Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 3 September 1848

And now, indeed, she wrote a long, long letter to Augusta – so full of happiness, describing Hazlewood, as she thought, so distinctly, that Augusta must recognize him at once – so she concluded by saying,

"And now I need not name him, as you must know who I mean."

"I must know who she means!" said Augusta, much perplexed. "Why I am sure I cannot imagine who she means! Talented, agreeable, with cultivated tastes! Who can it be? 'Not handsome, but very gentlemanlike-looking.' Well, I have no idea who it is – I certainly cannot know the man. But as we sail next week, I shall be at home in time for the wedding. How odd that I should be really her bridemaid in May after all!"

Miss Lenox arrived about two months after Angila's engagement had been announced, and found her friend brilliant with happiness. After the first exclamations and greetings, Augusta said with impatient curiosity,

"But who is it, Angila – you never told me?"

"But surely you guessed at once," said Angila, incredulously.

"No, indeed," replied her friend, earnestly, "I have not the most distant idea."

"Why, Robert Hazlewood, to be sure!"

"Robert Hazlewood! Oh, Angila! You are jesting," exclaimed her friend, thrown quite off her guard by astonishment.

"Yes, indeed!" replied Angila, with eager delight, attributing Augusta's surprise and incredulous tones to quite another source. "You may well be surprised, Augusta. Is it not strange that such a man – one of his superior talents – should have fallen in love with such a mad-cap as me."

Augusta could hardly believe her ears. But the truth was, that Angila had so long since forgotten her prejudice, founded on nothing, against Hazlewood, that she was not conscious now that she had ever entertained any such feelings. She was not obliged, in common phrase, to "eat her own words," for she quite forgot that she had ever uttered them. And now, with the utmost enthusiasm, she entered into all her plans and prospects – told Augusta, with the greatest interest, as if she thought the theme must be equally delightful to her friend – all her mother's long story about the old Hazlewoods, and what a "charming nice family they were," ("those pattern people that she hated so," as Augusta remembered, but all of which was buried in the happiest oblivion with Angila,) and the dear little house that was being furnished like a bijou next to Mrs. Constant's, (next to Mrs. Constant's! – one of those small houses with low ceilings! Augusta gasped;) and how many servants she was going to keep; and what a nice young girl she had engaged already as waiter.

"You mean, then, to have a woman waiter?" Augusta could not help saying.

"Oh, to be sure!" said Angila. "What should I do with a man in such a pretty little establishment as I mean to have. And then you know we must be economical – Mr. Hazlewood is a young lawyer, and I don't mean to let him slave himself to make the two ends meet. You'll see what a nice economical little housekeeper I'll be."

And, in short, Augusta found that the same bright, warm imagination that had made Angila once dream of Ossian-heroes, now endowed Robert Hazlewood with every charm she wanted, and even threw a romantic glow over a small house, low ceilings, small economies, and all but turned the woman-servant into a man. Cinderella's godmother could hardly have done more. Such is the power of love!

"Well," said Augusta, in talking it all over with her brother, "I cannot comprehend it yet; Angila, who used to be so fastidious, so critical, who expected so much in the man she was to marry!"

"She is not the first young lady who has come down from her pedestal," replied her brother, laughing.

"No, but she has not," returned Augusta, "that's the oddest part of the whole – she has only contrived somehow to raise Hazlewood on a pedestal, too. You'd think they were the only couple in the world going to be married. She's actually in love with him, desperately in love with him; and it was only just before I went to New Orleans that she said – "

"My dear," interrupted her mother, "there's no subject on which women change their minds oftener than on this. Love works wonders – indeed, the only miracles left in the world are of his creation."

"But she used to wonder at Mary Morton's liking him, mamma."

"Ah, my dear," replied her mother, "that was when he was attentive to Mary Morton and not her. It makes a wonderful difference when the thing becomes personal. And if you really love Angila, my dear, you will forget, or at least not repeat, what she said six months before marriage."

A NEW ENGLAND LEGEND

BY CAROLINE F. ORNE[The subject of the following ballad may be found in the "Christus Super Aquas" of Mather's Magnalia.]"God's blessing on the bonny barque!" the gallant seamen cried,As with her snowy sails outspread she cleft the yielding tide —"God's blessing on the bonny barque!" cried the landsmen from the shore,As with a swallow's rapid flight she skimmed the waters o'er.Oh never from the good old Bay, a fairer ship did sail,Or in more trim and brave array did court the favoring gale.Cheerily sung the marinere as he climbed the high, high mast,The mast that was made of the Norway pine, that scorned the mountain-blast.But brave Mark Edward dashed a tear in secret from his eye,As he saw green Trimount dimmer grow against the distant sky,And fast before the gathering breeze his noble vessel fly.Oh, youth will cherish many a hope, and many a fond desire,And nurse in secret in the heart the hidden altar-fire!And though young Mark Edward trode his deck with footstep light and free,Yet a shadow was on his manly brow as his good ship swept the sea;A shadow was on his manly brow as he marked the fading shore,And the faint line of the far green hills where dwelt his loved Lenore.Merrily sailed the bonny barque toward her destined port,And the white waves curled around her prow as if in wanton sport.Merrily sailed the bonny barque till seven days came and past,When her snowy canvas shivered and rent before the northern blast,And out of her course, and away, away, careered she wild and fast.Black lowered the heavens, loud howled the winds, as the gallant barque drove on,"God save her from the stormy seas," prayed the sailors every one,But hither and thither the mad winds bore her, careening wildly on.Oh, a fearful thing is the mighty wind as it raves the land along,And the forests rock beneath the shock of the fierce blasts and the strong,But when the wild and angry waves come rushing on their prey,And to and fro the good ship reels with the wind's savage play,Oh! then it is more fearful far in that frail barque to be,At the mercy of the wind and wave, alone upon the sea.Mark Edward's eye grew stern and calm as day by day went on,And farther from the destined port the gallant barque was borne.From her tall masts the sails were rent, yet fast and far she flew,But whither she drove there knew not one among her gallant crew,Nor the captain, nor the marineres, not one among them knew.Now there had come and past away full many weary days,And each looked in each other's face with sad and blank amaze,For ghastly Famine's bony hand was stretched to clutch his prey,And still the adverse winds blew on as they would blow alway.And dark and fearful whispered words from man to man went past,As of some dread and fatal deed which they must do at last.And night and morn and noon they prayed, oh blessed voice of prayer!That God would bring their trembling souls out of this great despair.And every straining eye was bent out o'er the ocean-wave,But they saw no sail, there came no ship the storm-tost barque to save.The fatal die was cast at length; and tears filled every eyeAs forth a gentle stripling slept and gave himself to die.They looked upon his pure white brow, and his face so fair to see,And all with one accord cried out, "Oh, God! this must not be!"And brave Mark Edward calmly said, "Let the lot fall on me.""Not so," the generous youth exclaimed, "of little worth am I,But 'twould strike the life from out us all were it thy lot to die.""Let us once more entreat the Lord; he yet our souls may spare,"And kneeling down the gray-haired man sent up a fervent prayer.Oh mighty is the voice of prayer! to him that asks is given,And as to Israel of old was manna sent from heaven,So now their prayer was answered, for, leaping from the sea,A mighty fish fell in their midst, where they astonished be."Now glory to the Father be, and to the Son be praise!Upon the deep He walketh, in the ocean are His ways,'Tis meet that we should worship Him who doeth right always."And then from all that noble crew a hymn of joy arose —It flowed from grateful hearts as free as running water flows.Day after day still passed away, gaunt Famine pressed again,Each turned away from each, as if smit with a sudden pain.They feared to meet each other's eyes and read the secret there,And each his pangs in silence strove a little yet to bear.The eye grew dim with looking out upon the weary main,Wave rolling after wave was all that answered back again.But night and morn and noon they prayed – oh blessed voice of prayer!That God would bring their trembling souls out of this great despair.Again the fatal die was cast; a man of powerful frameSlowly and with reluctant step to the dread summons came.Large drops of anguish on his brow – his lips were white with fear —Oh 'tis a dreadful death to die! Is there no succor near?They looked around on every side, but saw no sight of cheer."It is not for myself I dread," the sailor murmured low,"But for my wife and little babes, oh what a tale of wo!""It shall not be," Mark Edward cried, "for their dear sakes go free.I have no wife to mourn my fate, let the lot fall on me.""Not so, oh generous and brave!" the sailor grateful said,"The lot is mine, but cheer thou her and them when I am dead."And turning with a calmer front he bade the waiting crewWhat not themselves but fate compelled, to haste and quickly do.But who shall do the dismal work? The innocent life who take?One after one each shrunk away, but no word any spake.Still hunger pressed them sore, and pangs too dreadful to be borne."Be merciful, oh Father, hear! To thee again we turn."Then in their agony they strove, and wrestled long in prayer,Till suddenly they heard a sound come from the upper air,A sound of rushing wings, and lo! oh sight of joy! on highA great bird circles round the masts, and ever draws more nigh.In lightning play of hope and fear one breathless moment passed,The next, the bird has lighted down and settled on the mast.And soon within his grasp secure a seaman holds him fast."Now glory be unto our God – and to His name be praise!Upon the deep he walketh, in the ocean are his ways,From ghastly fear our suppliant souls he royally hath freed,And sent us succor from the air in this our sorest need."But day by day still passed away, and Famine fiercer pressed,And still the adverse winds blew on and knew no change or rest.Yet strove they in their agony to let no murmuring wordAgainst the good and gracious Lord, from out their lips be heard.But with their wildly gleaming eyes they gazed out o'er the main.Wave rolling after wave was all that answered back again.On the horizon's distant verge not even a speck was seen,But the cresting foam of breaking waves still shimmering between.And fiercer yet, as hour by hour went slowly creeping by,The famine wrung their tortured frames till it were bliss to die.And hopes of further aid grew faint, and it did seem that theyOut on the waste of waters wide of Heaven forgotten lay.But night and morn and noon they prayed – oh blessed voice of prayer!That God would save their trembling souls out of this great despair.Again the fatal die was cast, and 'mid a general gloom,Mark Edward calmly forward came to meet the appointed doom.But when they saw his noble port, and his manly bearing brave,Each would have given up his life that bold young heart to save.They would have wept, but their hot eyes refused the grateful tear,Yet with sorrowful and suppliant looks they drew themselves more near.Mark Edward turned aside and spoke in accents calm and low,Unto a man with silver hair, whose look was full of wo,And bade him if the Lord should spare, and they should reach the shore,To bear a message from his lips to his beloved Lenore."Tell her my thoughts were God's and hers," the brave young spirit cried,"Tell her not how it came to pass, say only that I died."Then with a brief and earnest prayer his soul to God he gave,Beseeching that the sacrifice the lives of all might save.Each looked on each, but not a hand would strike the fatal blow,It was a death pang but to think what hand should lay him low.And sick at heart they turned away their misery to bear,And wrestled once again with God in agony of prayer.As drops of blood wrung from the heart fell each imploring word,Oh, God of Heaven! and can it be such prayer is still unheard?They strained once more each aching orb out o'er the gloomy main,Wave rolling after wave was all that answered back again.They waited yet – they lingered yet – they searched the horizon round,No sight of land, no blessed sail, no living thing was found.They lingered yet – hope faded fast from out the hearts of all.They waited yet – till black Despair sunk o'er them like a pall.They turned to where Mark Edward stood with his unblenching brow,Or he must die their lives to save, or all must perish now.They lingered yet – they waited yet – a sudden shriek rung out —"A sail! A sail! Oh, blessed Lord!" burst forth one joyful shout.New strength those famished men received; fervent their thanks, but brief —They man their boat, they reach the ship, they ask a swift relief.Strange faces meet their view, they hear strange words in tongues unknown,And evil eyes with threatening gaze are sternly looking down.They pause – for a new terror bids their hearts' warm current freeze,For they have met a pirate ship, the scourge of all the seas.But up and out Mark Edward spake, and in the pirates' tongue,And when the pirate captain heard, quick to his side he sprung,And vowed by all the saints of France – the living and the dead —There should not even a hair be harmed upon a single head,For once, when in a dismal strait, Mark Edward gave him aid,And now the debt long treasured up should amply be repaid.He gave them water from his casks, and bread, and all things store,And showed them how to lay their course to reach the destined shore.And the blessing of those famished men went with him evermore.Again the favoring gale arose, the barque went bounding on,And speedily her destined port was now in safety won.And after, when green Trimount's hills greet their expectant eyes,New thanks to Heaven, new hymns of joy unto the Lord arise.For glory be unto our Lord, and to His name be praise!Upon the deep he walketh, in the ocean are his ways.'Tis meet that we should worship him who doeth right always.

SONG OF SLEEP

BY G. G. FOSTEROh the dreamy world of sleep for me,With its visions pure and bright, —Its fairy throngs in revelry,Under the pale moonlight!Sleep, sleep, I wait for thy spell,For my eyes are heavy with watching wellFor the starry night, and the world of dreamsThat ever in sleep on my spirit beams.The day, the day, I cannot 'bide,'Tis dull and dusty and drear —And, owl-like, away from the sun I hide,That in dreams I may wander freer.Sleep, sleep, come to my eyes —Welcome as blue to the midnight skies —Faithful as dew to drooping flowers —I only live in thy dreamy bowers.The sun is purpling down the west,Day's death-robes glitter fair,And weary men, agasp for rest,For the solemn night prepare.Sleep, sleep, hasten to me!The shadows lengthen across the lea;The birds are weary, and so am I;Tired world and dying day good-bye!

THE CRUISE OF THE RAKER

A TALE OF THE WAR OF 1812-15BY HENRY A. CLARK(Continued from page 74.)

CHAPTER III

The Chase and the Capture

On the deck of the pirate craft stood a young man of powerful frame, and singularly savage features, rendered more repulsive by the disposition of the hair which was allowed to grow almost over the entire mouth, and hung from the chin in heavy masses nearly to the waist. With his elbow resting against the fore-mast of the vessel, he was gazing through a spy-glass upon the brig he had been so long pursuing. A burly negro stood at the helm, holding the tiller, and steering the brig with an ease which denoted his vast strength, scarcely moving his body, but meeting the long waves, which washed over the side of the vessel, and rushed in torrents through the hawse-holes, merely by the power of his arm.

"Keep her more in the wind," shouted the commander, with an oath, to the helmsman.

"Ay, ay sir," responded the negro gruffly.

"Don't let me hear a sail flap again or I'll score your back for you, you son of a sea-cook."

With this pleasant admonition the young man resumed his night-glass.

The captain of the pirate brig was an Englishman by birth; his history was little known even to his own crew, but it was remarkable that though always savage and blood-thirsty, he was peculiarly so to his own countrymen, evincing a hatred and malignancy toward every thing connected with his native land, that seemed more than fiendish – never smiling but when his sword was red with the blood of his countrymen, and his foot planted upon her conquered banner. It was evident that some deep wrong had driven him forth to become an outcast and a fiend. A close inspection of his features developed the outlines of a noble countenance yet remaining, though marred and deformed by years of passion and of crime. His crew, which numbered nearly fifty, were gathered from almost every nation of the civilized world, yet were all completely under his command. They were now scattered over the vessel in various lounging attitudes, apparently careless of every thing beyond the ease of the passing moment, leaving the management of the brig to the two or three hands necessary to control the graceful and obedient craft.

For long hours the captain of the pirate brig stood following the motions of the flying merchantman; he thought not of sleep or of refreshment, it was enough for him that he was in pursuit of an English vessel, that his revenge was again to be gratified with English blood.

He was roused by a light touch of the arm – he turned impatiently.

"Why, Florette."

A beautiful girl stood beside him, gazing into his face half with fear and half with love. Her dress was partly that of a girl and partly of a boy; over a pair of white loose sailor's trowsers a short gown was thrown, fastened with a blue zone, and her long hair fell in thick, luxuriant masses from beneath a gracefully shaped little straw hat – altogether she was as lovely in feature and form as Venus herself, with an eye blue as the ocean, and a voice soft and sweet as the southern breeze.

"Dear William, will you not go below and take some rest?"

"I want none, girl; I shall not sleep till every man on yonder vessel has gone to rest in the caves of ocean."

"But you will eat?"

"Pshaw! Florette, leave me; your place is below."

The girl said no more, but slowly glided to the companion-way and disappeared into the little cabin.

The long night at length wore away, and as the clear light of morning shone upon the waters the merchant vessel was no longer visible from the deck of the pirate.

"A thousand devils! has he escaped me. Ho! the one of you with the sharpest eyes up to the mast-head. Stay, I will go myself."

Thus speaking, the captain mounted the main-mast and gazed long and anxiously; he could see nothing of the vessel. He mounted still higher, climbing the slender top-mast till with his hand resting upon the main-truck he once more looked over the horizon. Thus far his gaze had been directed to windward, in the course where the vanished brig had last been seen. At length he turned to leeward, and far in the distant horizon his eagle eye caught faint sight of a sail, like the white and glancing wing of a bird. With wonderful rapidity he slid to the deck, and gave orders to set the brig before the wind. The beautiful little bark fell off gracefully, and in a moment was swiftly retracing the waters it had beaten over during the night.

"The revenge will be no less sweet that it is deferred," exclaimed the pirate captain, as he threw himself upon the companion-way. "Thirty English vessels have I sunk in the deep, and I am not yet satisfied – no, no, curses on her name, curses on her laws, they have driven me forth from a lordly heritage and an ancient name to die an outcast and a pirate."

Pulling his hat over his dark brow, he sat long in deep thought, and not one in all his savage crew but would have preferred to board a vessel of twice their size than to rouse his commander from his thoughtful mood.

Captain Horton for some hours after it had become dark the preceding night, had kept his vessel on the same course, perplexing his mind with some scheme by which he might deceive the pirate. At length he gave orders to lower away the yawl boat, and fit a mast to it, which was speedily done. When all was ready, he hung a lantern to the mast, with a light that would burn but a short time, and then putting out his own ship-light, he fastened the tiller of the yawl and set it adrift, knowing that it would keep its course until some sudden gust of wind should overcome its steerage way. As soon as he had accomplished this, he fell off before the wind, and setting his brig on the opposite tack, as soon as he had got to a good distance from the light of the yawl, took in all sail till not a rag was left standing. He kept his brig in this position until he had the satisfaction of seeing the pirate brig pass to windward in pursuit of his boat, whose light he knew would go out before the pirate could overtake it. When the light of the chase had become faint in the distance, he immediately crowded on all sail, and stood off boldly on his original course.

None of his crew had gone below to turn in, for all were too anxious to sleep, and his passengers still stood beside him upon the quarter-deck; John with a large bundle under his arm, which, in answer to an inquiry from the merchant, he said was merely a change of dress.

"I think we have given them the slip this time, Mr. Williams," said Captain Horton.

"I hope so, captain."

"You can sleep now without danger of being disturbed by unwelcome visiters, Miss Julia."

"Well, captain, I am as glad as my father you have escaped. I wish we had got near enough to see how they looked though."

"We ought rather, my dear girl, to thank God that they came no nearer than they did," said her father half reproachfully.

"True, father, true," and bidding Captain Horton good-night, they retired to the cabin.

"You did fool them nice, didn't you, captin?" said John.

"Yes, John, it was tolerably well done, I think myself," replied the captain, who, like all of mankind, was more or less vain, and prided himself peculiarly upon his skill in his own avocation.

"I shouldn't ha' been much afraid on 'em myself if they had caught us," said John.

"You wouldn't, ah!"

"No! I should ha' hated to see all the crew walk on the plank as they call it, specially Dick Halyard, but I thinks I should ha' come it over 'em myself."

"Well, John, I hope you'll never have such occasion to try your powers of deceit, for I fear you would find yourself wofully mistaken."

"Perhaps not, captin, but I'm confounded sleepy, now we've got away from the bloody pirates, so I'll just lie down here, captin; I haint learned to sleep in a hammock yet. I wish you'd let me have a berth, captin, I hate lying in a circle, it cramps a fellow plaguily."

John talked himself to sleep upon the companion-way, where the good-natured master of the brig allowed him to remain unmolested, and soon after yielding the helm to one of the mates, himself "turned in."

As the morning broke over the sea clear and cloudless, while not a sail was visible in any quarter of the horizon, the revulsion of feeling occasioned by the transition from despair to confidence, and indeed entire assurance of safety, was plainly depicted in the joyous countenances of all on the Betsy Allen. The worthy captain made no endeavor to check the boisterous merriment of his crew, but lighting his pipe, seated himself upon the companion-way, with a complacent smile expanding his sun-browned features, which developed itself into a self-satisfied and happy laugh as Mr. Williams appeared at the cabin-door, leading up his daughter to enjoy the pure morning air, fresh from the clear sky and the bounding waters.