“Hilloo!” came floating down toward us, and a topman turned his face directly toward us, leaning his ear over the yard to listen. “Aboy!—a-hoy!—Ho-ho-o-oy!” we shouted, joining our voices in a last desperate effort. “Hilloo—boat ahoy!” were the glad sounds that met our ears in return, and a dozen hands were extended to point out our location. At the instant, the ship gallantly swung around, and bore down directly toward us. “They see us—praise the Lord—they see us—we are saved!” were the exclamations of the crew as they burst into hysteric tears, and fell on their knees in thanksgiving, again enacting the scene of delirious joy which had characterized the first discovery of the strange sail. On came the welcome ship—on like a sea-bird on the wing! Scores of curious faces were seen peering over her sides as she approached, while from top and cross-trees a dozen look-outs gazed eagerly toward us. The sun was shining merrily on the waves, which sparkled in his beams like silver; while the murmur of the wind over the deep came pleasantly to our ears. Oh! how different did every thing appear to us now from what it had appeared when hope was banished from our hearts. And when, weak and trembling, we were raised to the deck of the stranger, did not our hearts run over with gratitude to God? Let the tears that even our rescuers shed proclaim. “Water—give us water, for God’s sake,” was the cry of my men as they struggled to the deck. “Only a drop now—more you shall have directly,” answered the surgeon, as he stood between the half frenzied men and the water can. With difficulty the ravenous appetites of the crew were restrained, for to have suffered the men to eat in large quantities after so long an abstinence would have ensured their speedy deaths. The sick were hurried to cots, while the captain insisted that I should share a portion of his own cabin. It was many days before we were sufficiently recovered to mingle with our rescuers, and during our sickness we were treated with a kindness which was never forgot. The strange sail was a privateersman, sailing under the American flag. We continued with her about two months, when she found it necessary to run into port. As we were nearly opposite Block Island, it was determined to stand in for Newport, where accordingly we landed, after an absence of nearly a year. Here I found that we had been given up for lost. A bucket, with the name of the Dart painted on it, having been picked up at sea, from which it was concluded that all on board the vessel had perished. This belief had now become general in consequence of the lapse of time since we had been heard from. I was greeted, therefore, as one restored from the dead. * * * * * “WRITE TO ME, LOVE,” A BALLAD. THE POETRY BY MISS PARDOE, THE MUSIC BY DAVID LEE. Selected for Graham’s Magazine by J. G. Osbourn.