has not always stopped short at their mere personification or deification. In many American languages, we are told, the same word is used for storm and for god; so, too, with certain tribes in Central Africa. That is to say, the name for the storm-wind has become the general name for deity! But how about the present? Can it be said that in the present day, among civilised peoples, the phenomena of the winds have any important part to play? An appeal to literature is decisive on the point. No description of open-air life, or even of life within doors where nature is not altogether shut out, can pass over the emotional influences of the winds. They sob, they moan, they sigh; they rustle, roar, or bellow; they exhilarate or depress; they suggest many and varied trains of thought. "Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude"-- the connection here is not altogether based on fancy--the biting winds of winter have their own emotional "tone" for susceptible minds, just as truly as the spanking breeze "that follows fast," or the balmy zephyr of summer, and have moulded modern thought in manifold and unsuspected modes. Shelley, who has been called the great laureate of the wind, contemplating the coming storm and the wild whirling of the autumn leaves, is profoundly moved and exclaims: "O wild West-Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being-- . . . Be thou, spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one, Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth." Alexander Smith, with a spirit rendered buoyant by the blast, tells how "The Wind, that grand old harper, smote His thunder harp of pines." Guy de Maupassant, in the passage already partly quoted, shows that the modern sailor can still personify. "Quel personnage, le vent, pour les marins! On en parle comme d'un homme, d'un souverain tout puissant, tantôt terrible et tantôt bienveillant. . . . Aucun ennemi ne nous donne que lui la sensation du combat, ne nous force a tant de prévoyance, car il est le maitre de la mer, celui qu'on peut éviter, utiliser ou fuir, mais qu'on ne dompte jamais." Kingsley breaks forth: "Welcome, wild North-Easter! Shame it is to see Odes to every zephyr; Ne'er an ode to thee. . . . Come as came our fathers, Heralded by thee, Conquering from the eastward, Lords by land and sea. Come, and strong within us Stir the Viking's blood, Bracing brain and sinew; Blow, thou wind of God!" No, the power of vision is not dim, on man's part; nor, on the part of the winds of heaven, is abated their natural power to rule men's moods as they rule the responsive ocean. Those whose mystic insight is undulled by the materialistic tendencies of the age can still have glimpses of "heaven's cherubim, hors'd Upon the sightless couriers of the air."