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-fashioned 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 muffs, tippets,
snow-boots, but as encumbrances fit for extreme old age and
infirmity. She always walked fast, and the more the wind blew, the
warmer she felt, I might be assured. 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