This extract is taken from the public papers of the time.
AIX, SAVOY, September 11, 1858.
…
Look at the map of Europe, and you will find, nestling in the
mountains of Savoy, between Switzerland and France, the little
village of Aix, generally known as Aix-les-Bains, from the baths
which give it fame. There I am now. The country about is most
beautiful, the people simple and kind.
My life is devoted to health. I wish that I could say that I am
not still an invalid; yet, except when attacked by the pain on my
chest, I am now comfortable, and enjoy my baths, my walks, and
the repose and incognito which I find here.
I begin the day with _douches_, hot and cold,--and when
thoroughly exhausted, am wrapped in sheet and blanket, and
conveyed to my hotel, and laid on my bed. After my walk, I find
myself obliged again to take to my bed for two hours before
dinner. But this whole treatment is in pleasant contrast with the
protracted suffering from fire which made the summer a torment.
And yet I fear that I must return to that treatment.
It is with a pang unspeakable that I find myself thus arrested
in the labors of life and in the duties of my position. This is
harder to bear than the fire. I do not hear of friends engaged in
active service--like Trumbull in Illinois--without a feeling of
envy.
…