These
have been three of the idlest weeks I ever spent, and there is
still one to come: after which we go northward to Lancashire,
and across the Border where my good old Mother still expects me;
and so, after some little visiting and dawdling, hope to find
ourselves home again before September end, and the inexpressible
Glass Palace with its noisy inanity have taken itself quite away
again. It was no increase of ill-health that drove me hither,
rather the reverse; but I have long been minded to try this
thing: and now I think the result will be,--_zero_ pretty
nearly, and one imagination the less. My long walks, my
strenuous idleness, have certainly done me good; nor has the
"water" done me any _ill,_ which perhaps is much to say of it.
For the rest, it is a strange quasi-monastic--godless and yet
_devotional_--way of life which human creatures have here, and
useful to them beyond doubt. I foresee, this "Water Cure," under
better forms, will become the _Ramadhan_ of the overworked
unbelieving English in time coming; an institution they were
dreadfully in want of, this long while!--We had Twisleton* here
(often speaking of you), who is off to America again; will sail,
I think, along with this Letter; a semi-articulate but solid-
minded worthy man.
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