time.
I have in my purse one postage stamp; but that will warrant a visit to
Loring's! One must have books as well as bread and cologne. O LORING!
what an institution art thou! Name dear to all classes, from Madame
----, who steps from her carriage, to the pretty shop-girl, who always
wants Mrs. Southworth's last--and worst--novel.

Who, indeed, 'so poor' as not 'to do _him_ reverence,' and find two
cents _per_ day, when for that sublimely small sum one can get a
companion for any and every mood,

'Grave to gay, from lively to severe?'

But will 'LORING'S' be open at this early dawn? 'Open,' indeed! one does
not catch _him_ napping; yes, open and so inviting! A literary public
garden so fresh and clean, as

'Just washed in a shower.'

In the rear, behind the desk, one is always sure of finding at least
_two roses_, and _on_ the desk a vase of flowers is certainly to be
seen--the offering of some one of the hundreds of admirers who go to
Loring's, nominally for some entertaining book--and they always find
one!

'What book did you say, miss?' asks Fleur de Marie. ('Where _does_ she
get those lilies and roses? I saw none like them in the garden this
morning. Ah! many of the dames who enter here from their carriages would
also like to ask my question--since they do not seem to find them even
at Newport!) 'If you please, _what_ book?' again inquire the Roses.

'Oh!' I answer, 'I was looking, and forgot what I came for; is 'Out of
his Head' _in_ yet?'

The fair librarian evidently thinks I am out of mine. Ah! would that I
were, and out of my whole body; but no! ingrate that I am, to-day I
should be content--simply _to be_; even a cabbage ought to be happy in
such perfect summer weather. T. B. Aldrich _is_ in--as much as he ever
is supposed to be; but I recall now that I read his sketchy book the
other night, while I was brushing my hair, giving it a sort of 'good
time generally,' letting it run wild a little before going to sleep. I
read 'Pierre Antoine's Date Tree' quite through, and liked--the _last
part_ very much indeed. There are some people whom I am always very glad
to have visit me, because I feel so 'dreadful glad' when they go away.
So, also, it compensates one to read certain books for the sake of the
delicious sensation one experiences on finishing them! What a pile of
'_Les Miserables_,' Fantine? _C'est assez miserable._ The 'Hunchback' is
the least deformed of Hugo's offspring; but I read _that_