The cold bath here is the most delicate imaginable; of a moderate degree
of coldness though, not three degrees below Matlock surely; but
omitting, simply enough, to carry a thermometer, one can measure the
heat of nothing. Our hot water here seems about the temperature of the
Queen's bath in Somersetshire; it is purgative, not corroborant, they
tell me; and its taste resembles Cheltenham water exactly.
These springs are much frequented by the court I find, and here are
very tolerable accommodations; but it is not the season now, and our
solitude is perfect in a place which beggars all description, where the
mountains are mountains of marble, and the bushes on them bushes of
myrtle; large as our hawthorns, and white with blossoms, as _they_ are
at the same time of year in Devonshire; where the waters are salubrious,
the herbage odoriferous, every trodden step breathing immediate
fragrance from the crushed sweets of thyme, and marjoram, and winter
savoury: while the birds and the butterflies frolick around, and flutter
among the loaded lemon, and orange, and olive trees, till imagination is
fatigued with following the charms that surround one.
I am come home this moment from a long but not tedious walk, among the
crags of this glorious mountain; the base of which nearly reaches,
within half a mile perhaps, to the territories of Lucca.
Pages:
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303