372 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 



on the morning of December 22. A raw breeze blew in 

 our faces as we crossed the Channel, or rather a breeze 

 created by the vessel's motion, for the air was still. I 

 tried to muffle him up; but immediately resigned my 

 attempted task to a young lady, who wound and pinned 

 his comforter in a manner unattainable by me. Carlyle 

 was interested to learn that his kind protectress was the 

 daughter of Sir John Herschel. She was then Miss 

 Amelia Herschel, she is now Lady Wade. In Paris we 

 spent the night at the Grand Hotel de St. James, 

 Hue St. Honore. A bad sleeper myself, I had long 

 before chosen this hotel, because its bedrooms opened 

 into a garden. We were well lodged; but some slight 

 creak or clatter of a loose window roused Carlyle, who 

 became vocal. Noise at night was a terror and a 

 torture to him. I rose, reproved and corrected the 

 peccant window, the night afterwards passing quietly. 

 Next morning we started. At the Gare de Lyon we 

 were met by my lamented friend Jamin, a Member of 

 the Institute, who helped us with the railway officials, 

 and sent us on our journey with a hearty God-speed. 



In England, as stated, the weather was harsh; it 

 continued so in France. We had the good luck to 

 secure a coupe in the Marseilles train. Throughout 

 the day the landscape was cut off by freezing mist, and 

 at the Lyons station the outlook was specially dismal; 

 due precautions however had been taken against cold. 

 In view of my winter expedition to the Mer de Glace 

 in 1859 I had purchased a sheepskin bag, lined with 

 its own wool, and provided with straps to attach it 

 comfortably to the waist. Swathed with this to the 

 hips, such heat as he could generate was preserved for 

 his feet and limbs. At Lyons food, wine, and a bottle 

 of water for the night were secured. The water-bottle 

 stood on a shelf in front of us. " Observe it," I said to 



