Identifier: wayfaringinfranc00barkuoft (find matches)
Title: Wayfaring in France, from Auvergne to the Bay of Biscay
Year: 1913 (1910s)
Authors: Barker, Edward Harrison, 1851-1919
Subjects: France -- Description and travel
Publisher: London, Macmillan
Contributing Library: Robarts - University of Toronto
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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e Pyrenees, I am made toremember that I am in the country of the Celto-Iberians, although now it almost touches that ofanother mysterious race, the Basques. The dreariness of my walk to Peyrehorade wasmuch enlivened by the marked hostility of the dogs.They were all of the same breed—spotted dogs likeEnglish foxhounds, but smaller. It is more difficultto know how to deal with an aggressive dog thanwith an aggressive man, or with animals reputedwild. A dog may bark at you and cause you muchannoyance, and yet have no bad intentions, whileanother may silently creep up behind you and seizeyou by the leg. The silent dog is the worst. At length I saw the ruined feudal castle of Ortheperched on a height, and immediately below it, in abright valley watered by the Gave, the white housesof Peyrehorade. This town, which can only boast2,500 inhabitants, has a tasteful modern Gothicchurch, and a curious wooden bridge thrown acrossthe Gave on piles. My kindly star led me as usual 534 IX THE LAXDES
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A MEETING WITH PUNCH 535 to a good inn, where I dined in the company ofcommercial travellers, one of whom wore such anair of dignity that I mistook him for a juge depaix.I Pfathered from his conversation that I was in error,and that he was in the drapery. After dinner Ibecame one of the spectators of a Punch and Judyshow. It was set up in the corner of the market-place, which, but for the candles fixed to theportable theatre, would have been in complete dark-ness. It is always a pleasure to witness thetragi-comedy of Punch and his prosperous rascality,which recalls that rapturous sensation of childhood,when, following the pan-pipes and drum, we firstknew what it was to be stage-struck. It isespecially pleasant to meet in some obscure cornerof a foreign land our old friend Punch, who madeour bare legs run so many miles in the far-off days.He will speak a different language from the one hespoke long ago, but his squeak is the familiar squeakof yore, and his looks and dress and cheerfuld

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