both propositions; I procured the inconveniences of the country without
losing the discomforts of the city. I increased my distance from
the butcher and green-grocer, without approximating to herds and
kitchen-gardens. But I anticipate.

Fresh air was to be the principal thing sought for. That there might
be too much of this did not enter into my calculations. The first day
I entered my residence, it blew; the second day was windy; the third,
fresh, with a strong breeze stirring; on the fourth, it blew; on the
fifth, there was a gale, which has continued to the present writing.

That the air is fresh, the above statement sufficiently establishes.
That it is bracing, I argue from the fact that I find it impossible to
open the shutters on the windward side of the house. That it is healthy,
I am also convinced, believing that there is no other force in Nature
that could so buffet and ill-use a person without serious injury to him.
Let me offer an instance. The path to my door crosses a slight eminence.
The unconscious visitor, a little exhausted by the ascent and the
general effects of the gentle gales which he has faced in approaching
my hospitable mansion, relaxes his efforts, smooths his brow, and
approaches with a fascinating smile. Rash and too confident man! The
wind delivers a succession of rapid blows, and he is thrown back.
He staggers up again, in the language of the P. R., "smiling and
confident." The wind now makes for a vulnerable point, and gets his hat
in chancery. All ceremony is now thrown away; the luckless wretch seizes
his hat with both hands, and charges madly at the front door. Inch by
inch, the wind contests the ground; another struggle, and he stands
upon the veranda. On such occasions I make it a point to open the door
myself, with a calmness and serenity that shall offer a marked contrast
to his feverish and excited air, and shall throw suspicion of inebriety