From the Diary of Samuel W. Thornchesterworthingbergerton

the 26th of May, 1899

Dear diary,

I can see summer's sultry sun growing closer, which means I will no longer be able to take my afternoon martini on the veranda, without sweating through my pants. No more leisurely strolls through my vineyard or parasol-shielded walks in the fields to oversee my colored laborers. No sir. Summer tis' near.

My wife has yet again taken up her ludicrous campaign against my mustache. She claims it may lighten the burden on my face during this time year. God only knows it has enough trouble contending with my pendulous jowls. I can forgive her, since she is only a woman with a brain the size of a Irishman's. Little can she understand that a man's manhood is embodied in that mustache. If she really holds designs on people's facial hair, perhaps she should start with her own mother.

It seems as though I will be relegated to the cool of the parlor for the major part of the day. Luckily a man with deep coffers like myself can afford an extra block of ice to rest his feet on, while he watches his progeny play with their porcelain dolls and wooden acrobats I bought from a Chinaman in a rather unscrupulous part of town. I would tell you why I went there originally, but alas, I am beginning to feel weak. I shall retire to my solarium.