Travels Through France And Italy by Tobias Smollett (fastest ebook reader .txt) 📕

And Stitches In My Breast, Which Tormented Me All Night Long

Without Ceasing. At The Same Time I Had A Great Discharge By

Expectoration, And Such A Dejection Of Spirits As I Never Felt

Before. In This Situation I Took A Step Which May Appear To Have

Been Desperate. I Knew There Was No Imposthume In My Lungs, And I

Supposed The Stitches Were Spasmodical. I Was Sensible That All 

My Complaints Were Originally Derived From Relaxation. I

Therefore Hired A Chaise, And Going To The Beach, About A League

From The Town, Plunged Into The Sea Without Hesitation. By This

Desperate Remedy, I Got A Fresh Cold In My Head: But My Stitches

And Fever Vanished The Very First Day; And By A Daily Repetition

Of The Bath, I Have Diminished My Cough, Strengthened My Body,

And Recovered My Spirits. I Believe I Should Have Tried The Same

Experiment, Even If There Had Been An Abscess In My Lungs, Though

Such Practice Would Have Been Contrary To All The Rules Of

Medicine: But I Am Not One Of Those Who Implicitly Believe In All

The Dogmata Of Physic. I Saw One Of The Guides At Bath, The

Stoutest Fellow Among Them, Who Recovered From The Last Stage Of

A Consumption, By Going Into The King's Bath, Contrary To The

Express Injunction Of His Doctor. He Said, If He Must Die, The

Sooner The Better, As He Had Nothing Left For His Subsistence.

Instead Of Immediate Death, He Found Instant Case, And Continued

Mending Every Day, Till His Health Was Entirely Re-Established. I

Myself Drank The Waters Of Bath, And Bathed, In Diametrical

Opposition To The Opinion Of Some Physicians There Settled, And

Found Myself Better Every Day, Notwithstanding Their Unfavourable

Prognostic. If I Had Been Of The Rigid Fibre, Full Of Blood,

Subject To Inflammation, I Should Have Followed A Different

Course. Our Acquaintance, Doctor C--, While He Actually Spit

Up Matter, And Rode Out Every Day For His Life, Led His Horse

To Water, At The Pond In Hyde-Park, One Cold Frosty Morning,

And The Beast, Which Happened To Be Of A Hot Constitution,

Plunged Himself And His Master Over Head And Ears In The Water.

The Poor Doctor Hastened Home, Half Dead With Fear, And

Was Put To Bed In The Apprehension Of A New Imposthume; Instead

Of Which, He Found Himself Exceedingly Recruited In His Spirits,

And His Appetite Much Mended. I Advised Him To Take The

Hint, And Go Into The Cold Bath Every Morning; But He Did Not

Chuse To Run Any Risque. How Cold Water Comes To Be Such A

Bugbear, I Know Not: If I Am Not Mistaken, Hippocrates Recommends

Immersion In Cold Water For The Gout; And Celsus Expressly Says,

In Omni Tussi Utilis Est Natatio: In Every Cough Swimming Is Of

Service.

I Have Conversed With A Physician Of This Place, A Sensible Man,

Who Assured Me He Was Reduced To Meer Skin And Bone By A Cough

And Hectic Fever, When He Ordered A Bath To Be Made In His Own

House, And Dipped Himself In Cold Water Every Morning. He At The

Same Time Left Off Drinking And Swallowing Any Liquid That Was

Warm. He Is Now Strong And Lusty, And Even In Winter Has No Other

Cover Than A Single Sheet. His Notions About The Warm Drink Were

A Little Whimsical: He Imagined It Relaxed The Tone Of The

Stomach; And This Would Undoubtedly Be The Case If It Was Drank

In Large Quantities, Warmer Than The Natural Temperature Of The

Blood. He Alledged The Example Of The Inhabitants Of The Ladrone

Islands, Who Never Taste Any Thing That Is Not Cold, And Are

Remarkably Healthy. But To Balance This Argument I Mentioned The

Chinese, Who Scarce Drink Any Thing But Warm Tea; And The 

Laplanders, Who Drink Nothing But Warm Water; Yet The People Of

Both These Nations Are Remarkably Strong, Healthy, And Long-Lived.

You Desire To Know The Fate Of My Books. My Lord H--D Is Not Yet

Come To France; But My Letter Was Transmitted To Him From Paris;

And His Lordship, With That Generous Humanity Which Is Peculiar

To His Character, Has Done Me The Honour To Assure Me, Under His

Own Hand, That He Has Directed Mr. N--Lle, Our Resident At Paris,

To Apply For An Order That My Books May Be Restored.

I Have Met With Another Piece Of Good Fortune, In Being

Introduced To General Paterson And His Lady, In Their Way To

England From Nice, Where The General Has Been Many Years

Commandant For The King Of Sardinia. You Must Have Heard Of This

Gentleman, Who Has Not Only Eminently Distinguished Himself, By

His Courage And Conduct As An Officer; But Also By His Probity

And Humanity In The Exercise, Of His Office, And By His

Remarkable Hospitality To All Strangers, Especially The Subjects

Of Great-Britain, Whose Occasions Called Them To The Place Where

He Commanded. Being Pretty Far Advanced In Years, He Begged Leave

To Resign, That He Might Spend The Evening Of His Days In His Own

Country; And His Sardinian Majesty Granted His Request With

Regret, After Having Honoured Him With Very Particular Marks Of

Approbation And Esteem. The General Talks So Favourably Of The

Climate Of Nice, With Respect To Disorders Of The Breast, That I

Am Now Determined To Go Thither. It Would Have Been Happy For Me

Had He Continued In His Government. I Think Myself Still Very

Fortunate, In Having Obtained Of Him A Letter Of Recommendation

To The English Consul At Nice, Together With Directions How To

Travel Through The South Of France. I Propose To Begin My Journey

Some Time Next Month, When The Weather Will Be Temperate To The

Southward; And In The Wine Countries I Shall Have The Pleasure Of

Seeing The Vintage, Which Is Always A Season Of Festivity Among

All Ranks Of People.

You Have Been Very Much Mis-Informed, By The Person Who Compared

Boulogne To Wapping: He Did A Manifest Injustice To This Place

Which Is A Large Agreeable Town, With Broad Open Streets,

Excellently Paved; And The Houses Are Of Stone, Well Built And

Commodious. The Number Of Inhabitants May Amount To Sixteen

Thousand. You Know This Was Generally Supposed To Be The Portus

Itius, And Gessoriacum Of The Antients: Though It Is Now Believed

That The Portus Itius, From Whence Caesar Sailed To Britain, Is A

Place Called Whitsand, About Half Way Between This Place And

Calais. Boulogne Is The Capital Of The Boulonnois, A District

Extending About Twelve Leagues, Ruled By A Governor Independent

Of The Governor Of Picardy; Of Which Province, However, This

Country Forms A Part. The Present Governor Is The Duc D'aumout. 

The Town Of Boulogne Is The See Of A Bishop Suffragan Of Rheims,

Whose Revenue Amounts To About Four-And-Twenty Thousand Livres,

Or One Thousand Pounds Sterling. It Is Also The Seat Of A

Seneschal's Court, From Whence An Appeal Lies To The Parliament

Of Paris; And Thither All Condemned Criminals Are Sent, To Have

Their Sentence Confirmed Or Reversed. Here Is Likewise A

Bailiwick, And A Court Of Admiralty. The Military Jurisdiction Of

The City Belongs To A Commandant Appointed By The King, A Sort Of

Sinecure Bestowed Upon Some Old Officer. His Appointments Are

Very Inconsiderable: He Resides In The Upper Town, And His

Garrison At Present Consists Of A Few Hundreds Of Invalids.

Boulogne Is Divided Into The Upper And Lower Towns. The Former Is

A Kind Of Citadel, About A Short Mile In Circumference, Situated

On A Rising Ground, Surrounded By A High Wall And Rampart,

Planted With Rows Of Trees, Which Form A Delightful Walk. It

Commands A Fine View Of The Country And Lower Town; And In Clear

Weather The Coast Of England, From Dover To Folkstone, Appears So

Plain, That One Would Imagine It Was Within Four Or Five Leagues

Of The French Shore. The Upper Town Was Formerly Fortified With

Outworks, Which Are Now In Ruins. Here Is A Square, A Town-House,

The Cathedral, And Two Or Three Convents Of Nuns; In One Of Which

There Are Several English Girls, Sent Hither For Their Education.

The Smallness Of The Expence Encourages Parents To Send Their

Children Abroad To These Seminaries, Where They Learn Scarce Any

Thing That Is Useful But The French Language; But They Never Fail

To Imbibe Prejudices Against The Protestant Religion, And

Generally Return Enthusiastic Converts To The Religion Of Rome.

This Conversion Always Generates A Contempt For, And Often An

Aversion To, Their Own Country. Indeed It Cannot Reasonably Be

Expected That People Of Weak Minds, Addicted To Superstition,

Should Either Love Or Esteem Those Whom They Are Taught To

Consider As Reprobated Heretics. Ten Pounds A Year Is The Usual

Pension In These Convents; But I Have Been Informed By A French

Lady Who Had Her Education In One Of Them, That Nothing Can Be

More Wretched Than Their Entertainment.

The Civil Magistracy Of Boulogne Consists Of A Mayor And

Echevins; And This Is The Case In Almost All The Towns Of France.

The Lower Town Is Continued From The Gate Of The Upper Town, Down

The Slope Of A Hill, As Far As The Harbour, Stretching On Both

Sides To A Large Extent, And Is Much More Considerable Than The

Upper, With Respect To The Beauty Of The Streets, The Convenience

Of The Houses, And The Number And Wealth Of The Inhabitants.

These, However, Are All Merchants, Or Bourgeoise, For The

Noblesse Or Gentry Live All Together In The Upper Town, And Never

Mix With The Others. The Harbour Of Boulogne Is At The Mouth Of