oubt that constant change, too, is indispensable
to me when I am at work: and at times something more than a doubt will
force itself upon me whether there is not something in a Swiss valley
that disagrees with me. Certainly, whenever I live in Switzerland again,
it shall be on the hill-top. Something of the _goitre_ and _cretin_
influence seems to settle on my spirits sometimes, on the lower
ground.[129] How sorry, ah yes! how sorry I shall be to leave the
little society nevertheless. We have been thoroughly good-humoured and
agreeable together, and I'll always give a hurrah for the Swiss and
Switzerland."

One or two English travelling by Lausanne had meanwhile greeted him as
they were passing home, and a few days given him by Elliotson had been
an enjoyment without a drawback. It was now the later autumn, very high
winds were coursing through the valley, and his last letter but one
described the change which these approaches of winter were making in the
scene. "We have had some tremendous hurricanes at Lausanne. It is an
extraordinary place now for wind, being peculiarly situated among
mountains--between the Jura, and the Simplon, St. Gothard, St. Bernard,
and Mont Blanc ranges; and at night you would swear (lying in bed) you
were at sea. You cannot imagine wind blowing so, over earth. It is very
fine to hear. The weather generally, however, has been excellent. There
is snow on the tops of nearly all the hills, but none has fallen in the
valley. On a bright day, it is quite hot between eleven and half past
two. The nights and mornings are cold. For the last two or three days,
it has been thick weather; and I can see no more of Mont Blanc from
where I am writing now than if I were in Devonshire terrace, though last
week it bounded all the Lausanne walks. I would give a great deal that
you could take a walk with me about Lausanne on a clear cold day. It is
impossible to imagine anything more noble and beautiful than the scene;
and the autumn colours in the foliage are more brilliant and vivid now
than any description could convey to you. I took Elliotson, when he was
with us, up to a ravine I had found out in the hills eight hundred or a
thousand feet deep! Its steep sides dyed bright yellow, and deep red, by
the changing leaves; a sounding torrent rolling down below; the lake of
Geneva lying at its foot; one enormous mass and chaos of trees at its
upper end; and mountain piled on mountain in the distance, up into the
s