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3li—
AS THE WIND BLOWS.
The wind blows north, the wind blows south,
The wind blows east and west;
No matter how the free wind blow,
Some ship will And it best ;
Borne one out on the wide, wide sea
Shouts with a happy air ;
“Ho ! shipmates, ho ! set all the sails,
The wind is blowing fair!’’
One ship sails out into the east,
Another to the west *,
One has to struggle fierce and hard,
By wind and waves oppressed,
Under bare masts, tossed to and fro,
By rain and salt spray wet ;
The other flies before the gale
With all her white sails set.
“O Wind, O Wind, why dost thou blow,
And out to ocean roar,
When I would steer my little bark
Toward some pleasant shore ?
What honor will it be to thee
If down beneath the wave
My simple craft and I shall find
A cold forgotten grave?”
“O foolish one, why wilt thou steer
Against the m'ghty gaie?
There are ten thousand ships afloat
Besides thy tiny sail.
If thou would float o’er pleasant seas,
Oppose my will no m' re ;
When I blow shoreward, then do thou
Sail also to the shore.
"Yet if thy will with mine must strive.
Do then the best thou can;
A gainst my might sot all thy skill,
And fight me like a man.
Stand by the wheel, steer steadily,
Keep watch above, below ;
Such hearts will make the ports they seek,
No matter what winds blow.”
A Fib and What Came of It.
“Well, what luck?”
‘ Splendid ! I earned the day at last,
buthad an awfully tough struggle first.
We’ve both got a clear fortnight,—
though I shall have to come down to
the office once a week to look after
things a little.”
“And I suppose T shall be su >ject to
the same conditions.”
“Not at all. I did far better by you
than by myself. The fact is, in order
to gain my point 1 was obliged to in
vent a small fiction, in consequence of
which at the present moment my
venerable uncle labors under the delu
sion that you are going to be married.”
“But what the dickens—” laughing.
“Now don’t get roiled, old fellow.
It was the only way left. SVe exhaust
ed every other resource at Caristmas
and I put it to you as a rational being :
what else was to b 3 done ?”
“But such a desperate measure!
And you really got him to believe—”
“That you persuaded some one
to have you ? Yes, I even worked on
his imagination enough for that.”
il But what «special part have you
reserved for yourself?”
“I? Oh, I'm best man. Uncle Eric
goes to-night arid we can start the day
after to morrow. That’ll be time
enough ; every one will have arrived
by then.”
“You can’t have me, aunt,” Cliff
Forrester had explained, laughingly,
when A|ps. Russell asked him down to
Broadoeaeb, “unless you have King.
He’s the best fellow goiug ; tip-top on
charades and that tort of thing; far
more good than I am to keep people
amused ”
Accordingly, that night, Cliff was
the bearer of a highly-perfumed,
dairstily-tiuted missive, requesting the
pleaiure of Mr. King’s company at
the merry-makings at Broadbeach.
King and Forrester had been close
friends since boyhood. At school, at
college, and even now in business,
they occupied desks side by tide.
Their friendship was a subject of re
mark among those who knew them:
people said it would last until one of
them fell in love, an.» then it would
die a sudden death. In the meantime,
however, it flourished with .its accus
tomed vigor.
King lived with an uncle, a gentle
man thirty-eight, rich, handsome, fas
cinating and single. They occupied
ohambeis in regular bachelor sty le,
situated in 1 lie heart of the city. It
was said no feminine foot had ever
crossed their threshold; that all with
in was dedicated to strictly masculine
pursuits.
Broadbeach was a large villa Mr.
Russell had bought to spend his sum
mers in accompanied by his family
and as many friends as could be stow
ed away uuder its hospitable roof. An
invitation to Broadbeach was looked
upon as one of the things which makes
life worth living, for the liussells
spared nothing which could in any
way add to Its many attractions.
It was not surprising then that
when King received his invitation he
resolved, either by fair means or foul,
to go; and as be and Cliff had hah
more leave of absence than they eould
rightfully claim be was obliged to
draw on his powers of invention, with
what success we already know. ^ '
The young men arrived in the nick
of time! Everybody had been on the
scene of action a day or two, but no
great spirit had arrived who was ca
pable of filling the part of master of
ceremonies. Such a post was just to
Ernest King’s likingand not a week
had pasted before he was pronounetd
on ail sides a decided acquisition.
Among the guests was a young lady,
Bessie Norton by name, who had
known Ernest as a child. Between
the two there still existed acareltss
brother and sister affection, though
nothing more. Bessie was very pretty,
people said that she was the belle of the
Broadbeach par ty that year—so when
one morning she auncuuced her in
tention of going into town to make
sundry purchases, several devoted
creatures were immediately at her
service to pilot her.
“But really,” said Miss Bessie,
smiling on tue group with disconcert
ing impartiality, “I don’t think you’d
be much good. None of you know the
place any better than f do uiystlf, so
I may as well goaloue.”
But here an uproar arose. Miss
Norton must not be allowed to do any
thing so rash. She must either choose
a guide or commission some one to
get what she wanted for her. “I
could bring you any little things you
need, Bessie,” said Ernest, coming up.
“I am. obliged to go into town any
way, to look up my accounts.”
But Btssie could trust her purchases
to the judgment of no masculine
mind.
“Then choose Cliff,” advised King,
in that familiar, elder brotherly
style of his, which always made the
other fellows feel frantically for their
mustaches. “Surely he’s competent to
show you around as he was born and
brought up la the place.”
So it was arranged, and Cliff was
tran ferred to the seventh heaven.
“Are you goiug by rail ?” he asked,
with elaborate carelessness of his
chum, fearing a third at the tete-a-tete
he’d promised himse’f.
“No ; train time isn’t my time. I
shall put Peter in the dog-cart and be
back probably before you start,” was
the answer, greatly to his relief.
Half past-four o’clock that afternoon
found Miss Norton and Cliff approach
ing the depot at N— to take the return
train to Broadbeach.
Judging from the number of bun
dles with which the latlter was laden
the shopping excursion had been a
grand success.
“if you don’t hurry, Mr. Forrester,”
threatened Miss Bessie, “I shall cer
tainly carry those things myself. I
never world have believed, to look at
you, that you were such a wretched
walker.”
“Now I call that cruel, Miss Nor
ton, I assure you I’ve been goiug like
a steam eugine,—on such a hot after
noon, too. Besides we’ve plenty of
time—bushels o? it.”
“Bui I know we haven’t,” persisted
the young lady. “I’m almost sure
that Is the bell cow and in the end
she proved right. They reached the
depot just as the train disappeared,
j “There’sanother one in two nours,”
explained the unsympathetic < fficial;
“you’ll have to wait for that, I guess.”
“I knew how it would be when you
would loiter so!” exclaimed Bessie,
angrily.
“It must be my watch,” said Cliff’,
in feeble self defense.' “I’d no idea
it was so slow.”—Which, by-the bye.
was a pious fib—for he’d put it back
on purpose.
But Bessie was not to be imposed
on. She began to wish she’d chosen
anyone but Cliff to escort her. There
was Jim Evan^, for instance. He
would in all probability have flirted
outrageously and made her flirt too;
but then they would have laughed
and there it would have ended. Or
there was Hal Simms, who was of a
melancholy turn of mind. He might
have quoted sentimental poetry and
looked expressive—he did to all the
girls—but then he was engaged and
considered harmless. Then there was
little Mason, a nice boy but dreadfully
young and dreadfully spoony. Slill
with a little judicious Buubbing lie
might have been kept within bounds.
But Clifl' belonged to neither variety.
He was not engaged, nor was he a hoy
to be called to order, he was not even
amusing, being much too far gone for
that. Bessie had seen men in earnest
before and kuew the symptoms well.
Resolutely did she refuse every sug
gestion of his to whila away the two
hours pit a^antly. There was the mu
seum or | ioturo gallery, or he would
get a “rig” and drive to some of the
suburban points of interest. But no,
Bessie would do nothing but march
swif.ly on through the most crowded
thoroughfares, iu momentary terror
lest he should go down on his knees
and declare' himself on the paving
stones.
“But surely, Miss Norton, you don't
intend to keep on at this rate for two
mortal hours,” remonstrated Cliff,
those two hours iu which he intended
to do so much.
“Ob, yes, I do,” she returned bright
ly. “I /Lean to give you a walking'
lesson ; you need one badly.”
“Anything you like,” he pleaded,
“biit not here, let’s get out into the
suburbs.”
But to that she would not agree and
on they went again. Another ten
minutes and Bessie was rapidly losing
her breath and Cliff his temper, when
in passing down a certain street, a
well known face looked out of the
window.
“Why, there’s Ernest,” sheexclaim-
ed, looking so delighted as to bring
the young gentleman down stairs with
wonderful velocity.
“I thought you two had gone long
ago,” he exclaimed laughing. “I’ve
just got through : had an awful hard
day.”
“We missed the train,” explained
Cliff, not best pleased with the turn
things had taken.
“Yes, and consequently are fixtures
in this dreadful place until after six,”
pouted Bessie.
“And wnat have you been doing to
kill time,” asked Ernest, glanciDg
from one flushed face to the other.
“Walking,” said Cliff, dolefully;
“Miss Norton has been giving me a
lesson.”
“You see I wished to avoid a second
catastrophe like the one to-day,” ex
plained the young lady, sweetly.
“And you’re both fagged out, of
course. Come up stairs, you know
you promised to visit our chambers
before you went home, Bessie, and to
day would do as well as any time.”
The offer was a tempting one, but
still she hesitated.
“There is nobody there,” said Er
nest, reading her look. “My uncle is
not expected until next week, and the
offices are empty, and the clerks gone
home.”
S > without more ado they went up.
“You’re the first la ly that ever
crossed our threshold, Miss Bessie,”
said King, doing the honors with a
flourish. “Welorne to baehelordom.”
“Am I really?” she asked, looking
atound rather disappointedly.
“You don’t seem impressed,” he
said, laughing. “But to tell you the
truth it wasn’t our fault all that talk
was started about these rooms, but as
it h®s got round, Uncle Eric likes to
keep up the joke. Indeed, if he’d been
at home, l never would have ventured
to ask you up.”
“Is he so fierce?” she asked, open
ing her eyes.
“Fierce! I should think fie was,”
said Cliff, grimly. “If it hadn’t bfen
for Ernest’s prowtss wo shouldn’t
have been at Broadbeach this sum
mer.”
“You tell her about it while I go and
• lock up ra> books,” suggested King,
happily for his friend “And there’s
those photographs Uncle Eric brought
from Europe; perhaps Bessie would
like those.” And with au assurance
that he’d return directly he discreetly
retired.
Now was Cliffs time. Ernest had
behaved like a brick. He knew that
he would remaiu as long as possible so
that he (Cliff) need not fiurry matters
and perhaps spoil them.
He told her the story in his best pos
sible manner and acted as rationally
over the photos as to make Bessie hope
his fell purpose had evaporated.
They were getting along swimming
ly, when Ernest burst into the room
and upset everything.
“There’s a go,” he said, excitedly.
“Wild ds you think has Just driven
up?”
“Notyou’re uncle?” asked Cl rt.
“My uncle,as sure as fate,” laughing
uneasily. “I tell you we’re both In
for It.”
“Aud what will Le think of me?”
asked Bessie,ready to cry with distress
as the peculiarities of her position
dawned upon her.
“He’ll think,” said Ernest, laugh
ing, a light suddenly breaking on
him, “why, of course, he’ll think
you’re Cliff’s wife! And, by Jove,
that’s a way out of it for us all. What
moA natural thau Cliff spending the
honeymoon at Broadbewoh with his
wife, aud beiug iu town for a day’s
shopping, should call iu hereon his
way to the depot to pick me up to go
back with them 1 It’s the very thing.”
‘ But I’m sure I don’t look like a
btide,” objected Bessie.
“Oil, you’ll do,” King assured her;
“you proved you could act the other
night, it 1 were only as sure of
Cliff-”
“Don’t you v r orry,” stuck in that
young gentlemau. “I’ve an idea that
part will suit me.”
“But can’t we dodge down a stair
case or something,” suggested Bes-ie,
feeling nervous.
“Impossible—but you needn't be
frightened. We shall have to start
very soon, and it’ll be great fun for a
while.”
The introduction part went off well
enough. If Be3fie looked rather con
fused, it was only to be expected of a
bride of ten days, though her embar
rassment was not relieved by finding
iu Mr. Eric Flarcourt, a man only a
few years Ernest’s seuior.
“What a pretty girl,” he thought,
“and what a shame to throw herself
away on an idiot like Forrester.”
Ernest was iu his element. With
Bessie to take up his cues, he managed
to keep the conversation up to the
mark aud let his uucle suspect nothing.
At length they rose to go.
“I hope you will allow me to call,”
Mr. Harcourt had said.
“I shall be delighted when we’re
settled,” she had returned, demurely.
“I do believe Uucle Eric is half
smitten himself,” Ernest remarked
aside to his friend. “Blessed good job
for you that he thiuks she’s married ”
“Oue moment,” said Mr. Harcourt,
when the final rise was made. "I
must make my peace with M.s. For
rester before I can allow any of you to
go.”
“With me ?’’ said Bessie, surprised.
For answer he toox a ring box from
a cabinet near. ,
“You must know, Mrs. Forrester,
when Ernest told me about Cliff's ap
proaching marriage I simply made up
my mind it was an unusually clever
ruse to obtain an extra vacation, and
there let it drop. I may add to justify
my suspicions, that I have from time
to time been made the victim of simi
lar stories.” There he paused to
glance severely at the boys, who look
ed like iijurtd innocents. “Now,
however, I find I did them for once a
great injustice aud have in conse
quence deferred for myself a great
pleasure. This little ring has been iu
our family for generations and has al
ways been used for betrothal purpose?.
But as I have resolved never to marry,
I hope you will accept it as a slight
token of regard from the ULcle of
your oldest friend aud Cliff’s best
man.”
There was a complication ! Bessie
was thoroughly nonplussed and
glanced appealingly at Cliff for help.
“O, you needn’t look at him,”
laughed Mr. Harcourt, misinterpre
ting the expression of her eyes, “a
bridal gift is your own affaft and
nothing to do with the ‘love, honor
and obey’ business.”
All three gentlemau laughed, giving
Bessie time to recover herself aud ac
cept the costly present (as there was
no help for it) with a good grace.
“Let's see if it fits,” suggested Eric,
and to cut short her thanks he began
unbuttoning her left glove.
“Not that one,” said Bessie,coloring
hotly and snatching it hastily away,
“1— I— only have one ring on that
baud.”
With a final good-bye they then
went down stairs.
“One thing you must promise me,
Ernest,” said Miss Norton, as they
went .along, “and that is that you re
turn thia ring to Mr. Harcourt to-mor
row with a full explanation of the
circumstances.”
“I promise,” said King, “on one
condition—and that is that you let me
wait until after our leave has expired.
Uucle Eric isn’t always on his good
behavior as he was to-day aud he
might cut it short if he found he’d
been taken in.”
Aud Bessie consented, for in an
other week she would have left
Broadbeach aud she felt—of course it #
was ridiculous ; but still she felt she
had rather be at home when the ex
planation was made.
The Broadbeach festivities wound
up with a grand ball, at which Cliff'
managed to declare himself in the
most romantic mauner ip, a flower-
embowered nook especially designed
for the reception of lovers. But Bessie
said “no,” and when he pressed her,
roundly told him she liked someoue
else better.
The next day saw the big house
emptied of all its recent guests, and
gettiug ready for another editiop.
“And you are sure you never saw
him before ?”
“Never, miss. He’s a stranger, I
think, fir I watched Mm as he rode
along, looking up at the houses as
though he wasn’t sure.”
Bessie felt a little nervous and a lit
tle shy as she went down stairs to the
receptiou-room. Nevertheless she
managed to look very pretty, in her
dainty morning dress, when she went
in.
“Why, Mr. Harcourt!” she ex
claimed, with perhaps more wonder in
her voice than she really felt.
“You’re surprised to see me? ’ said
Eric, smiling as he shook hands.
“I am indeed, and very glad too,,
though after our last meeting, I think
if I’d known it was you I shouldn’t
have had the courage to come in.”
“I guessed as much,” he said,laugh
ing, “aud therefore withheld my
name. Now can you conjecture what
brought me here ?”
“No, unless it is to give me the
scoldiDg I so richly deserve and which
I dare say ^ou have already adminis
tered to those unfortunate boys.”
“No, not tha , but to ask you to take
back my ring.”
“No, indeed I coul In’t, Mr. Har
court. You know I obtained it on
altogether false pretenses.”
“But I’ll take my chance about your
having it on false pretenses this time.
You see, Bessie,” (dropping his voice)
“I wautitto be Che one ring on that
left hand of yours.”
The girl could no longer appear to
misunderstand him and looked with
an indignant little flush on her face.
“Really, Mr. Harcourt,”—she began.
“Of course not yet,” he pleaded very
earnestly, “but when you get to know
me better. Do you, Bessie—do you
thipk you could learn to love an old
fellow like me, if I am very, very pa
tient ?”
“But I thought,” she argued with
pretty defiance, “you’d ma le up your
mind so irrevocably never to marry.”
“I did,” he admitted, “bub that re
solve only dated from my introduction
to Mrs. Forrester.”
“Look there,” said Cliff, savagely,
six months later, flinging the paper
with theaunouaceuaout of the engage
ment across to his friend. “That
precious uucle of yours has cut me
Out.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have beiieved it
of her,” said Ernest, up in arms on
Cliffs account. “Bit never mind—
you shall be avenged, for I’ll call her
‘Aunt Bessie’ from this time forth.”
And he kept his word, bat Bessie
was loo supremely happy to care, and
instead,often called him over the coala
in the most erushingly aunt-like
fashion.
Ernest and Cliff’still remain chums,
though tue latter left Mr. Harcourt’s
employ Ust before bis marriage. He
lived c enjoy many vacations at
Broadbeach aud in course of time
married—though for years it seemed
doubtful whether hi would ever quite
recover the t fleets of “ That Fib and.
What Came of It.”
“A gentleman for me, Barah ?”
“Yes, miss, he asked foryouJ
sure—‘Miss Bessie,,
Peasant Lite in Fayal. ^
Peasant life in Fayal recffls the
time of Homer. The methods and the
tools are those described iu the Odys
sey. ihere is not a wheel-barrow,
spade or shovel iu all “the A Zb res;
aud the bare soles of the laborers are
so calloused that they often scratch
matches on them iu lightiug their
cigarettes. The grain is taken from
the ear on a threshing fljor iike those
of the ancient Hebrews, aud it is
grouud in a mill such as the Romms
knew. The pea.-ant’s hut has no chim
ney. The fireplace is merely a broad
stone shelf built out from the wall and
in this is a fire of furze aud fagots.
The blinding smoke escapes as best
may through roof and open door. Fo
cooking uleuslls tuere are an iron
and ti ivits and one or two red potte
jars aud saucers. Meat is a rare
cle of food with the peasant. Coa
corn-cake, baked on a (rivet over
coals, hard, sour, heavy aud smok
this, with a bit of cheese, fish on
per and i cup of cold water,
principal food. Most of the clo
aud household stuffs are spun
woven by the women, who also
form much field labor, weave
braid hats, knit and embroider
ti fully, aud make exqnisi
the split fibre of the aloe,
are pooily paid for t
wages iu Horta rai
four to forty-eigli
best dresH-mak
Pico woi^eu go
the mountain
cents.
lin