the doctors could do me no good, I resolved to consult Palmer, the
most eminent surgeon of St. Thomas's Hospital. He immediately told me
that the physicians had pursued a very wrong method, as the swelling of
my legs proceeded only from a relaxation and weakness of the cutaneous
vessels; and he must apply strengtheners instead of emollients.
Accordingly, he ordered me to put my legs up to the knees every morning
in brine from the salters, as hot as I could bear it; the brine must have
had meat salted in it. I did so; and after having thus pickled my legs
for about three weeks, the complaint absolutely ceased, and I have never
had the least swelling in them since. After what I have said, I must
caution you not to use the same remedy rashly, and without the most
skillful advice you can find, where you are; for if your swelling
proceeds from a gouty, or rheumatic humor, there may be great danger in
applying so powerful an astringent, and perhaps REPELLANT as brine. So go
piano, and not without the best advice, upon a view of the parts.

I shall direct all my letters to you 'Chez Monsieur Sarraxin', who by his
trade is, I suppose, 'sedentaire' at Basle, while it is not sure that you
will be at any one place in the south of France. Do you know that he is a
descendant of the French poet Sarrazin?

Poor Harte, whom I frequently go to see here, out of compassion, is in a
most miserable way; he has had a stroke of the palsy, which has deprived
him of the use of his right leg, affected his speech a good deal, and
perhaps his head a little. Such are the intermediate tributes that we are
forced to pay, in some shape or other, to our wretched nature, till we
pay the last great one of all. May you pay this very late, and as few
intermediate tributes as possible; and so 'jubeo te bene valere'. God
bless you!

LETTER CCXCIV

BATH, December 9, 1766.

MY DEAR FRIEND: I received, two days ago, your letter of the 26th past. I
am very glad that you begin to feel the good effects of the climate where
you are; I know it saved my life, in 1741, when both the skillful and the
unskillful gave me over. In that ramble I stayed three or four days at
Nimes, where there are more remains of antiquity, I believe, than in any
town in Europe, Italy excepted. What is falsely called 'la maison
quarree', is, in my mind, the finest piece of architecture that I ever
saw; and the amphitheater the clumsiest and the ugliest: if it were in
England, ev