“Through Westmoreland and Cumberland I of course walked, and never spent four days more pleasantly than in viewing the delightful scenery those counties afford. At New Lanark I was received in the most hospitable manner by the Owens. I spent two days and a-half there very pleasantly and profitably. In the management of the children neither rewards nor punishments are employed. The consequences are that the children appear very happy, very healthy, many very intelligent, and many very inattentive and disorderly; but when I consider that the children in the schools are nearly all under ten years of age, and that what they are taught is effected without any pain whatever being intentionally inflicted, I cannot be sure that theirs is not the correct mode of proceeding.” During this tour he was free from pain nearly all the time:— “But the very morning after my return the pain returned, and has not yet left me, though it is not so bad as at first.... I am cruelly disappointed to find that so much time and money should have been expended to so little purpose, as it at present appears.” Three months later he describes his fear of a relapse into “the maddening state of mind” from which he had but lately escaped. In the spring of 1824 he writes:— “I cannot condense my efforts as I used to do. I am obliged to take more time for everything.” A few months later his brother Matthew writes to him:— “I am very glad to hear of your recovery. If I were you, I would let the exhibition go to the Devil rather than overwork myself.... Depend upon it, you will never be paid either in fame or profit for any exertion in that barren spot. Spare yourself for better times.” When the summer holidays began, he took a trip to Paris:— “I visited one of the floating baths on the Seine, when, forgetful of my weak state, I plunged at once into deep water. Immediately the attendants hurried forward to my rescue with long, slender poles, like boat-hooks, and were very angry, as though I had intended suicide. And, in fact, I found that I was quite too weak to swim.” It was in vain that his brother urged him to spare himself. Whatever he put his hand to, he did with all his might. A year later (September, 1825) he was once more dangerously ill. “Mr. Hodgson,”[64] his father wrote, “prohibits all hints even about business. He says that the serious aspect assumed by the carbuncle is clearly the effect of mental excitation, and that your brother’s is the first instance of such a turn in a person under forty that has come under his observation.... It is a sad thing to be paralysed at the instant of high water in our affairs. Disappointment is, however, no new thing to us, and patience may work a retrieval, as it has done in times past.” Two days later he again writes:—