scene, had I been
in tune to enjoy it, for the Pyrenees showed their blue outlines on the
far horizon, and the Garonne gave us many pictures near at hand. There
was in particular one sweet sylvan "bit" at a place called St. Martory,
which, though it was but a fleeting glimpse, framed itself in my mind
with all the precision of a stereoscopic view.

It was a relief to me, when this evening, we ran into Toulouse; its many
buildings of brick lying along the bank of the broad and peaceful
Garonne, looking curiously rose-hued in the level rays of the declining
sun.

But poor car! when I set to work at cleaning it after its ill-treatment
it seemed to reproach me for disloyalty. Its very lamps were like
mournful, misunderstood eyes. And this is only the first day of many.
How long, O friend, how long? I don't quite see what is to become of
your unfortunate

Jack Winston.

Narbonne, _December 17_.

I didn't post the beginning of this letter. I felt I should want to add
something.

Another day has passed--a day of alarms and excursions. Payne has made
an ass of himself, and I have scored off him, winning my way back to the
front seat of the car, and relegating him to the _tonneau_ with Aunt
Mary. But I have not shaken him off. He's still in our pocket, and to
all appearance means to stick there. The situation, therefore, remains
essentially what it was yesterday.

But for the incident of which I will tell you, this might have been one
of the most delightful bits of the whole tour. Even though at first I
was stuffed into the _tonneau_, I couldn't help finding pleasure in the
pictures through which we flashed in the earlier part of the day.

There was a good deal of _pave_ to traverse before we were clear of
Toulouse, and then we came into a fine, open world, chasing and passing
many peasants' carts. These always occupy the middle of the road, and as
their drivers are often asleep, there is much blowing of the horn and
shouting before they pull over to their right side. Presently we found
out the meaning of this stream of carts, for we ran into a large village
with turkeys and geese all over the road, like carpet bedding, tied by
the legs and cackling loudly. There were crowds of peasants--old and
young; the old women with neat, black silk head-dresses framing their
brown, wrinkled faces; and through, the midst of t