Explore "One the Illness of my Muse" by Hilaire Belloc on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The other day I noticed that my Muse, who had long been ailing, silent and morose, was showing signs of actual illness.
Now, though it is by no means one of my habits to coddle the dogs, cats and other familiars of my household, yet my Muse had so pitiful an appearance that I determined to send for the doctor, but not before I had seen her to bed with a hot bottle, a good supper, and such other comforts as the Muses are accustomed to value. All that could be done for the poor girl was done thoroughly; a fine fire was lit in her bedroom, and a great number of newspapers such as she is given to reading for her recreation were bought at a neighbouring shop. When she had drunk her wine and read in their entirety the _Daily Telegraph_, the _Morning Post_, the _Standard_, the _Daily Mail_, the _Daily Express_, the _Times_, the _Daily News_, and even the _Advertiser_, I was glad to see her sink into a profound slumber.