Part 4 (1/2)
I, for one, love a snug house, even a warm house. I am of a chilly temperament, and subject to rheumatism, horrible colds, &c. Fresh air is my bane. I banish all books on the subject from my table. I studiously avoid all notorious fresh-air lovers, or try in every way to bring over the poor, misguided mortals to my views; but it is of no use. Fresh air is the fas.h.i.+on, and is run to extremes, as all fas.h.i.+ons must be. I call in a physician; lo! _fresh air_ is recommended as a tonic. I give a party; of course my windows are all thrown open, and foolish young girls, in the thinnest of white muslins, are standing in the draught; and such a whirlwind is raised by the flirting of fans, and the rush of the dancers, that I am blown, like a dry leaf, into a corner, where I stand s.h.i.+vering, and making rueful attempts to appear smiling and hospitable. I go out to pa.s.s a social afternoon with a friend, and am set down in a room just above the freezing-point, with a little crack opened in the window, and all the doors flying, to _change the air_. I ride in the omnibus, and am almost choked with my bonnet-strings, such a furious draught meets me in the face, and when, with infinite pains, I have secured the only tolerably warm corner, my next neighbor becomes very faint, and must have the window open. Even the poor babies are not safe from this popular insanity. You may see the little victims any day, taking an airing, with their little red noses and watery eyes peeping forth from under the cap and feathers. The old-fas.h.i.+oned blanket, in which the baby was done up head and all, like a bundle, is thrown aside. The child is not quite so often carried upside down. I suppose, under the new system, but what difference does it make whether the poor thing is smothered or frozen to death?
I never shall forget a long journey I took once with a friend who was raving mad on the subject of fresh air and cold water. Every morning the windows were thrown wide open, and the blinds flung back with an energetic bang, while a stiff wintry wind whirled every thing about the room, and flapped the curtains against the ceiling. And there she stood, declaring herself exhilarated, while her nose and lips turned from red to blue, and the tears ran down her cheeks. I always took to flight. Afterwards the poor auto-martyr went out to walk before breakfast, scornfully rejecting all offers of furs and extra wrappings. O dear, no! _She_ never thought of m.u.f.fs, tippets, snow-boots, but as enc.u.mbrances fit for extreme old age and infirmity. She always walked fast, and the more the wind blew, the warmer she felt, I might be a.s.sured. As soon as she had gone, I established myself in comfort by the side of a glowing grate, happy but for dreading her return. She came in dreadfully fresh and breezy from the outer air, very energetic, very noisy, and fully bent upon stirring me up and making me take exercise. After snapping the door open and slamming it behind her with a clap that greatly disturbed my nerves, she exclaimed in a stentorian voice, ”O dear me! I shall _die_ in such an oven! My dear child, you have no idea how hot it is!” And the first thing I knew, up would go a window with a crash that made the weights rattle. It might rain or s.h.i.+ne; weather made no difference to this inveterate air-seeker. Many a time has she come in all dripping, and tracking the carpet, brushed carelessly against me with her wet garments, and finally enveloped me with the steam arising from them as they hung around my fire. It roused my indignation that she should make herself and every body else so uncomfortable, and then glory in the deed as if it were indubitably and indisputably praiseworthy. She was so good-natured, however, and so happy in her delusion, that I could not find it in my heart to remonstrate very vehemently, except when she would make me listen to her interminable lectures upon the importance, the _necessity_, of fresh air, and the effect of a snug, cosy room upon the blood, the heart, the lungs, the head, and (as I verily believe she hinted) _the temper_. I know I lost all control of _mine_ long before she finished; but whether it was the want of fresh air in practice, or too much of it in theory, I leave you to imagine.
My friend always carried a small thermometer in her trunk, which she consulted a dozen times an hour, in order to regulate the temperature of the room. Alas for me if the quicksilver rose above 60! I devoutly hoped she would leave it behind in some of our numerous stopping-places, and with an eye to that possibility, I must confess, I hung it in the most out-of-the-way corners I could find; but it seemed to be on her mind continually. She never forgot it, and always packed it very carefully, too. I asked her two or three times to let me put it in _my_ trunk, where I had slyly arranged a nice little place full of hard surfaces and sharp corners, but she always had plenty of room.
I believe my zealous friend is now residing at the sea-sh.o.r.e, freezing in the cold sea-winds, and losing her breath every morning in the briny wave, under the strange illusion that she is improving her health.
FAREWELL.
They tell me my hat is old!
I scarce believe it so; But since I'm uncivilly told The dear old thing must go, I bid thee farewell, old hat, Good hat!
Farewell to thee, good old hat!
I must soon to the city his, And trudge to some horrid store, A smart new tile to buy, With a heart exceedingly sore, For I cast off a long-tried friend, A close friend,-- I'm ashamed of a trusty old friend.
Ah, let me remember with tears The day thou wast first my own, When I settled thee over my ears, Then with soap-locks overgrown.
”Hurra for a beaver hat, A sleek hat!
A cheer for a sleek beaver hat!”
That day is in memory green Among those that were all of that hue; Sweet days of my youth! Ah! I've seen But too many since that were _blue_.
How smooth was our front, my hat, My first hat!
Unbent were our brows, my first hat!
The first dent,--what a sorrow it was!
Were it only my skull instead!
Indignant I think on the cause, And pommel my stupid head.
I was new to the care of a hat, A tall hat,-- Unworthy to wear a tall hat.
The omnibus portal, low-browed, Had ne'er grazed my humble cap, But it knocked off my beaver so proud, Which into a puddle fell slap.
Alas for my dignified hat, My proud hat!
Woe to my lofty-crowned hat!
It survived, but it had a weak side, And so had its wearer, perchance, Since I left it on stairs to abide, At a house where I went to a dance.
A lady ran into my hat, My poor hat!
She demolished my invalid hat!
INNOCENT SURPRISES.
I am somewhat inclined to the opinion, that, if positive legislation could be brought to bear upon this subject, making it a criminal offence for one person deliberately to concoct and designedly to spring a surprise upon another, society would derive incalculable benefit from the act. For the ordinary and inevitable surprises of every-day life are sufficiently frequent and startling to content even the most romantic disposition; entirely dispensing with the necessity of those artfully contrived, embarra.s.sing little plots which one's friends occasionally set in motion, greatly to their own diversion and the extreme discomfort of the surprised unfortunate. For he who has ever broken his skull on a treacherous sidewalk, or received from the post a dunning missive when he expected a love-letter, or arrived one minute late at the car-station, or taken a desperately bad bill in exchange for good silver, or been caught in a thunderstorm with white pantaloons and no umbrella, knows that the unavoidable surprises of life are in themselves staggerers of quite frequent occurrence, and require not the aid of human invention. But the surprises which we most dread are not those which _naturally_ fall to us as part of the misfortune we are born to inherit; not those which result from unforeseen accidental circ.u.mstances, from carelessness on our own part or from the folly of others, from revolutions in the elements or in the affairs of nations; these we _can_ bear, by using against them the best remedies we possess, or by viewing and enduring them as wisdom and philosophy teach us to do. No; our only prayer, in this connection, is that we may be saved from our friends; not from their carelessness, but from their deliberate schemes against our security.