children. On the day after the feast a kind-hearted native harnessed a
team and drove me a day over the beautiful roads all about Fayal,
"because," said he, in broken English, "when I was in America and
couldn't speak a word of English, I found it hard till I met some one
who seemed to have time to listen to my story, and I promised my good
saint then that if ever a stranger came to my country I would try to
make him happy." Unfortunately, this gentleman brought along an
interpreter, that I might "learn more of the country." The fellow was
nearly the death of me, talking of ships and voyages, and of the boats
he had steered, the last thing in the world I wished to hear. He had
sailed out of New Bedford, so he said, for "that Joe Wing they call
'John.'" My friend and host found hardly a chance to edge in a word.
Before we parted my host dined me with a cheer that would have
gladdened the heart of a prince, but he was quite alone in his house.
"My wife and children all rest there," said he, pointing to the
churchyard across the way. "I moved to this house from far off," he
added, "to be near the spot, where I pray every morning."

I remained four days at Fayal, and that was two days more than I had
intended to stay. It was the kindness of the islanders and their
touching simplicity which detained me. A damsel, as innocent as an
angel, came alongside one day, and said she would embark on the
_Spray_ if I would land her at Lisbon. She could cook flying-fish, she
thought, but her forte was dressing _bacalhao_. Her brother Antonio,
who served as interpreter, hinted that, anyhow, he would like to make
the trip. Antonio's heart went out to one John Wilson, and he was
ready to sail for America by way of the two capes to meet his friend.
"Do you know John Wilson of Boston?" he cried. "I knew a John Wilson,"
I said, "but not of Boston." "He had one daughter and one son," said
Antonio, by way of identifying his friend. If this reaches the right