The frequenters of these baths were a few years back gathered almost
entirely from towns not very far distant, from Perpignan, Narbonne,
Carcassonne, and Bézières, and the baths were not therefore famous,
expensive, or luxurious; but those who believed in them believed with
great faith; and it was certainly the fact that men and women who went
thither worn with toil, sick with excesses, and nervous through
over-care, came back fresh and strong, fit once more to attack the world
with all its woes. Their character in latter days does not seem to have
changed, though their circle of admirers may perhaps be somewhat
extended.

In those days,