Several Parliamentary reporters will begin to let their moustaches grow,
from which the speedy close of the session may be expected.
The metropolis will be threatened with a fearful amount of sickness.
Children, hitherto the models of rude health, will be discovered by
their anxious mammas to be looking pale. Husbands who never had a day's
illness in their lives (and are in the habit of boasting to that effect)
will be assured by their better halves that if they continue to stick so
closely to business, they will be dead in a month—and with so many
depending on them, they should show some regard for their precious
healths. They themselves (the poor wives) are used to suffering; but
even they would like to be spared for a short time, if only for the sake
of their families. It will also be discovered that, being out of town,
and having no appearance to keep up, you can live at the seaside for
next to nothing; so that it will be a downright saving.
The heat of the weather will increase in intensity. Considerable
modifications of the national costume will be found necessary. The
fashions of the month (male) will be confined to a gauze shirt and a
pair of light crochet inexpressibles.
An astute theatrical manager will pocket a considerable sum by
announcing—"Glorious unsuccess! Anything but crowded houses!! Not more
than three people in the pit!!!" Large numbers will flock to the
establishment in hopes of coolness and ventilation, and will be refused
their money back.