June is so called from Juno. She was the daughter of Ops, whence so many dances are now given. Some say she was taken care of by the Seasons, and this is certainly the pet month of the season still. She hated Hercules, whence ladies detect the Club that prevents their husbands taking them to Richmond or Green wich this lovely weather, though the wretches can go fast enough by themselves, the pigs. The peacock was sacred to Juno, and if ever people look smart it is now. Juno having the privilege of using Jupiter’s thunderbolts, the occasional storms of the month are accounted for; but upon one occasion he did a bolt ob her own account, which btought business before the Olympian Cresswell. She was quite in the right, and had to submit – as will always happen while gods and men make laws.
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