"A hard day.... The rain was pitiless, and I in my best clothes, and without rubbers. Embraced a chance of driving to the Perry House, where ... it was cold and dark. I found a disconsolate couple from Schenectady who had come to Newport for a day's pleasuring. Did my best to entertain them, walking about the while to keep warm." She got home finally, and the day ends with her ordering a warm mash for the horse. This horse, Ha'pence, a good and faithful beast, ran a great danger this summer. The coachman, leaving in dudgeon, poisoned the oats with Paris green, a diabolical act which the Journal chronicles with indignation. Fortunately the deed was discovered in time. She was always thoughtful of animals. During the reign at 241 Beacon Street of the little fox-terrier Patch, it often fell to her lot to take him out to walk, and she felt this a grave responsibility. One day Patch ran away on Beacon Street, and would not come back when she called him. At this instant Dr. Holmes, passing, paused for a friendly greeting. "Mrs. Howe," he said, "I trust this fine morning--" "_Catch the dog!_" cried Mrs. Howe. One author flew one way, one the other; between the two Patch was caught and brought in triumph home. One dog story recalls another. She was in the North Station one day, about to start for Gardiner, as was also the setter Diana, crated and very unhappy. "Here, Auntie!" said the baggage-master; "you set here and be company for the dog, and I'll get your check!" She complied meekly, and was found somewhat later by her escort, "being company" for a much-comforted Diana. CHAPTER VII A SUMMER ABROAD 1892-1893; _aet._ 73-74 Methinks my friends grow beauteous in my sight, As the years make their havoc of sweet things; Like the intenser glory of the light When the sad bird of Autumn sits and sings. Ah! woe is me! ah! Memory, Be cheerful, thanking God for things that be. J. W. H. The longing to revisit England and enjoy another "whiff" of a London season was gratified in the summer of 1892. Accompanied by the Elliotts and a granddaughter, she sailed for Liverpool on the 4th of June; "a day of almost inconceivable pressure and labor. I could not waste one minute, yet could not do some of the simplest things which I intended to do. Our departure was tolerably decorous and comfortable." "_June 13._ _At sea._ Have enjoyed some good reading, and have read one book, 'Bel Ami,' by Guy de Maupassant, which I found so objectionable that I had to skip whole passages of mere sensual description. My loathing of the book and its personages will keep me from encountering again the filth of this author...."