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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