Buxton. 203 



And stoops her weary forehead to the night 

 To struggle with her sorrow all alone, 

 The moon, that patient sufferer, pale with pain, 

 Presses her cold lips on her sister's brow 

 Till she is calm." 



It is thus the earth appeared to me as we drove 

 along ; it was resting after its labors of the sunny day. 

 The night was spent at Buxton, that famous spa, which 

 has been the resort of health-seekers for more than a 

 thousand years, for it was well known to the Romans 

 and probably to th?ir predecessors. We saw many in- 

 valids there drinking the waters, which are chiefly chaly- 

 beate ; but I take it, as is usual with such places, the 

 change of air and scene, of thought and effort, and, with 

 most, change of diet and freedom from excess, count 

 for ninety-nine points, and the waters, may be, for one. 

 But it is of no consequence what does it, so it is done, 

 therefore Buxton continues to flourish. 



How wise a physician was he who cured the Great 

 Mogul when all other remedies had failed ! The mirac- 

 ulous Tree of Life was upon a mountain five miles from 

 the palace, and had to be visited daily, in the early 

 morning, by the sufferer, who was required to repeat an 

 incantation under its boughs. The words literally trans- 

 lated were no doubt something like this : " Pray away, 

 you old fool ! but it's the walk that does it." You need 

 not laugh. This put into such Latin as the schools de- 

 light in might be made to sound frightful to the Mogul 



