Delaware gazette and state journal. (Wilmington, Del.) 1883-1902, 1894-07-05

Special Correspondence OF tiasetteand journal
NEW York, June 29.--There are
times Of the year when combination
of the weather and the poetry written
about it would make saint lose her
temper. The newspapers get up and
| quote about the rareness of day in
June as If ii were II boiled leg of nut.
ton, and to save my life can't see that
it is any rarer than day in September
or any month without the odd number.
| There are 80 June days, and they are
calculated 10 make people cross, quar-.
relsome, and to get them in such con
ditions that they lose their chances for
a cool hereafter The list of June is
usually wet. miserable and gray; then
everybody regrets the open fires, but,
because it is June, sleep without
| blankets and become victims to in
fluenza. About the middle of the
month the sun sets like bright red
ball some evening, and the next morn
ing humidity and heat combined own
the town. Ones conscience and ones
linen alike are limp; nobody is quite
| ready to go to the country, and the
| getting ready is something too dreadful
to think about.
RARE JUNE DAYS.
In store buying becomes a series of
penance, and it is not surprising to see
woman weep, simply because she is
SO warm and SO tired and so cross, that
She has forgotten what she came for.
Everything feminine is buying new
| slippers and continuing the use of them
to admiration rather than wear, for who
could endure new shoes III June
People talk about June brides-I should
think the girl who got married in June
would be divorced before December.
| The last of June finds us given over TO
blousiness-1 did not say blowsiness--
and we are wondering how we can
make the skirt and the belt meet, and,
after twitching in every direction in an
effort to see the middle OF our backs, we
come to the conclusion that we don't
| care, and go out with yawning, void
of which various strange women on the
| street are willing to tell lis. | can per-
foctly sympathize with the people who
| don't like any one to tell them that their
belongings are out of order; one can't
make dressing room of a pavement, so
that one had better be in blissful ignor-
ance until home is reached, and the
trouble, whatever 1t may be, can be
remedied.
There arc times in ones life when
one wants to take the whole world into
ones condolences; that is my state of
mind now. have been i'll and am
going away, and the willingness Of my
friends 10 advise me is only equalled by
| the INDIGNATION Ntgt,ipl, thar u
they feel that do not appreciate their
unasked -for-kindness The first woman
who came to see me, kissed me in a very
sepulchral manner, leaning over me ex-
actly as if were stretched out in my
collin. Then she said in funereal voice;
WHERE rs SHE GOING ?"
The family said, ITO quiet country
place" She announced that she thought
that would be very nice, and then in
| CURED about my various aches and
pains, and said that she knew the sort
| OF things that were needed in the
country, and that, as didn't, she would
help me out by writing list Of them.
| She headed the list with one dozen
| mustard leaves She filled Two large
| sheets of paper with medicines that
were necessary in an emergency! Then
| she had list of bandages and splints,
Tor, as she very truly said, | might
break my arm And, after that, She
wrote that had better wear flannel all
the time and perspire freely. She kissed
ME goodbye again with an air of its
| being the last time, and we all wept.
| And when she had gone, | looked at
| the list, and to prove that / was a right
long ways of from death, announced
in tones Of suppressed anger that |
wouldn't, to please anybody, become
either travelling apothccary shop or
put on clothes that would make grease
spot of me.
After this fiend had disappeared a
chirpy little friend of mine arrived,
whose only weakness is her liking to
suggest things. She made me laugh by
telling me she never saw me looking
better, and then she inquired cheerily to
what nice place | was going for a
change, The family gave the now time
honored answer, TO quiet place in the
country" She laughed again when she
heard this, and said, "Well, now, if you
take my advice and want to keep well,
you will take a let Of things to cheer
you up. OF course, the dogs are going?n
INC" answered |, "they are not.
have no right to take dogs into strange
peoples houses who maynt like dogs"
FOOLISH SUMMER REST MOTIONS.
My visitor looked little crcstfallen.
and then she said "Well, ANYHOW, YOU
VIII have company down from New
York every week, wont YOU 2" 10 this
came the response that | was leaving
New York to forget my friends. Willie
she was sun there, an artist know Up.
peared, and he Immediately proposed
That, to NIL up my time, | might take up
painting again; carry along a stool and
an easel and a box of paints, and then
could have very jolly time. He also
suggested that steamer chair, with a
reading lamp screwed on to it would be
useful, and that if the family We're IN.
cllned to be sick in the night, | had
better carry my own brandy.
Before he left Il college girl appeared
and gave her opinion how | ought to
spend the summer. Said she: Take IN
a serious course of reading; keep your
mind on it, and get some one who will
write notes to you about your reading.
and then you can write back your opiH.
ions, and in this way you will have a
lovely interchange Of thought" Her
mother, who was with her said; "Now
is your time, dear child, to learn to knit
some of those heavy comfortable shawls
that are SO useful in the hospitals dur
ing the winter; you could give your
mornings to the reading and your after.
moons to the shawls, and by strict atten.
ton think you could manage five dur.
ing the summer; so goodby, dear, will
send you the wool over early in the
morning"
FRIENDS SOMETIMES TIRE US.
They went out, aud friend Of tho
family came in lie is greatly interested