OCT. 13 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
244 
FAREWELL TO SUMMER. 
Summer U fading; tbo broad leaven that grew 
So frcnbly green when Juno wns young are falling; 
And all the whisper-haunted forest through 
The rontless lords in saddened tones are calling 
From rustless hazel copse and tangled dell, 
*' Farewell, sweet summer. 
Fragrant., i rutty summer. 
Sweet farewell 1” 
Upon the windy hill, in many a Held, 
The honey bees hum slow above the clover, 
Gleaning the latest sweets its blooms may yield; 
And, knowing that their harvest time is over. 
Sing, half a lullaby and half a knoll. 
’■ Farewell, sweet summer, 
Honey-laden summer. 
Sweet farewell I” 
The little brook that babbles 'mid the ferns. 
O’er twisted roots and sandy shallows playing. 
Seems fain to linger in Its eddied turns, 
And with a plaintive, purring voice Is saying, 
“ Farewell, sweot summer, 
Warm and dreamy summer, 
Sweet faro well I" 
Tho fltful breeze swoops down the winding lano. 
With gold and crimson leaves before it flying; 
Its gusty laughter has no sign of pain, 
But in the lulls it sinks to gentle sighing, 
And mourns the summer’s early oroken spell— 
“Farewell, sweet summer. 
Sweet farewell 1" 
So bird anil bee and br<>ok and breeze make moan, 
With melancholy song their loss complaining. 
I, too, must join them, as 1 walk atone 
Among the sights and sounds of summer’s waning 
I, too, have loved the season passing well— 
So. farewell summer. 
Fair, but faded summer, 
Sweet furewoll I [George Arnold. 
®j)£ ^tonj-Ccllrr. 
PAULINE. 
[Continued from page 220, 1 
“ And, Pauline, one thing more. I am so glad I 
remembered: the plants—the plants for tho din¬ 
ing-room table; would you choose them yourself 
this time ? Burrows scut In such a shabby set 
last dinner-party we had, that 1 was quite vexed. 
Wheu one has the plauts, you know—good plants 
—It Is ridiculous. 1 am particularly anxious about 
tho dinner-table looking well. By tho wuy, what 
do you wear to-night, my love?” 
“To-night?" moaned the poor girl. 
“ Yes, to-night. Malm yourself very bright and 
pretty, fur there will be many eyes on the watch. 
Your amber crape? it would blend with my satin 
nicely; and you w ould have tho head-dress ready 
In time. Khali It bo tho crape ?’’ 
Was It luxury such us this that Mrs. Jenny n 
had pictured ? 
The head-dress Is ilulshed; the notes have been 
written; and the plants changed. 
And “ You dear, good creature 1” cries the aunt, 
“ You shall do one more thing for me, and then 
you must run to dress, for It Is getting near the 
time. It is only to find my keys, Pauline, for 
where they aro gone I cannot imaglno. They 
were In my hand a little while ago, and I muxt 
have ♦licm If I am to wear my pearls to-night. 
Have you any poarls, love? If you have, put 
them on. Let us be as like each other as a fair 
and a dark person can be. Ab! l am many 
years older than you, Pauline—1 am Indeed. But 
then, you know, we blondes never look our ages 
as you brunettes do. wo caunot look old if we 
would. As Colonel Grafton said to mo—oh, you 
clever child, you have found the keys already! 
Now you shall see my pearls. But what a long 
face you have got to-night, my dear 1 I know: 
you want to be oil to your owu toilet. Run away 
then, and try to be down before any one comes.” 
But tho guests aro already at the door. 
Mrs. Wyndham shrieks, " It Is not time I It Is 
not nearly half past seven! It Is a mistake I” 
Some one must have arrived by accident. Weth- 
erell must lly, amUliid out who It la. “ Fly, good 
Wetherell, fly!" 
It is Sir John and Lady Finch; and neither Sir 
John nor hla watch knows what It Is to go wrong 
In the matter of punctuality. 
Nor, Indeed, does Sir John's cook dare go wrong, 
either. It Is as much as her place is worth, to 
have the dinner two uunutos behind tho hour, by 
the grout clock la the hall. 
Her master arrangos hla walk up and down tho 
long drawing-room, so as to bring him near the 
door the moment tho gong has ceased to sound; 
then there la Just time left for him to swoop off 
his lady, and reach It again, as It Is open for their 
exit. 
Mrs. Wyndham knows nothing of this; but she 
does know that the Finches are not people to be 
treated uucourteously. She must get down some¬ 
how, before Lady Finch’s wraps are dlslntangled, 
and she has Joined her gentlemen In tho hail. 
And I must go down by myself,” cries the 
hostess, fretfully. “I did hope you would have 
been ready, Pauline, though It 13 not your fault, 
poor dear. But 1 am not half dressed, and I do so 
dislike to be hurried. One moment, child—do 
look: is this ribbon becoming? or shall I wear 
the pearls alone ? 1! title the ribbon, Wetherell, 
quick! Now, clasp tho pearls! No, l don’t like 
that; 1 think 1 will have the ribbon. Run off, 
dear, run off, and be down as soon ub over you 
can!” 
The party is assembled ere Paulino Is ready. 
Accordingly, every eye Is llxed upon her as she 
slowly enters, In her clouds of amber, the fairest, 
Quest, saddest-hearted woman present. 
lie may be dying as sue speaks! He may be 
dying as she walks along the floor! Ho maybe 
dying as she takes her place at tho fable! 
Any one of these trivial moments of her life 
may bo to him that supreme moment of existence 
when the soul passes into tho visible preseuce or 
Us Maker 1 
Do you think that she can oat, and drink, and 
smile, anil laugh, with this before her eyes? 
MLss La Sarto la tired, very tired; she la not. 
hungry; her head aches. Some one says, sud¬ 
denly, “ Poor Blundell's gone by this time, I sup¬ 
pose 1” and fJio room becomes unbearably hot. 
She escapes, and rushing to her chamber, alone 
and In the dark, cries as If her heart would break. 
CHAPTER XXI. 
An Unwelcome Visitor. 
A young woman does not lly from the dinner- 
table while yet the second course Is circling round, 
without provoking comment; and many and va¬ 
ried were tho luterpretallons put upou Paulino’s 
behuvlor. 
What a pity that she should be so delicate! 
Lady Finch brought forward a headache ou her 
own account, and averred that sho had felt un¬ 
equal to being out of her room tho whole after¬ 
noon. 
To Mr. Fennel, however, was duo tho happy 
suggestion of tho evening. 
" it was tho veulson now, wasn’t It?” said he. 
“ I know lots of ladles can’t stand a lunch. It Is 
so—so—not unpleasant, you know, because veni¬ 
son can’t, be unpleasant. But then there Is some¬ 
thing peculiar, you know, something unlike any¬ 
thing else about a haunch. So, theu, I made up 
my mind It was at the bottom of the mischief.” 
" It might have been, Mr. Fennel,” replied Mrs. 
Wyndham. “ My dear niece la certainly etcvsslvc- 
ly susceptible. So ami; and so are all our fam¬ 
ily. We are quite foolishly particular; It really 
becomes a minrorlunc. 1 am surprised, I own,” 
apologetically, *’ that Miss La Sarto was tho only 
sufferer last night,. I am most thankful, [ assure 
you,that l was loo faroll to baeuilangered. With 
good, kind sir John sitting by my side—tho donor, 
you understand, the haunch came from him—It, 
would really have been awkward. / nd over little 
accidents of tills kind, over fuiutnuaa, one has no 
manner of control. It la all nerves, you know, 
UrTVC/i." 
This was quite good enough souse for Mr. Fen¬ 
nel, who was willing to bo supported lu any way 
agreeable to Ids companion. 
“ It Is a pity, Isn't It?” said he ; “ because, you 
see, we can’t do without veulson, although cer¬ 
tainly wo might 
“Oh, lie!” exclaimed she, briskly; “you are 
not going to say you could do without, us poor 
women ? 1 should never have expected this from 
l/oa, Mr. Fennell 1 should not Indeed /” 
He protested, she feigned to be exasperated 
afresh; ho explained, she would misunderstand; 
he apologized, and she was content. 
All this was amusing enough to Mrs. Wyndham, 
who was never better pleased than when carrying 
ou a nonsensical banter; bunt began shortly to 
pall on tho young man. 
He wondered why Miss La Sarto did not appear. 
“ You are surprised that my niece should choose 
that walk, I daresay,” commented Mrs. Wyud- 
ham, who, while following the direction of his 
eyes, had been indulging In a tirade against damp 
avenues, dead leaves, and closed-ln grounds. •’ It 
Is a foolish whim, and so I tell her. So many 
nicer places as there are to be had, It Is really 
odd, aud Imprudent too. But we women never 
are prudent; that, you know, Is proverbial. Wo 
luavo prudence, like all tho sterner virtues, to 
your sex. Pauline Is not to bo turned from her 
own way, when once her heart Is set upon it. l 
told her, warned her; 1 should not be surprised” 
(with a bright Idea) •* if, alter ail, It was not more 
of a chill, caught out of duors on such a miserable 
afternoon as yesterday, than the venison { A 
chilli I have no doubt about, It, now. Foolish 
girl! And there she la In It again, at this mo¬ 
ment, t” 
“ Where7” cried ho eagerly, “ where?” 
“ That scarlet dot among the trees. That la her 
red shawl. Now that tho branches are bare, ouo 
can see a long way down tho walk.” 
lie gasped with dismay. 
Hid sho kuow ho was there? Hid she not mean 
to come in? Worse than all, had she goue out to 
avoid him ? 
It certainly appeared so, and yet he could not 
yield the point without a struggle. 
“ Really, It Is a foolhardy thing to do!” 
As Mrs. Wymlluun spoke, Khe moved toward the 
bell; but, divining her purpose, her companion 
forestalled her, stammering with eagerness. 
“Now, do send me,” cried he. “ It’s—it’s really 
awluily bad, you know ; and I’ll tell her you said 
so. Ton my word 1 will, and I'll bring ner In, too. 
Sho can't help coming. If you send for her.” 
He was off, ere she could stop him. 
“Now, Miss LaSarte, this Is too bad or you: 
■pon my word It Is, now! Your aunt Is awfully 
put out about It—she really Is; and she sent me 
to bring you In, you know; and I told her that I 
would.” 
“ Why should I come In ?” 
“Because—oh I well, I don’t know. I came to 
bring you, I did Indeed. Mrs. Wyndham scat me. 
But, after all, It’s very Jolly here," continued the 
faithless messenger; “and I don’t see why wo 
should go in, ’pon my word I don’t. Or, wu might 
go to tho garden, mightn’t we, and then she could¬ 
n’t mind that, could sho ?” 
“ To the garden! What should we do there ? ” 
“What should we do there?” echoed he, with 
a cheerful laugh. Ha! ha I ha I What should 
we do there?” 
she stared at him. 
“ That was so good,” he continued, adapt ing his 
pace to hers, with a comfortable settling-down to 
companionship. “ There's no reason In tho woild 
why wo should go; aud as for your aunt, 1 dare¬ 
say she has forgotten all about It by this time. 
It’s ever bo much pleasanter out, Isn’t It. ? And I 
think this Is the nicest walk I saw, 'pon my- 
What, is the matter?” 
“Nothing, I thought I hoard some oue.” 
“Did you? oh no; Mrs. Wyndham would never 
send again. I am sure she wouldn't; for I told 
her 1 would bring you-and ao 1 should, only, you 
see, you wouldn't come." 
Louder came the sound of wheels. Her heart, 
seemed to bo beating lu her throat, and every 
limb trembled. Khe knew—sue had known since 
morning—that there was still something loft to 
hope, to wait Tor; and wall she would. Tho car¬ 
riage, which had passed at an early hour through 
the grounds, was uow returning. Too soon, sho 
feared, for any good news; but If tbo worst had 
to bo learnt, she must bear It then and there. 
Oh, what should she do to get rid of her tor¬ 
mentor? 
“ Can I ask you to take tho trouble to go up to 
the house for me? It Is only to tell my aunt 
that—that—that— (what mesaago could bo framed 
on tho spur of the moment?) that, as sho dislikes 
my being here, wo will go to tho garden or come 
In.” 
“Oh! not ‘come In,'” pleaded he. 
Furthermore, If the young lady was ao docile, 
what need of a forerunner ? c^ulek tea thought, 
she saw, corrected her mistake, and yielded tho 
point.. 
“Wo will go to tho garden then.” 
Oh, Joy! Ho turned the corner ere tho carriage 
camo in sight, and sho stood by tho wayaldo, 
alouo. 
She was right, so far. It was Dr. Tyndall’s 
brougham; and with a gosturo she bade tho 
coachman draw up. But the Inside was empty. 
“ Where la your master?” 
“ Slopped at. Ulundellsayo, rntss.” 
“la ho to bo there long?” with a gleam of 
hope. 
“ To be called for at live, unless ho sends word, 
which Is to be left at the lodge." 
“ How is Mr. Blundell ?” 
“ Not so bad as yesterday, miss.” 
When Mr. Fennel reappeared, the carriage was 
out of view, and Paulino met lilrn with a smile. 
Ho could not now provoke her. Tho few 
moments of unbroken quiet Ills absonoo had pro¬ 
cured, had suflleod to eompoao and soothe; and 
with a grateful spirit sho rose above every trilling 
unnoyaneo. 
“Who has sho got hold of now?” said Mrs. 
Jermyn, as she and Charlotte camo In slghtof tho 
pair, having driven over to luncheon. “ It is Mr. 
Found, I do believe 1” 
“It Is [" cried Charlotte. “Poor Pauline! 
Little Fennel In cold blood Is rathor too much of 
' good thing. At a ball or dinner-party ho Is 
pasaablo, but before two o’clock I” 
“Ay, before two o’clock! What can have 
brought him here before two o'clock? 1 think 
Pauline must bo a most artrul girl. To make an 
appointment with a young man — " 
‘•oh, nonsense, mamma! Ho you think any 
human being could be so Insane as to make an 
appointment with Little Fennel ? Ho has come 
to call, and sho has met him, and Is taking him 
up to tho house, that Is all. Poor little chick 1 
He Is as happy as possible. What a piece of ab¬ 
surdity It Is, from beginning to end ! And how 
angry It will bo with us for coudug] Listen! 
how merry Its little heart la now! Ah! my 
friend, that laugh (Red away when you turned 
and saw ua! Well, we sha’n't owe you a grudge,” 
cried tho good-natured chatterer; “for I’m sure 
I should have felt Just tho name if I had stood In 
your stead. Well, Paulluo ? How do you do, Mr. 
Fennel?” 
“You are having a nice walk,” said Mrs. 
Jermyn, eyelog them both. Khe had at least tho 
light to say “ walk,” until tho walk had been dis¬ 
claimed. 
“Wearegotug to the garden,” replied Pauline 
Innocently. “Will you and Charlotte corno? 
Ho; you wanted to see the pines, and there are 
some largo ones just corning on." 
Wauled to see tho pines? Yes; but not to see 
Paulino showing the pines!—not to be handed 
out of her carriage In her own slstcr-ln-law ’b 
grounds, and taken to her garden, and treated as 
a visitor, where she had a right to be at home !— 
No indeed I 
But for Mr. Fennel’s presence, Mrs. Jermyn 
could hardly have brought herself to accept tho 
Invitation. 
As It was, she debated; but Charlotte had 
leaped to the ground, disdaining assistance, and 
curiosity prompted tho offended lady to put pride 
In her pocket, and follow. At least she would 
discover tho object of the expedition. 
Pinos, Indeed! A girl without a penny should 
not presume to talk about pines! 
To her astonishment, the girl without a penny 
walked off with Charlotte, and Mr. Fennel was 
left to bo her escort. 
A blind, of course; but she was agreeably dis¬ 
appointed at nndtng that sho could so soon 
satisfy herself ou tho points about which she was 
most Inquisitive. No one could uow Interfere 
with her. 
it was some time before she allowed herself aud 
Mr. Fennel to catch up with tho rest or the party. 
“ WcU, young people, wo have caught you at 
last! You cannot shake us off any longer. Pau¬ 
line, my love, what Is this I hear ? Mr. Fennel 
has told me a story. Some one will have to look 
better after you in future. I must really take you 
under my own wing,” 
“ it was the venison, you know,” murmured tho 
voice by her side. 
" It; waa the amber orape,” cried Charlotte. 
“ waH the beautiful dressshe wore, Mr. Fennel. 
You know you uotlecd what a beautiful dress aho 
had on? Well.it was pinched In a little, Just a 
very little, too tight, and It, took away her breath 
Aren’t you sorry, now, that you had admired the 
dress so much ?” 
“ Well, now, I really am, 'pon my word. I did 
think It, looked stunning, you know. But was It 
really that ? Are you sure, now, that It hud noth¬ 
ing to do with the venison ?’, 
“ or that It, had anything to do with tho 
dress ?” 
Mrs Jermyn was looking at Paulino. 
“ I am sure of nothing except, that It is not 
worth Hi Inking about. It Is gone, and I am 
ashamed of it. Please Hay no more.” 
Kho opened tho Inner door of tho hothouse as 
she spoke, and every one had to enter; to look, ad¬ 
mire, and bo suffocated. 
CHAPTER XXII. 
A Welcome Visitor. 
A ruusmuc was In sl.orn for Paulino. 
Her brother had been Invited by ids aunt to 
spend Christmas at the Grange, and having had 
t ho good luck to obtain a few extra holidays, had 
started oflf to ttikd them u.11 by surprise. 
Ho was In the hall, wheu tho party returned 
rrom their stroll. 
Never was a now interest more opportune. 
Pauline now beginning to suffer from a reac¬ 
tion consequent on the late strain ou her nerves 
had been unable to play the part she had rosol ved 
upon. Bodily and mental powers were alike 
Jaded; and her loss of spirits had affocted tho 
others. 
Mrs. Jermyn waa Irritable, and suspicious, Mr. 
Fennel chagrined, and even Charlotte’s good- 
temper had not been proor against tho prevailing 
gloom. 
Tom’s loud, fresh, hilarious “ llow d'yo do" wua 
music In the. ears of all. With him came lu a gust 
of tho outer atmosphere, a reviving iniluoneo of 
Ignorance and Innocence. He was to talk and bo 
talked to; to ask, and bn answered ; to usurp tho 
looks, tongues, and attention of tho circle. 
With tho frankness of a schoolboy, and tho ready 
adaptation of a man of tho world, ho was at homo 
In a moment,, props red to sip the honey or the 
passing hour, the past and future alike Indifferent 
What, had they all been about? What, was In 
band for Christmas? lie Bad hoped thcro was to 
bo a lot of balls? llo had hoped they were a 
dancing set ? Private theatricals wore still hot¬ 
ter. What house hail been chosen for private 
theatricals ? lie had passed Home very good 
houses on his way from the station. 
Tho humiliating truth had to bo confessed with 
shame—nobody had thought of private theatri¬ 
cals, aud the Hunt Ball was tile only one of which 
there appeared to bo the slightest prospect. 
wn.lt ouo accord they turned to this, in the dis¬ 
grace to which their oyes wore now opened, anil 
three voices put It forth at once ; Mr. Fennel for 
tho sake of tho county, Mrs. Wyndham for her 
own, and Paulino for her brother's. 
Tho Hunt Ball ? Yes, It was Just, about tho 
time for ouo. Was It well done ? Was It good 7 
Hid tho people go ? 
Ho was referred to Mr. Fennel, and took tho 
hint; ho was sure heshould enjoy It Immensely. 
“ I think wo may let tho people go, certainly,” 
observed Mrs. Jermyn, in her softest, tones. •* Kir 
John and Lady Finch Invariably attend, and 
bring a party a really charming party, nice 
pleasant people, of tho kind one does not often 
moot anywhere else. Mrs. Curzon, Is never ab¬ 
sent,. Her party lias already begun to assemble— 
quite a houseful, r bellcvo—all the married daugh¬ 
ters, and their husbands, aud such a number of 
gentlemen I” 
“ With not, a oentteman among them all!” sup¬ 
plemented Charlotte, solo voce. “ Ho you know 
Mrs. Curzon, Pauline ?" 
“ No.” 
“ No loss, l can tell you. Mamma believes In 
her, because she puts herself forward, and dresses 
gorgeously, and surrounds herself by a great rab¬ 
ble of people ; but, tor my part, I think she Is tho 
kind of widow that ought to have boon burnt Hi a 
suttee!” 
Mrs. Jermyn had now turned to Tom. “Of 
course X have only named a few," sho said. 
“ There will bo plenty of others, as you will see, 
to say nothing of the present company. Tho 
Thomsons, of course, and Major Koamos, and the 
Jacks-" 
“ Don't know one o them,” ho remarked. “ I 
don’t, know a soul about hero, except—never 
mind, you will ffnd mo somo partners, Pauline. 
It Is the best fun In the world making your way 
about a room full of strangers, and being able to 
pick out whom you Ilka, without being obliged to 
ask tho bores.” 
“If one can do so," replied Mrs. Jermyn, not 
over well-pleased at her list having railed to 
awaken either respect or Inquiry. “ If one could 
choose for one’s self, It would be naturally pleas¬ 
ant ; but such a plan Is not, always feasible. Sir 
John and Lady Finch, for Instance, are extiemely 
strict In the matter or Introductions, and make 
quite a point, of no one’s being brought up to any 
of their party who is not— not"—shu paused, un¬ 
certain how to finish so plainly rude a speech. 
Her unfinished suuteneo, her “ not—not” ho 
lllled up after Ills own fashion. 
“Not • all there,’ ?"ho said merrily, “ Is that It, 
ma’am? What a peculiar couple ! la there any 
little Finches, or aro they all hatched and 
flown ?” 
“ Mr. Finch Is-” 
“ Coming up to the front door,” I < 
