A hot day in June is hotter than any other hot day. It finds us cruelly
unguarded. After we have been gently baked awhile, the crust thus acquired
makes us somewhat tortoise-like and quiescent. If we were condemned to
suffer thirty-nine stripes, or even only as many as belong to our flag,
would it or would it not be a privilege to take them by degrees, say one
on the first day, two on the second, four on the third, etc., in the
celebrated progression style, until the whole were accomplished? Or were
it better to have the whole at once, and so be done with it? In either
case, or in present case, what a blessing to be made pachydermatous! (a
learned word lately acquired by ladies, though doubtless long familiar to
lords).
But words beginning with the sound of _ice_, are more agreeable for
to-day--such as icicle, isolation, Islip.
Some unhappy critic has said that the "icicle that hangs on Diana's
temple" is not colder than other icicles. We pity him, and would like to
try the comparison to-day. We have already tried "thinking on the frosty
Caucasus," and quite agree with Claudio--was it, or Romeo, or who?--that
this is of no service in case of fire.
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