angements were soon made. We were to start at four o'clock in
the morning--not a moment later: true to his promise, my burly guide
appeared before the hotel door at that hour with two ponies, and in a
few minutes we were _en route_. The morning broke gloriously. Peak by
peak, the snow-crested first, and successively those beneath, became
tinted by the rising sun, while the valleys gave evidence of
approaching day by casting off their misty mantles. It makes the old
young again, and the young to feel the blood dance yet more briskly
through their veins, to breathe such air as wraps the Pyrenees in its
balmy folds. The beauties of the valley, or rather gorge, begin at
once. Woods, alternating with precipitous rocks, mountain peaks of
great altitude and most picturesque forms, tower aloft; while below,
the eye rests upon the _gave_, now deliciously green and peaceful, and
now worming its way with agonised fury through the gorge. Many
cascades of rare beauty streamed down from the summit of the
precipices, and we were continually crossing high and narrow bridges
suspended over deep gulfs. The box luxuriates in this defile,
springing in tree-like proportions from every ledge.

Before reaching Gedres, which is about half-way to Gavarnie, a fine,
though tantalising view of the Breche is obtained. I gazed at the
object of my expedition with anxious eyes, wondering how I was to get
to its cloud land amidst the eternal snow-crowned Tours de Marbore;
and I longed for the wings of one of the many eagles which sailed
majestically overhead, to transport myself thither at once.

At Gedres the view of the Marbore is lost; but there is an almost
overabundance of grand scenery in the mountains that tower to the
right and left, and the gorges are filled with foaming cascades and
flowers of wondrous beauty. Close to the cascades--so close, that they
seem on the point of being swept away--are mills, not much larger than
goodly-sized boxes, one above the other, like rows of black beads
strung upon the white torrent. These mills are primitive in their
construction, closely resembling the old hand-mill; but they grind the
corn, and what more could the best mill in Europe do?

Beyond Gedres, a singularly grand and savage scene presents itself,
called the Peyrada or Chaos. It is an _eboulement_, or slip of masses
of gneiss which have fallen from great heights; and the ruins are so
extensive, that it seems as if an entire mountain had been shiv