PICTURES OF MEMORY. 
Among tho bountiful pictures 
That bung- on Memory’s wall, 
Is one of a dim old forest, 
That Becrootta best of all; 
Nof for Us gnarled oaks olden, 
Park with the. mistletoe; 
Not for the violets golden 
That sprinkle the vale, below; 
Not for tho milk-white lillies 
That lean from the fragrant bodge, 
Coquetting all day with tho sunbeams, 
And stealing their golden edge; 
Not for the vines on the uplaud, 
Where the bright tod horrius rest; 
Nor the pinks, nor the pale sweet cowslip, 
It seometh to me tho host. 
I Once had a little brother, 
Willi eyes that were dark and deep; 
In tln> lap of that dim old forest 
He both In peace asleep. 
Light us tho down of the thistle, 
Free a« the winds that blow. 
We roved there the beautiful summers, 
The summers of long ago; 
But Ins feet on Um hills grow weary, 
Aud, one of the autumn eves, 
I made for my little brother 
A bed of yellow leaves. 
Sweetly Ills pale arms folded 
My neck in a meek embrace, 
As tho light of immortal beauty 
Silently covered Ills face; 
And, when the arrows of sunset 
Lodged In the tree-tops bright. 
He fell, in his salnt-liko beauty, 
Asleep tiy the gates of light. 
Therefore, of ali tho pictures 
That huugs on Memory’s wall. 
The oue of the dim old forest 
Seenieth the best of all. [Alice Cary. 
®bt ^torj)-®fUfr. 
PAULINE. 
(■Continued from page 110, last No.J 
CHAPTER VIII. 
By-play at the Ball. 
Here was Elsie In a new light. 
He had seen her grave, merry, bold, timid, and 
on tho verge of tears, but whatever might bo her 
mood, she had never moved him in the slightest 
degree before. 
Now, the child had suddenly asserted her 
w omanhood, and discomfited him. lie looked so 
foolish, so crestfallen, standing there where sho 
had left him, that he felt an explanation was due 
to himself. Due, hut to whom? Pauline, of 
course. It did not occur to him to cara whether 
any one else had observed the incident or not. 
Apparently Miss La Hari.e was too deeply en¬ 
gaged In conversation to have observed anything. 
Her face was turned upwards, her slim, willowy 
figure was slightly thrown baek from tho waist, 
and she was smiling, lie thought he had never 
seen her look so well, hut he thought It with a 
pang, for some one else had looked equally well a 
moment before. 
The smile was still upon Pauliue’scheek when 
he approached— a preoccupied, Interrupted smile, 
with which he had nothing to do. He was com¬ 
pelled to wall, ere heeould gain Ucr attention. 
"I had to put a stop to your cousin’s dancing 
with one of my men,” bo began. " A rough 
fellow. Lady Calverley would not have liked It. 
It was Tom’s fault-” here ho remembered he 
was speaking to Torn’s sister, and stopped. 
“Tom is thoughtless,” said she, Indifferently 
“ It did not occur to him, 1 daresay.” 
“Nor to your couslu either; sho la much dis¬ 
pleased with me,” 
“Is she? I daresay you deserve her dis¬ 
pleasure.” 
(“You are coming out In a new light too!” 
cried Blundell, Inwardly. “ What la the meaning 
of it?") Aloud, “Why should you suppose I de¬ 
serve It?" 
“ Why should she be displeased with you ?” 
“ She thought l was scolding her.” 
“Then probably you were. I have no doubt 
ray cousin behaved admirably, and "—with a 
charming smile “yon must excuse me now, I 
am going to dance with Mr. Carr,” Which, 
being Interpreted, meant that Pauline was very 
angry. 
Mr. Carr was a clumsy young man, whoso 
figure appeared to have made up In quantity 
what It. lacked In quality. 
“You are not going to dance with that lout?” 
said Blundell, in a low aside. 
“ Why not ? A re you going to scold me next ?” 
“ .Should you prove as refractory. Let me rescue 
you,” offering Lils arm as he spoke. 
“ No, Indeed; how can I ? You would not have 
me behave so 111 to this poor man. We have all 
neglected him quite enough to-night.” 
"Say you would, it you could, then.” 
“Our dawnce, I think," said Mr. Carr approach¬ 
ing, and looking at the Interloper as It he feared 
even yet the morsel wero to be snatched from his 
Ups. 
Fortune smiled upon him, however. Miss La 
Sarto showed no Inclination to linger, and that 
other fellow who hod been making all the running 
with her up to tills time was now left In the 
lurch. So he commented, and the reflection was 
balm to Ills wounded spirit. 
Blundell, however, was not so deceived—he had 
got his answer, though not la words. 
“ Pauline,”—Lady Calverley seized upon her 
niece,—“let this be the last. Elsie Is growing 
quite wild. I don’t know what odd-come-short 
she has got hold of now, but she ought not to 
dance with any but our own people.” 
" This is going to be tho last, Aunt Ella.” 
“ And do say a word to her, my dear; she heeds 
you more than she dons me." 
" What about? I think she Is behaving as well 
as possible,” said Pauline, perversely. 
“My dear!” 
“I do. I can’t see any harm In her dancing; 
sho has been doing It. to please others tho whole 
evening; she has never had a thought for herself. 
I think sho deserves praise rather than blame.” 
Pauline was Incomprehensible, and the per¬ 
turbed lady fell back upon her uncle. 
“Don’t you Lhlnk we have had enough of this?” 
“1 have had enough, Mary, and 1 daresay you 
have! but I doubt we tire In tho minority. Look 
at, that scapegrace!’’ regarding with perfect 
benignity Tom’s windmill figure and radiant 
countenance. “Do you hear him? -do you hear 
the young lacknapes? Making a din tit, to bring 
the place down.” 
“ He Is but a boy,” apologized Tom’s aunt. 
“ He forgets lilmsL'lf sometimes.” 
“ Then let Idm forget himself as often as he 
can. A man who forgets htrnseir has good stuff 
In him. What Is his sister about, that she leaves 
all the work to little Elsie? Ah’ l am glad to 
see her standing up at last.” 
On the whole, Lady Calverley was ill used by 
her confidants. 
"Well done! well done, sir!" This from the 
doctor, clapping his hands loudly and with hearty 
approbation ns Tom, panting, gasping, and using 
his handkerchief In a very different manner from 
that which bad amused Punch i he evening before, 
drew to his side. 
“That mis a reel!" cried he. “Did you seo 
my partner’s performances? She has nearly 
killed me! I never saw such a woman to dance 
In my lire! And sho Is tho mother of a dozen 
Children, all here to-night, and all dancing like 
good uns!" 
"Ay, ay," said the doctor. “I hope you will 
foot It as nimbly when you come to bo a grand¬ 
mother, Elsie.” 
“ I hope she won’t ask mo to foot It with her," 
said Tom. “I know what would happen. I 
should never survive It.” 
“The supper is ready; will your leddyshlp 
take your place tho noo, or wull ye hae them a’ In 
first?" 
“Take them In first, Davie, and we will follow 
when yon come for us.” 
Accordingly, before many minutes had passed 
there was an obvious diminution or the crowd. 
It took nearly half an hour cro the emigration 
was llnally accomplished; but, soon after tho 
echoes of the last footsteps had died away, tlm 
lady of the manor and her Mends were .sum¬ 
moned. 
Blundell was standing by Pauline when the 
messenger came; Tom was kissing Ids aunt over 
her shoulder, as he enveloped her !u her furs; 
and the doctor was kindly trying to engage Mr. 
Carr In conversation, and make him leel lessor 
an Intruder Into the circle. Elsie was resting on 
a bench at a little distance. 
Tho wraps were now brought forward. Blun¬ 
dell took up Ids companion’s, u soft, white, cloudy 
shawl, and drew It round her ; then ho looked at 
the little palo-blue bundle lert on the seat, and 
hesitated. 
Already their hostess was advancing on Tom’s 
arm, and he fancied ho caught a rueful glance 
directed to the blue shawl. lie took It up, and 
smiled to Pauline. “ l must make my peace with 
the little oue," ho said. 
How she received this he could never tell: Mr. 
Carr had almost Jumped forward, had pressed lri 
rront of him, and had led her off with an air of 
triumph. 
The doctor, after a momentary hesitation, had 
followed; there was no one left to Interfere. 
“1 hardly know If I may venture to offer my 
poor services,” began Elsie’s cavalier, In a voice 
that could be, when he chose, exquisitely modu¬ 
lated. “ Will you lake this from my hand ?” 
A slight formal Inclination, ami "Thank you,” 
was all hts politeness obtained. 
" You have heated yourself with all this danc¬ 
ing; Is it safe to go out Into the night air ail at 
once? Had we not better wait a few minutes?” 
“ I’m uor. in the toast afraid. The others have 
gone, you see.” 
steadily her eye met Ills, lie was on tho wrong 
tack; he must try another. 
“Come, then,” carelessly. “But don’t go on 
and say 1 gave you cold. By the way, have you 
forgiven mo yet ?” 
"No.” Short, sharp, emphatic, 
“No? Aro you such an linplacablo person ? I 
should never have guessed it.” 
“You forgot yourself altogether Just now, and 
It Is not the Urst time.” 
This was tho little speech which had been care¬ 
fully prepared, whilst with bland and gracious 
mien Miss Calverley dispensed the closing favors, 
if their recent disagreement were notadverted to 
by him, neither would she say a word; if he re¬ 
called It, this was what he should get. 
Evidently It was unexpected; he looked sur¬ 
prised, puzzled; and they walked the whole length 
of the ball-roorn in silence. 
At the door-step stood Davie, lantern in hand. 
“ Be quick, Miss Elsie! be quick! They’re waltlu’ 
on me, aud 1 canna bu warned longer —” 
“(io on beiore,” aald Blundell, authoritatively; 
“we will follow. Now," said lie, firmly, turning 
round to his companion, and putting nis hand 
upon her arm, “ you will tell me what, you mean.” 
“It Is easily told. You do not treat me with 
tho courtesy which Is my right, and which I ex¬ 
pect from you tu the future.” 
Likewise carefully prepared, u was pja/n |u; 
stood at disadvantage, having had no rehearsal. 
His “That Is a grave Charge, MlsS Calverley,” 
was rather a lame conclusion to some moments’ 
thought. 
“ It is a true one.” 
“May l ask how long I have lain uuder your 
displeasure?” 
“ Always.” Terse 11’ not grammatical, 
"Since tho first day ?” 
“ Ves; since the first day.” 
“ A ud you win not state particulars ?” 
“ No.” 
She moved forward, and he mechanically of¬ 
fered his hand to conduct her down the steps. 
still nothing more was said. It was apparent 
he was pondering the matter over, and her heart, 
sank a little us she saw sho had not done with 
him. 
“Just tell me,” said Im, at last, as they entered 
the dark, old-fashioned portico, “.fustgive me 
some Idea what 1 do that so vexes you; and I 
give you my word for It, that you shall tiovor have 
cause to com plain again.” 
“ It Is not—not anythlnglnparticular,” rejoined 
she, skirmishing, like a wise general, from the 
bights. "It Is the way you always speak to me, 
as If you were saying things to see how 1 would 
take them, to—to play with me. You never be¬ 
have so to Paulino.” 
A faint smile stole over his face; ho had caught 
the clue, 
“Miss La Sarto is some years older than you 
are; you must uot expect to bo treated the 
same.” 
It was a risk, but tho even Justified his temerity. 
“ I did not expect it,” said Elsie, quite humbly; 
“ 1 did not expect to be treated '/uite the same. 
But still, If you would not, make such a great dif¬ 
ference, ir you would not show it so plainly, It 
would—the others would—you know -sho broke 
off suddenly—* 1 1 um not, a child now.” 
“Certainly not,”said Blundell, gravely. 
“ And mamma Is so vexed If people think I am 
younger than 1 am. She Is quite put out with mo 
when they do so; sho thinks It Is my fault." 
“ Are you sure It Is not?” 
"Perhaps It, Is,"said Elsie, sorrowfully. Then 
she stood still In tho bla’/.o of light lu which they 
had entered, and ralsod her clear eyes to his. " I 
musL havo been wrong, or you would never have 
said that.” 
lie looked down on her “Suppose we say wo 
wero both wrong.” 
“ A es,” eagerly; “aud —and, Mr. Blundell, 
please don’t tell anybody; please” (with great 
anxiety) “don’t tell mamma or Paulino.” 
The next moment Tom was In front of them. 
“ Wo thought you had been locked out. I was 
on rny way to look you up. Come Inside, It Is 
such run. I tell Aunt Ella she ought to make a 
speech, and Lucie Moeleay hacks me up, Elsie.’’ 
Then to her aside, “You should sou that fool, 
Carr! He thinks It Is Ids Innings with Pauline 
now, and he l.n grinning and wriggling from ear 
to ear. VVliat waH Blundell about to let him eul, 
In ? I could not believe my eyes!” 
••*•••» 
“ 1 must say It, dear. I am sorry to have to re¬ 
prove you, but I cannot lot It pass. Your behav¬ 
ior to-night did not please me at all. Hero, there, 
everywhere; you and Tom never seemed lu one 
place for two minutes together. It is all very 
well tor Tom! but for you, a young lady l was 
quite shocked. Ho different from Pauline! 
Lady Calverley, who was one of the Mighty kind 
herself, held her niecB to bo perfect, and would 
fain have out her daughter to the same pattern. 
“do to bod now, and let us say no more about 
It; but it really will not do. Wo shall have to 
give up our harvest-danoos altogether, If there Is 
to he this romping. .1 ust like the M iss 0regorys I" 
“Oh, mamma!” 
“Well, It Is; I never approved of It from the 
first—never. But your poor dear father—how¬ 
ever, let us say no more about It. Your uncle was 
very kind ; but I am sure Mr. Blundell was sur- 
prised, and I don’t wonder at It." 
A little droop of the lips, but no protest. 
“Paulino behaved so well—but, Indeed, she al¬ 
ways does. Ho gentle, so dignified, never putting 
herself forward, and—how well she looked!" cried 
Lady Calverley, with sudden eagerness. " I am 
sure Mr. Blundell Is struck with her.” 
“ flood night, mamma.” 
“ Good night, my love. You look pale,” ob¬ 
served her mother, with some compunction. “I 
don’t say that you meant any harm, Elsie, but 
you must learn (hat you are growing Into a wo¬ 
man, dear, and show more womanly feeling. You 
know I can only desire your good, oh, don’t cry 
said the poor lady, cut to the heart to see the 
largo eyes filling, “it was no fault, i told you 
that; 1 dhl not mean you to take It. so. Now you 
make me feel as If I should not have spoken. Only 
wrong things are. worth tears, Elslo!” 
Lady Calverley (lid not Stop to reflect how sel¬ 
dom It is the things which are wrong which cost 
the bitterest tears; a foolish speech or our own, a 
Slighting word of another’s, and our plllowlswet; 
but where are the drops that, should rail over the 
unkind thought, the envious pang, the jest at 
folly? Our heart will ache for a prink to our 
vanity, our checks burn at the mocking of a slm- 
ploton; but does their sin cause us a Sigh or a 
cry? Nay, for this wo have no choking Bobs, no 
quivering Ups. To weep we need to suffer. 
And thus with our little Elsie. 
HheBleeps, hut even her dreams are haunted. 
She wakes, and recollection wakes with her. 
They had all conspired In disapproval. Blun¬ 
dell had told her of one Indiscretion; her mother 
had accused her of many. Hhe had herself as¬ 
serted that she was no longer a child, and almost 
Immediately alter wards had been charged with 
want of yyormu)4 feeling, 
And then, crudest of all was that comparison 
to Pauline. Happy Pauline! Admired as well as 
beloved, beautiful as well as good, what needed 
she more ? 
" And ho to dare to tell me that! To hold her 
up naan example tome” (which ho had not done), 
“and to say that l must not expect to ho treated 
the same! I wish ho would go away, and take 
her with him! I wish never to see either or their 
faces again! And here 1 must go down to them 
all, as If nothing had happened, and submit to be 
scolded and lectured by everybody! I shan’t 
though—not by him. When ho comes up next I 
shall ho sitting quite cool ami quiet, and bo very 
much taken up with letters, or something. If he 
speaks I need not hear at first, l will make him 
repeat It. twice; then ho may go and talk to Ids 
Pauline! Tom shall keep Ills distance too; ho 
thinks ho can twist mo round his little linger. 
Mamma won’t like It, I daresay. 1 shall Just tell 
her I can’t help that; 1 am doing rny best to be 
like Paulino!" 
A pause. 
“Oh, r couldn’t say It! I could never, never 
say It! Oh, Paulino! dear, dear, kind Pauline!” 
broke out a loud sobbing, whisper ns pride and 
passion lied, "I am a very wicked girl, and you 
are—an angol! God bless you, God bloss you, 
dear Pauline!” 
CHAPTES IX. 
“The Juniata is Getting up her Sails!’’ 
A pale-grey rippling sea, a warm and gentle 
breeze, cloudlets fleeting over the sky and form¬ 
ing a dimly mottled horizon—these wero the 
signs that tho long-expected day had como at 
last.. 
At length they were to realize the pleasure so 
long and hopelessly deferred. 
“ Pauline, Pauline, the Juanlatu Is getting up 
her sails!” 
“ 1 was a fool about that, nhlld last night,” was 
tlio conviction brought home to Blundell's mind 
the Instant ho saw Elslo. “Here have I boon 
fretting over my cursed vanity, and her little sad 
faoe—and come up to tlud her as port, as a hurn- 
mlng-blrd I” 
“Miss La Sarto," began he, “is this to be the 
day?" 
“My aunt will be boro In a few minutes. She 
Inis only gone Into the next room.” M lss I,a Sarto 
politely waived tlm question. Ho sat down beside 
her. 
“ None or you are tho worso for your exertions ?” 
“ No, thank you." 
“ Nor any colds?” 
“No." 
“And the weather Is perfect. Dr.Macleay, I 
urn hoping to Induce you all to come for a sail.” 
“I shall have to sail, but 1 am afraid not with 
you, Mr. Blundell, l must sail away to my own 
people.” 
“ Let me—let us convoy you." 
“ No, no, my good sir; I know what, that means. 
It Is very tempting, but I must not take another 
lazy day.” 
“ What do I hoar?” Lady Calverley had caught 
the last words as she entered. “ Talk or running 
away, already! And I understood you wero to be 
with us Oil Sunday V” 
“ if Mr, Sinclair cannot got any one else, I shall 
have to come over again, or send my missionary 
H 
“Oh, como yourself, come yourself, please.” 
“ Come yourself,” echoed Elslo. 
“ Well, well, It must be that, must It7 And to 
speak the truth, there Is a presbytery meeting at 
the Point on Monday, which I should have to at¬ 
tend at any rale. So l must be off early to-day, 
If 1 am to bo back again so soon.” 
“Anfi when are we to start?” said Blundell, 
addressing his hostess. 
“ Do you really mean us to go?” 
“ I hope you really meau to go.” 
It was plain she was to go, whether sho meant 
It or not. 
“ Don’t wait, for me,” cried tho doctor, perceiv¬ 
ing ho might be In the way. “Thesooner I am 
off the better. And,” giving her a hint, “ I dare¬ 
say Mr. Blundell’S boat is waiting.” 
" 'J'/iat does nor, signify a bit. I only wish wo 
might have you with us," replied Blundell, cour¬ 
teously. 
*• You are very good. 1 wish it, too, with all my 
heart. But work must be done, and I have a fu¬ 
neral at twelve. Yes, my dear, the dog-cart It 
you please, Mr. Blundell, suppose you walk off 
with me while the ladles are putting on their 
things, and they can Join you at the boat? The 
dog-cart, will overtake us." 
Every ope looked grateful for a proposal so well 
timed, and he took his leave amid general good¬ 
will. 
“ What a trump he la!” cried Tom, enthusias¬ 
tically. "And what a Jolly day wo are going to 
have!” 
"Now tor the lilac hat, Paulino,”.whispered 
Elsie. 
“Tho white one will do after all, Elsie, and be 
more shade from the sun.” 
“ It Is not nearly so becoming.” 
“ Is It not? Oh, that Is no matter,” and Paulino 
turned softly away. 
“She thinks he will see her often enough In It 
afterwards,”considered Elslo; “and certainly It 
docs not signify what alio puts on—he will admire 
her all the same.” 
“conic along! Come along! come along 1” 
Tom beat a tatoo at all the doors In turn. “ Come 
along, Aunt Ella; you won't like to bo hurried on 
the way, you know. Comealong, Pauline; Blun¬ 
dell will be tired of waiting. Como along, Elsie ; 
are you putting twenty bats on your head at 
once?” adapting the spur to each case with art¬ 
ful nicety, 
