A NAPPY HOLIDAY.
Going Nap.
Any Time in August.—Just been reading capital article in Nineteenth Century, by Dr. James Muir Howie, on the "Nerve Rest-Cure," which says—"For those who cannot get a sufficient holiday, the best substitute is an occasional day in bed." Why not several days in bed? In fact one's whole summer holiday? "Better than climbing toilsome mountains," he remarks. Quite so—and much better than toilsome trip to Ramsgate with one's whole family in tow. (Think of the Old Woman who lived in a Shoe. She had all her family in toe. Laugh feebly at my own joke. Really my nerves must be very bad.) Best feature of new holiday plan, however, is its cheapness. Was quite at a loss how to afford our annual trip till Howie came to rescue with his "(y)early to bed" cure. Announce to family that I intend following Dr. Howie's advice. Family seems too stupefied to say anything.
Evening.—Family has found its voice. Protests unanimously and quite fiercely against new holiday plan. Wife "sure I can afford trip to sea-side." If not, where does my money go to? Argument forcible, but unpleasant.
First Day.—Holiday begins. Sleep till 11 A.M. Scrumpshous! Should have slept longer, but two hurdy-gurdies stop outside, playing different airs. Not only murder the tunes, but "murder sleep" as well. Listen for ten minutes—nerves terribly shaky. Oughtn't to get out of bed, Howie says, but must. See my eldest boy, Henry, giving Italian fiends money! What does this unwonted generosity mean?
Afternoon.—Dinner in bed not a success. Everything underdone. Tell wife. She says, "Cook and servants in bad tempers; thought we were all going to Ramsgate, and they would have rest." Rest means clandestine kitchen parties. Feel angry—bad for nerves, but can't help it. Sleep impossible, as bed full of crumbs. Wonder Howie didn't think of this. Send Henry for evening paper—perhaps it will soothe me.
It doesn't. He brings back one three days old. Says shopman gave it him! Send him again, and shop closed for night. Nerves actually worse than ever.
Second Day.—Had disturbed night, owing to lack of my usual exercise yesterday. Still must stick to Howie's prescription. Terrific row in house. Wife comes up after breakfast (in tears) to say children, deprived of sea-side trip, are ungovernable; pretend to be buffaloes and Cowboys in drawing-room! Already two valuable vases wrecked. Hang the children! Hang Colonel CODY too! Still even paying for new vases cheaper than Ramsgate lodgings. Read morning paper. Just dropping off to sleep over somebody's important speech on Ireland, when——
Three hurdy-gurdies outside! Rush to window, open it, and bid men avaunt. They won't avaunt. Say "they've been ordered to come every morning for a month by the young gent." This must be Henry's "Plan of Campaign." Send for him, and find he has prudently gone out. Nothing for it but to stuff cotton-wool into ears till men go. Cotton-wool in ears for a whole hour shatters nerves.
Third Day.—Much worse. Though I've given strict orders that no letters or bills are to be sent up to my bed-room, find Tax-Collector's little "Demand-Note" wrapped in fold of morning paper! Annoyed. Perhaps, after all, Howie wrong. Hullo! what's that? Somebody on my window-sill! Burglars? No, can't be. How bad all this is for my nerves. Spring up in time to see Henry disappearing down rope-ladder, which he and his brothers have let down from roof. How horribly dangerous! Ring violently. Hear heavy thud in garden. Talk of "Nerve Rest-Cure"—rest of my nerves gone long ago, none left to be cured.
Wife (in tears again—awfully bad for nerves this) says the thud was not Henry falling; boys have pulled down part of chimney, which has smashed the front steps—that's all. She suggests that perhaps, after all, this holiday plan in bed is not so good as——
Five hurdy-gurdies to-day! Maddening! Hired by Henry, wife says. Send him to bed for whole day; we'll see how he likes "Rest-Cure" for his nerves. Get up gloomily, dress, and go downstairs. Pitch Nineteenth Century into waste-paper basket. Feel nerves better after it. Decide on Ramsgate, as usual, and so ends my holiday in bed—my "Sleepy Hollow" day!
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