effect, however, I
determined to try the regular water-cure, and for this purpose, in
[100] our travel through Switzerland, stopped at Meyringen in the Vale
of Hasli. I was "packed,"-bundled up in bed blankets every morning at
daybreak, went through the consequent furnace of heat and drench of
perspiration for two or three hours,--then was taken by a servant on
his back, me and my wrappages, the whole bundle, and carried down to the
great bath, only 6 of Reaumur above ice (45 degrees Fahrenheit), plunged
in, got out again in no deliberate way, was pushed under a shower-bath
of the same glacier water, fought my way out of that, at arm's end with
the attendant, when he enveloped me in warm, dry sheets, and made me
comfortable in one minute. It was of no use, however. My brain grew more
nervous, the doctor agreed that it did not suit me, and shortly I gave
it up.

At Rome we were introduced with a small American party to the Pope,
Gregory XVI. It was just after the Carnival and just before Lent. The
old man expressed his pleasure that the people had enjoyed themselves in
Carnival, "But now," said he, "I suppose a great many of them will find
themselves out of health in Lent, and will want indulgences." I could
not help thinking how much that last was like a Puritan divine.

What a life is life in Rome!--not common, not like any other, but as if
the pressure of stupendous and crowding histories were upon every day.
A presence haunts you that is more than all you see. We Americans, with
some invited [101] guests, celebrated Washington's birthday by a dinner.
In a speech I said, "I was asked the other day, what struck me most in
Rome, and I answered,--To think that this is Rome!" Lucien Bonaparte,
who sat opposite me at table, bowed his head with emphasis, as if
he said, "That is true." He was entitled to know what great historic
memories are; and those of his family, criticise them as we may,--and I
am not one of their admirers,--do not, perhaps, fall below much of the
Roman imperial grandeur.

On coming to England from the Continent, among many things to admire,
there were two things we were especially thankful for,--comfort and
hospitality. We had not been in London half a day before I had rented
a furnished house, and we were established in it. That is, the
owner, occupying the basement, gave us the parlors above and ample
sleeping-rooms, and the use of her servants,-we defraying the expense of
our table,--for so much