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MISERIES.
No. 4.
I believe the world has gone quite crazy on the subject of fresh
air. In the next century people will think they must sleep on the
house-tops, I suppose, or camp out in tents in primitive style.
Nothing is talked about but ventilators, and air-tubes, and
chimney-draughts. One would suppose that fire-places were invented
expressly for cooling and airing a room, instead of heating it. There
was no such fuss when I was young; in those good old times these airy
notions had not come into fashion. Where the loose window-sashes
rattled at every passing breeze, and the wind chased the smoke down
the wide-mouthed chimney, nobody complained of being stifled. There
were no furnaces then to spread a summer heat to every corner of the
house. No, indeed! We ran shivering through the long, windy entries,
all wrapped in shawls, and hugging ourselves to retain the friendly
warmth of the fire as long as possible. Far from devising ways of
letting _in_ the air, we tried hard to keep it _out_ by stuffing the
cracks with cotton, and closely curtaining the windows and bed. Even
then, the ice in the wash-basin, and the electricity which made our
hair literally stand on end in the process of combing, and the gradual
transformation of fingers into thumbs, showed but too plainly that the
wintry air had penetrated our defences.
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