having another breakfast; and I am not quite sure whether it is
yesterday or to-morrow, or what day it is.

I shall not attempt to write up this diary in the orthodox manner,
therefore; but shall fix in a few lines whenever I have half-an-hour
with nothing better to do.

We washed ourselves in the Rhine at Cologne (we had not had a wash
since we had left our happy home in England). We started with the
idea of washing ourselves at the hotel; but on seeing the basin and
water and towel provided, I decided not to waste my time playing
with them. As well might Hercules have attempted to tidy up the
Augean stables with a squirt.

We appealed to the chambermaid. We explained to her that we wanted
to wash--to clean ourselves--not to blow bubbles. Could we not have
bigger basins and more water and more extensive towels? The
chambermaid (a staid old lady of about fifty) did not think that
anything better could be done for us by the hotel fraternity of
Cologne, and seemed to think that the river was more what we wanted.

I fancied that the old soul was speaking sarcastically, but B. said
"No;" she was thinking of the baths alongside the river, and
suggested that we should go there. I agreed. It seemed to me that
the river--the Rhine--would, if anything could, meet the case.
There ought to be plenty of water in it now, after the heavy spring
rains.

When I saw it, I felt satisfied. I said to B.: