“Brightly, sweet Summer, brightly,
    Thine hours have floated by.”

A shade of melancholy cannot but possess those who remain after the last polka is polked, the last light in the last ball-room is extinguished, and the summer ended.  At length the railway engine whistles at long intervals; the mail-bags lose their plethora; the parish preachers, shorn of occasional help, knuckle to new sermons; the servants disperse; the head waiter retires to private life, and the dipper-boy disappears in the shades of the pine forests; the Indians pack up their duds, and, like the Arab, silently steal away; while the landlords retire within their sanctums to count over their hard-earned dollars.

After a time the village seems to become accustomed to the “new departure,” and local politics, Tammany rings and frauds, and committees of forty agitate the public breast, until Spring returns and Saratoga blossoms again with new beauty.

Romance.

Although Saratoga is preeminently a fashionable resort, and the city of vanity fair, it is nevertheless Cupid’s summer-home; and lovers here acknowledge the first throbbings of that passion of bright hopes, and too many sad realities—­love.  The complaint is always heard that “fish don’t bite this season;” but autumn comes, the butterflies return home, and then it is found that a goodly number have been caught.  Those not matrimonially inclined should know that a sojourn at a Spa is attended with considerable danger.

Saratoga Society.

The poet says of Saratoga life: 

    “Saratoga society,
    What endless variety! 
    What pinks of propriety! 
    What gems of sobriety! 
    What garrulous old folks,
    What shy folks and bold folks,
    And warm folks and cold folks! 
    Such curious dressing,
    And tender caressing,
    (Of course that is guessing.)
    Such sharp Yankee Doodles,
    And dandified noodles,
    And other pet poodles! 
    Such very loud patterns,
    (Worn often by slatterns!)
    Such strait necks, and bow necks,
    Such dark necks and snow necks,
    And high necks and low necks! 
    With this sort and that sort,
    The lean sort and fat sort,
    The bright and the flat sort—­
    Saratoga is crammed full,
    And rammed full, and jammed full,” etc.

Conclusion.

But while we laugh at Saratoga, its dancing, dressing and flirtation, it is yet not without its lessons for an observing eye.

            “Here the heart
    May give a useful lesson to the head,
    And Learning wiser grow without his books.”

It is not all frivolity.  Like every aspect of life, and like most persons, it is a hint and suggestion of something high and poetic.  It is an oasis of repose in the desert of our American hurry.  It is a perpetual festival.