Thursday. June 27, Mid-day. The Baron opens ventilators, doors, windows. Then, at haphazard, he takes up a book. Its title, _What is heat?_... Answer immediately given by thermometer, "95° in the shade." That's heat! And if that isn't, what is? The second title of book is, _A Peep into Nature's Most Hidden Secrets_. But the Baron is not _Paul Pry_; he doesn't want to peep; at all events he cannot undertake any exertion until about November, say, when he will be delighted to peruse the work of Mr. FREDERICK HOVENDEN, F.L.S., F.G.S., F.R.M.S.,--"Three single Fellows rolled into one." "Let me descend to the ice-cellar, or in cool grot let me sit, with a soothing iced beverage and a choice Havannah; let me read there _About the North Pole_, and _Gunter's Tales of Ices_," quoth the BURDENED BARON DE BOOK-WORMS. * * * * * SHAKSPEARE ON THE SITUATION. _Caius Marcius Coriolanus_ MR. CH-MB-RL-N. _Tullus Aufidius_ L-RD S-L-SB-RY. _Act IV., Sc. 4. Antium_ (_Downing Street_). _Before Aufidius's House._ _Cor._ O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn, Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, Whose hours, whose bed, whose meals, and exercise, Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love Unseparable, should, within this hour, On the dissension of a doit, break out To bitterest enmity: so, fellest foes, Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep, To take the one the other, by some chance, Some trick, not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends, And interjoin their issues. So with me: My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon This enemy town. * * * * _Auf._ (_entering, Sc. 5_). Say, what's thy name? _Cor._ My name is CAIUS MARCIUS, who hath done, To thee particularly, and all the VOLCES, Great hurt and mischief.... Now, this extremity, Hath brought me to thy hearth. _Auf._ O MARCIUS, MARCIUS! Each word thou has spoken hath weeded from my heart A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter Should from yond' cloud speak divine things, And say, "'Tis true," I'd not believe them more Than thee, all noble MARCIUS.--Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grainèd ash a hundred times hath broke. .... I do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour.... Why, thou Mars! I tell thee We have a power on foot.... O, come, go in, And take our friendly senators by the hands.... _Cor._ You bless me, gods! _Auf._ Therefore, most absolute Sir, if thou wilt have The leading of thine own revenges, take The one half of my commission. But come in: Let me commend thee first to those that shall Say "Yea" to thy desires. A thousand welcomes And more a friend than e'er an enemy; Yet, MARCIUS, that was much. Your hand! most welcome!