at that time (the
day before yesterday) occupied by the Queen of the French (ex- I mean)
and Prince Joinville and his family.

Tell Sydney that all the way here from Geneva, and up to the Sea of Ice
this morning, I wore his knitting, which was very comfortable indeed. I
mean to wear it on the long mule journey to Martigny to-morrow.

We get on extremely well. Edward continues as before. He had never been
here, and I took him up to the Mer de Glace this morning, and had a mule
for him.

I shall leave this open, as usual, to add a word or two on our arrival
at Martigny. We have had an amusingly absurd incident this afternoon.
When we came here, I saw added to the hotel--our old hotel, and I am now
writing in the room where we once dined at the table d'hote--some baths,
cold and hot, down on the margin of the torrent below. This induced us
to order three hot baths. Thereupon the keys of the bath-rooms were
found with immense difficulty, women ran backwards and forwards across
the bridge, men bore in great quantities of wood, a horrible furnace was
lighted, and a smoke was raised which filled the whole valley. This
began at half-past three, and we congratulated each other on the
distinction we should probably acquire by being the cause of the
conflagration of the whole village. We sat by the fire until half-past
five (dinner-time), and still no baths. Then Edward came up to say that
the water was as yet only "tippit," which we suppose to be tepid, but
that by half-past eight it would be in a noble state. Ever since the
smoke has poured forth in enormous volume, and the furnace has blazed,
and the women have gone and come over the bridge, and piles of wood have
been carried in; but we observe a general avoidance of us by the
establishment which still looks like failure. We have had a capital
dinner, the dessert whereof is now on the table. When we arrived, at
nearly seven last night, all the linen in the house, newly washed, was
piled in the sitting-room, all the curtains were taken down, and all
the chairs piled bottom upwards. They cleared away as much as they could
directly, and had even got the curtains up at breakfast this morning.

I am looking forward to letters at Genoa, though I doubt if we shall get
there (supposing all things right at the Simplon) before Monday night or
Tuesday morning. I found there last night what F---- would call "Mr.
Smith's" story of Mont Blanc, and took it to bed to read. It is
extremely