So much for allowing these animals to
promenade the streets, a particular in which Mrs. Cincinnati has
imitated the domestic arrangements of some of her elder sisters, and a
very disgusting one it is.
Our family physician is one Dr. Drake, a man of a good deal of
science, theory, and reputed skill, but a sort of general mark for the
opposition of all the medical cloth of the city. He is a tall,
rectangular, perpendicular sort of a body, as stiff as a poker, and
enunciates his prescriptions very much as though he were delivering a
discourse on the doctrine of election. The other evening he was
detained from visiting Kate, and he sent a very polite, ceremonious
note containing a prescription, with Dr. D.'s compliments to Miss
Beecher, requesting that she would take the inclosed in a little
molasses at nine o'clock precisely.
The house we are at present inhabiting is the most inconvenient, ill-
arranged, good-for-nothing, and altogether to be execrated affair that
ever was put together. It was evidently built without a thought of a
winter season. The kitchen is so disposed that it cannot be reached
from any part of the house without going out into the air. Mother is
actually obliged to put on a bonnet and cloak every time she goes into
it. In the house are two parlors with folding doors between them. The
back parlor has but one window, which opens on a veranda and has its
lower half painted to keep out what little light there is.
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