where lay motionless the pretty Maggy Bell, as clipper-like a craft as ever spread canvas.  The light from the cabin shed its faint gleams over the quarter-deck, as Hardweather halted on the capsill, and with a sailor’s pride run his quick black eye along her pirate-like hull, then aloft along the rigging.  Exultingly, he says, “She is the sauciest witch that ever faced sea or showed a clean pair of heels.  The Maggy Bell!"-he pats his friend on the shoulder-"why, sir, she has-just between ourselves now-slided many a poor slave off into freedom; but folks here don’t think it of me.  Now, if I reckon right"-he bites his tobacco, and extends it to the stranger-"and I believe I do, it’s twenty years since the Maggy, of one dark night, skimmed it by that point, with Fort Pinkney on it, yonder, that good creature on board.”  He points to the murky mass, scarce visible in the distance, to the east.  “And now she’s one of the noblest women that ever broke bread to the poor; and she’s right comfortable off, now,—­alwa’s has a smile, and a kind word, and something good for old Jack Hardweather whenever she sees him.  Lord bless yer soul!"-here he shakes his head earnestly, and says he never was a lubber-"Jack Hardweather didn’t care about the soft shot for his locker; it was my heart that felt the kindness.  Indeed, it always jumps and jerks like a bobstay in a head sea, when I meets her.  And then, when I thinks how ’twas me done the good turn, and no thanks to nobody!  You hearn of me ’afore, eh” (he turns to his companion, who measuredly answers in the affirmative).  “Well, then, my name’s Skipper Jack Hardweather, known all along the coast; but, seeing how the world and navigation’s got shortened down, they call me old Jack Splitwater.  I suppose it’s by the way of convenience, and so neither wife nor me have a bit of objection.”  Here the conversation was interrupted by the good wife’s round, cheery face shooting suddenly from out the companion-way, and enjoining our friend Jack to come away aboard, her high peaked cap shining like snow on a dark surface.  The truth was, that Splitwater, as he was styled, had become so much absorbed in excitement as to forget the length of his yarn.  “Come away, now!” says the good wife, “everybody’s left the Maggy to-night; and ther’s na knowin’ what ’d a’ become ‘un her if a’h hadn’t looked right sharp, for ther’ wer’ a muckle ship a’mast run her dune; an’ if she just had, the Maggy wad na mar bene seen!” The good wife shakes her head; her rich Scotch tongue sounding on the still air, as with apprehension her chubby face shines in the light of the candle she holds before it with her right hand.  Skipper Splitwater will see his friend on board, he says, as they follow her down the companion-ladder.  “Wife thinks as much of the Maggy-and would, I believe in my soul, cry her life out if anything happened till her:  wife’s a good body aboard a ship, and can take a trick at the wheel just as well as Harry Span the mate.”  Skipper Splitwater