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luded to, such books as these as a sort of mental 

 julep to sip when the thermometer is in the 

 nineties : " The Unknown River," " The Life of 

 the Fields," " I go a-Fishing," " Rambles among 

 the Hills," " A Year among the Trees," " Wai- 

 den," "Wind-Voices," "A History of Cham- 

 pagne." There is no end of cooling literary 

 beverages, volumes that one can take up and 

 skim through, Bulwer to the contrary notwith- 

 standing, that reading without purpose is saun- 

 tering, not exercise a winter rather than a sum- 

 mer maxim. 



" The Haunted House " is cooling, and " In 

 Memoriam " is nice to dive in. A fresh breeze 

 blows perpetually from the " Penseroso " ; " The 

 Faerie Queen " is cool reading, and so is " The 

 Plea of the Midsummer Fairies." All the noted 

 sonnets on sleep are cool. Dobson or Lang 

 ought to collect them in book-form between 

 snow-white covers for hot-weather use. I re- 

 member a " Phantom Ship " (not Hamilton's 

 sonnet) which used to provoke a cold shudder; 

 but it is so long since, I have forgotten the au- 

 thorship. There is also a " Phantom Fisher " 

 somewhere in British verse a spectral angler 

 who draws ghostly trout from haunted shal- 

 lows ; and Whittier, besides the " Dead Ship 

 of Harpswell " " the ghost of what was once a 



