The Port de Venasque (Dépt. de la Haute Garonne) is one of the many defiles known as cols or passes in other mountain systems, and characterised by their comparatively greater altitude, some being little below the level of the surrounding crests. Far too rugged and perilous for wheeled traffic, they are frequented by contrabandists not a few, besides a scattered host of colporteurs and Spanish muleteers. For the benefit of those crossing the frontier, either by the Port de Venasque, de la Picade, or de la Glère, a hospice has been erected where the three routes converge, whose solitary guardian passes the summer there as best he may, but at the approach of winter descends to Luchon, leaving an ample store of provisions for any daring mountaineers who face the hazard of imprisonment by some blinding snowstorm. From the hospice to the Port is a fatiguing climb of 3,200 feet. Most dreaded by the pedlar is the Rail du Culet (Rail signifying field of destruction), where repeated avalanches have strewn the ground with debris, huge boulders and fragments of rock presenting obstacles at every step. Beyond this dreary spot a little verdure reappears among the rocks; saxifrages and clumps of rhododendron peep out from their midst, and soon the guide points upward to a narrow gap between two peaks, the Port de Venasque, only 200 feet below the limit of perpetual snow. There is full repayment for bruised feet and aching limbs when the open door into Spain is reached, and the giant group of Maladetta bursts into view, with its icy diadem, the Glacier du Néthou, king of Pyrenean summits. Should there be shifting wreaths of mist, the mighty mass assumes yet more colossal proportions; the downward path, ruder and steeper than on the northern slope, looms yet more dim and mysterious.

'Of the five departments enclosed in the higher circuit of the Pyrenees,' says M. Perret,' the least visited is Ariège.' It is therefore not unlikely that none of those who read these pages have ever beheld the view of Foix and its surroundings, which he proceeds to describe :

For us, who have already minutely explored the chain, this panorama of Foix is a fresh picture. Aspects and colours, all are special. To the left of the height on which we stand is an escarpment of grey rocks; a long, unbroken wall, with undulating summit. To the right are wooded hills, crowning the western side of the valley of the Arget, tributary of the Ariège; opposite, to the south, a fantastic interlacing of the mountains. Abrupt precipices, rapid declivities, a superb scale of colours, shining cornfields on the slopes of the less rugged mountains; above them waving woods, at once rich VOL. XLII.-NO. LXXXIII.

F

and light in hue, beeches chiefly, with but few fir-trees; then the rounded ridges, clothed with a short, golden turf. Farther on an amphitheatre of rocky, needle-shaped hills hems in the town of Foix, situated at the confluence of the two rivers at the end of the valley. A field-glass is necessary in order to distinguish, amid this labyrinth bristling with crests and peaks, the rocher de Foix, bearing its three towers. Above the town another great wall uplifts itself; it is the first stage of a gigantic stairway, which rises higher and higher to the south-east, up to the Saint-Barthélemy' (iii. 367).

The interest of Foix centres in its famous castle, which the inhabitants proudly vaunt as one of the finest monuments of the South. The rock which it crowns rises abrupt and defiant from the valley on every side, and we can well believe that it might once have been an impregnable stronghold. Two of the three towers, outstanding in clear silhouettes against the sky, recall the earliest of those religious wars about which the Pyrenees have so much to tell us the inglorious crusade against the Albigenses. About the year 1210 RaymondRoger, Count of Foix, friend and ally of Raymond, the unfortunate Count of Toulouse, found his castle of Foix besieged by Simon de Montfort, who had already ravaged and desolated the rest of his possessions. Before this fortress, however, the terrible conqueror was foiled, revenging himself ere he decamped by destroying the wretched little town which crouched beneath its shadow. The Count of Foix, who was reckoned amongst the ablest captains of his day, inflicted, in concert with his allies, more than one severe check on the Crusaders; but after every such victory Montfort retaliated by a fresh raid into the Fuchsean territory, sacking, burning, and slaughtering wherever he passed. Raymond-Roger's reverses at length brought about what Simon de Montfort had failed to effect. The former, in placing himself under the protection of Innocent III., was forced to resign his castle of Foix to the papal legate and the Crusaders. His submission does not appear to have availed him greatly, for a year or two later we find him again fighting valiantly to recover his possessions, still usurped by Simon. He succumbed in 1223 to the fatigues he had undergone whilst besieging one of his own castles, leaving a heritage of unrest to the son who had already fought brilliantly at his side. The lot of RogerBernard II. was yet more unhappy than his father's. Forced to the hateful task of co-operating with the Inquisition, whose tribunal-from his very castle-strove to complete the work of extermination begun by the Crusades; alternately rebellious and submissive, excommunicated and reconciled to Holy

Church, he expired at length in the Abbey of Bolbonne, where, heart-broken and weary, he had donned the monastic habit.

The third tower of the Château de Foix, of far later date than its fellows, is attributed to Gaston-Phoebus, fifth in succession from his ancestor, Roger-Bernard II. The crimes and perfidies of this handsome monster are too well known to be recounted here. Doubtless he made full use of the oubliettes, situated in the older part of the castle, as well as of the dungeons beneath his newly erected tower. Was it in one of these that Gaston's only son, falsely accused of attempting his father's life by poison, starved himself to death in the anguish of his soul?

When Gaston-Phoebus succeeded his father in 1343, Béarn had already, for half a century, been added to the possessions of the Counts of Foix. Little more than eighty years after his death the kingdom of Navarre passed by marriage within the grasp of that powerful and ambitious house, and from this period the fortunes of Foix merge themselves in those of the greater State.

Hitherto we have carefully avoided, in view of the somewhat cumbrous nature of our subject, all mention of Roman remains; though it is matter of common knowledge that the Pyrenees are rich in such memorials, and there is hardly a spot now frequented for its waters which does not lay claim to having once been visited by the masters of the world. But, in dealing with Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges we are fain to bestow a few words on the Roman city, Lugdunum Convenarum, over whose ruins mediæval Saint-Bertrand was built. Situated near the confluence of the Ourse and the Garonne, Lugdunum, we are told, covered all the plain with its amphitheatres, its villas, its palaces, its tombs, and its temples; Valcabrère, neighbour and rival of Saint-Bertrand, is largely built of its ruins, and one who has studied the district for more than forty years estimates that serious excavations have yet to be begun. Within the wide circuit of the Roman city (partly ruined by Vandal incursions) there sprang up a younger town, Comminges-strongly fortified and the scat of a bishopric-clustering on the hill now crowned by St. Bertrand's cathedral. In A.D. 585, during the fierce struggle between the sons of Clothaire, Christian town and Roman suburbs were overwhelmed in one common destruction. Valcabrère owes to this calamity its unique church, which remained the cathedral of the diocese until St. Bertrand, bishop of Comminges in the eleventh century, used his

immense worldly and spiritual influence to raise a new and stately edifice overlooking that town, which hereafter in grateful veneration added his name to its own. The cathedral commenced by St. Bertrand and completed by Bertrand de Goth, afterwards Pope Clement V., was further enriched and beautified by another prelate, Jean de Mauléon, with all the freedom of Renascence fancy. The organ-chamber-said to be the richest in France, and a perfect marvel of carving-is due to him, but as most remarkable of his additions we regard the rood-loft, choir and chancel, a complete church within a church, constructed entirely in richly sculptured wood, and restricted to the bishop and his clergy. This inner sanctuary occupies almost the whole width of the nave, leaving only a narrow and dusky passage giving access to the chapels on either side. We should like to be able to describe the wonderful carved work of the choir, with its sixty-six stalls for archdeacons, vicars-general, and other dignitaries, but we must hasten on in order to devote a few moments to the beautiful roofless cloisters on the south side of the cathedral.

'Creepers and grasses twine themselves above the Romanesque arches supported by twin columns, themselves placed on antique pedestals. On three of the four sides seven arcades. Against one of the pillars are set four statues representing the Evangelists; a second is composed of two pieces of an antique column; the capital is old Romanesque of interlaced design. Into the other capitals are introduced figures of animals and horsemen. The fourth side, sustaining a groined roof, is flanked by the wall of the church' (ii. 268).

These cloisters, the last resting-place of ecclesiastics of every rank, whose names figure on pavement, wall, and column, are the work of St. Bertrand. Through a wide breach in the outer wall the traveller gains a view over the valley to its background of lofty mountains, and gazes downwards on the roofs and massive walls of the old fortified town. Saint-Bertrand, save for two episodes in the religious wars of the sixteenth century, enjoyed a rare repose. Its little world was governed by the bishop and his chapter; archdeacons, canons, prebends, formed the tone of its society. But there came a time at length when liberty, equality, fraternity swept all that tranquil life away. One incident from those days of terror may form, perhaps, a fitting close to this imperfect notice of a work which teems with interest.

In 1793 the see of Saint-Bertrand was vacant. The chapter had been dispersed three years previously; possibly a constitutional curé officiated at the well-nigh deserted altars of the cathedral. But it began to be rumoured amongst

good citizens and Republicans that the Abbé d'Agos, cidevant cellarer to the chapter, still haunted the scene of his former functions; that he even presumed from time to time to steal secretly, and by night, into Saint-Bertrand, to console the dying or administer the Sacraments. A vigorous search was instituted for his hiding-place, but in vain. The secret refuge of the Abbé was a mountain cavern above the village of Mauléon de Barousse. Here he remained until one snowy day in the January of '94 cold and hunger drove him out to seek the food which a pitying herdsman soon provided. But the snow betrayed his footprints to those enemies who were on the watch. He was taken, conveyed to Tarbes, and the alternative set before him-Death or the oath to the 'Constitution Civile.' Need we ask what would be the choice of such a priest as Messire Marie-Joseph d'Agos? A week later the guillotine closed his days of perilous service and ushered in his reward.

ART. IV.-SHORTENED SERVICES.

1. An Act for the Amendment of the Act of Uniformity, 1872. (Shortened Services Act.)

2. The Convocation Prayer Book, being the Book of Common Prayer... with altered rubrics showing what would be the condition of the book if amended in conformity with the recommendations of the Convocations of Canterbury and York. (London, 1880.)

3. Guardian Newspaper, Feb. 19, 1896, containing the debates in Convocation, and a Sermon preached before the University of Cambridge by the Rev. Charles Gore,

M.A.

WHEN the Shortened Services Act was passed in 1872 many of us can remember how exultant some of the friends of the Church were. We were told that liturgical expansion and elasticity were gained at last; 'Dearly beloved brethren' was not hereafter to be the only spiritual pabulum which the Church of England had to offer to hungry souls. Our services were now to be bright and hearty, and all would throng to them. The wooden age was over; the golden age had begun. There were some who uttered a word of warning, neglected in the general congratulation; but even the more cautious did not quite foresee the untoward results that were to follow the passing of the Act. It has not drawn the masses to church. It has