“I have.  But tell me, would you go home if you could get a good situation here?”

“No, indeed.”

“Then stay.  But first come to a hotel and ‘renovate.’  If you want money, I can lend.”

“Hurrah!  I don’t want money.  Since I am sure of a situation, I will lay aside the ragamuffin character, and be once more a gentleman.”

“And in two weeks hold yourself in readiness to—­”

“To—­to what?”

“To attend my—­”

“Well?”

“My—­well, my wedding.”

And he did attend his wedding—­and a happy occasion the event proved to all.

[From “The flag of our union.”]

The corsair of Scio.

By James de Mille.

CHAPTER I.

  The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece! 
    Where burning Sappho loved and sung;
  Where grew the arts of war and peace,
    Where Phobus rose and Delos sprung—­
  Eternal summer gilds them yet,
  But all except their sun is set.

-Byron.

It was morning among the islands of Greece and the dark blue sea on every side showed not a ripple upon its bosom.  The sky was as calm and peaceful as the water which reflects its azure hue, and not a cloud appeared to mar its surface.  The sun just rising cast a broad gleam of light over the scene, and threw upon the wide sea a long path of ruddy light.  Around lay the isles of Greece—­the home of classic poetry, whose trees and gentle brooks, whose groves and fields, whose very rocks and soil, bring up before the mind glorious memories of the past.  There they lay, appearing double as their images were seen reflected in the mirror-like wave, the branches of their clustering trees hanging down gracefully—­droopingly.  But more glorious than all the lovely spots which dot these sparkling waves is Scio-the beautiful, the classic Scio.  Here were the remains of many a glorious temple of the ancients.  Here were rich vineyards whose vine yielded the famous Chian wine.  Here the long avenues of orange trees and olives, of citron and lemons, appeared on every side, and odorous breezes from the East, laden with perfumes of spices and flowers, blew ever gently upon the blest shores of Scio.

It was in the middle of the eighteenth century, when Scio was at the height of her glory and prosperity, when the people were wealthy and happy, and all was delight and pleasure-it was at such a time that a small vessel might have been seen at a short distance from her northern coast.  Every stitch of her broad latteen sails was unfurled, but no favorable wind came to fill them-no motion was in the air.  Upon the south the green and richly wooded shores of Scio stretched along, upon which at times appeared the sheen of some marble cliff as it jutted out among the green vegetation.