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KIDD'S LONDON JOURNAL. 



173 



arrived at this, let us inquire what social 

 charms attend the victim of a cold. 



The first pleasure is that of being an in- 

 valid, and therefore exacting a family sym- 

 pathy throughout the whole domestic circle. 

 For who, with a heart of human mould, 

 would not assume a complacent aspect to- 

 wards a man with cracked lips, and over- 

 shaded countenance ? If he be surrounded, 

 therefore, with amiable relatives while en- 

 during a cold, he will experience a thousand 

 tender attentions which would be omitted, 

 where he cold-less. His wife, for instance, 

 will be buzzing about him with smiles of 

 unaffected kindness on her connubial cheek, 

 and looking, and spying, and handing, and 

 taking, and asking, and laying down numer- 

 ous solicitous regulations respecting his 

 comfort. The doors must not be left open 

 — indeed they must not ; and that hawk- 

 eyed, giggling little fellow there will be 

 smartly lectured for not shutting the street- 

 door behind him when he knows papa has 

 such a cold ! And then the arm-chair! — oh, 

 the arm-chair ! — What hours are they, passed 

 in an old-fashioned roomy arm-chair, by the 

 side of a broad-faced, coal-cracking fire ! A 

 cold is almost worth catching, for the sake 

 of having an excuse for dosing in the em- 

 brace of an arm-chair by the fire-side. It is 

 in an arm-chair, while lolling supine, that 

 home and its comforts are prized : let it be 

 a wet evening, (which is mostly the case on 

 these occasions,) and how many a comfort- 

 able shrug the invalid will give himself when 

 reflecting on the peace and home-bred joys 

 around him ! The stir of wheels, hoofs, and 

 voices in the street, the arrowy rain-showers 

 drifted across the window-panes, and now 

 and then pattering down the chimney, and 

 spitting like a roast apple on the glow- 

 ing coals, — the voices of friends around him, 

 or the prattle of his children who are playing 

 bopeep behind the curtains, or visioning, 

 with their fingers, rabbits' and pigs' heads 

 on the lighted walls of the room, — all these, 

 together with that undeiinable sensation of 

 gratitude to Heaven for the blessing of a 

 home, entice into the heart its most plea- 

 surable feelings. 



And who is that sitting by him, with 

 needle-work in her fair hands, and now and 

 then looking volumes of love and sweetness 

 at him? — Why, who else can it be, but his 

 wife? Yes, now is the hour for woman to 

 bring her enchantment into action, when 

 the langor of a cold has left the heart at full 

 liberty to recognise her attentions and fond- 

 nesses. All the doctors in the universe — 

 all who have ever existed, from Dr. Hippo- 

 crates to Dr. Abernethy — can never afford 

 such ease to a patient, as one single darling 

 woman. And to the honor of her sex be it 

 spoken, that female tenderness is always 



prompt to exert itself when the illness of a 

 loved-one requires it : her very words, on 

 these occasions, are accents of mercy and sym- 

 pathy. A wife at this season is perhaps 

 beyond a mother. No man likes to give an 

 aged parent the trouble of waiting on him. 

 A box of lozenges, and some primitive 

 maxims respecting damp shoes and the ne- 

 cessity of "taking care of the health," &c. 

 are quite sufficient from a grey-headed 

 mother. But a young wife — let her bestir 

 herself as much as she please. For, when 

 do her eyes beam so eloquently beautiful as 

 when they are darting sympathy into those 

 of her husband? When does her voice 

 sound so sweetly as when it is exercised in 

 tones of consolation, of affectionate counsel ? 

 And when do her soft hands seem so deli- 

 cately made, as when they are employed in 

 handing some allaying beverage of refresh- 

 ing fruit to a husband ? 



If I were in the fancied patient's situation 

 — that is, lolling in an arm-chair, with my 

 wife by my side, the well-fed cat purring 

 feline melodies at my feet, and my children 

 scrambling on the carpet, — I should request 

 Miss Amelia, who has just finished her educa- 

 tion, and has some idea of love and lovers, to 

 seat herself at the piano, and warble a simple 

 ballad or song : — What tune shall it be ? 

 No Italian incomprehensible jingle, cer- 

 tainly ; for that is calculated to give one a 

 cold, instead of charming it away. No : let 

 us have one of Tom Moore's melodies : this 

 will inspire the soul, and waft it into ideal 

 worlds. Puss herself seems entranced with 

 it, and wags her tail by way of encore; the 

 blue urchins have popped their fingers half- 

 way between their lips, and have laid aside 

 their play for the sake of listening to the 

 music ; your dear lady is pleased to find 

 Miss Amelia much improved in her style of 

 playing and singing, and now and then sticks 

 her needle in her muslin, smiles at her 

 daughter, glances at you, smiles at her 

 youngest son who is pricking a pincushion 

 on her knee, and then stitches again. And 

 pray, how is your cold by this time ? If not 

 relieved, you have certainly half forgotten 

 it ; and, lulled by the music, have been rifling 

 from by-gone years a remembrance of plea- 

 sure, pains, joys, and woes, till a tear, or 

 something like it, has stolen into your eye. 



When sated with music — if you can be so 

 — let another daughter take up Kidd's 

 Journal, and read to you for an hour. A 

 noble work like this, perused occasionally, 

 and particularly when you are afflicted with 

 a cold, serves admirably to mellow the mind, 

 and clear the feelings of that selfish dross 

 with which a long intercourse with active 

 life clogs them. It will be a genuine plea- 

 sure to accompany the Editor through the 

 scenes which, in younger years, you must have 



