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 shine; 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