The Estérel can be visited from Cannes or S. Raphael, but the real centre for excursions is Agay, an ideal nook for a winter resort. The Mornes Rougés, a hemicycle of heights, curves about the harbour, and cuts off every huffle of the Mistral. The Cap Dramont intercepts the winds from the west. It possesses good hotels, and if a visitor for the winter could tear himself away from the gaieties of Cannes, he would spend a month here with perfect comfort, in a warmer climate, and with any number of delightful excursions to be made from it. Agay and Anthéor are two settlements of artists, and any one who enjoys sketching can follow that pursuit in the open air in the Estérel throughout the winter. Among the many points of interest near Agay may be mentioned the Roman quarries of blue porphyry, les Caous. Of these there are three. It was for a long time supposed that the Romans transported the greyish-blue porphyry spotted with white, found in their structures at Fréjus and Orange from Egypt, till these quarries were discovered. In them remain some shafts of columns twenty-two feet long, roughed out, but never completed. Grooves cut in the rock, and blocks dropped on the way down to the sea, point out the fact that the working of these quarries must have been abandoned abruptly. There were workshops hard by, and numerous remains of pottery and tools have been picked up. One of the quarries was utilised for columns, another for blocks and facing-slabs. The Cap Roux, which stands forth as an advanced sentinel, with feet in the sea, and starts up 1,360 feet, with its red needles shooting aloft from the water, and pierced below with caverns, is consecrated to the memory of S. Honoratus, whose cave, La Sainte Baume, is in the lurid cliff. Numerous pilgrims were wont to visit it at one time, but now it is hardly frequented at all, save by tourists. There is a fashion in saints; and poor old Honoratus is now shouldered into the background, and thrust into the shade. But he is not a man who should be forgotten. His is one of the most lovable characters in the calendar. His life was written by his kinsman and disciple, the great Hilary of Arles, and it may be thoroughly relied on. He is also spoken of with much love by another pupil, S. Eucherius of Lyons. But there exists another Life, which is a tissue of fables, and a late composition, utterly worthless, one “which,” says Baronius, the Church historian, “cannot be read without disgust, except by those possessed of iron stomachs, and wits cankered with the rust of ignorance.”