I looked up toward the mate, who, steering with one hand, was covering me with his jacket with the other. He was doing it, too, as tenderly as a mother wraps her babe. Oh! how full my heart was. I tried to raise myself on my elbow and speak. "Nay! shipmate," he said, placing his hand on my shoulder gently, as if to press me down, "not a word. You need rest: you were three hours in the water." In truth, this little exertion had made me dizzy. I heard his words as in a dream, and sunk back, while all things seemed to whirl around me. I closed my eyes, and presently, in a whisper, the mate said-- "He sleeps. I don't think he could have stood it five minutes longer. Who would have told his mother?" From this time until I woke in my berth, I lay in a state of profound insensibility. They have since told me that on reaching the ship they thought me gone; but that by chafing my limbs, and employing stringent restoratives they recovered me. I soon after sunk into a refreshing sleep, and when I woke in the morning was perfectly well, though weak. It was quite dark, it appears, when we reached the ship, so that if my discovery had come a few minutes later, it is exceedingly doubtful whether or not I could have been saved. Years have passed since then, and I have rehearsed my deliverance a hundred times, yet I always shudder to recall those terrible hours when OVERBOARD IN THE GULF. MY NATIVE ISLE. BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD. My native isle! my native isle! Forever round thy sunny steep The low waves curl with sparkling foam And solemn murmurs deep; While o'er the surging waters blue The ceaseless breezes throng, And in the grand old woods awake An everlasting song. The sordid strife and petty cares That crowd the city's street, The rush, the race, the storm of Life Upon thee never meet; But quiet and contented hearts Their daily tasks fulfill, And meet with simple hope and trust The coming good or ill. The spireless church stands plain and brown The winding road beside; The green graves rise in silence near, With moss-grown tablets wide; And early on the Sabbath morn, Along the flowery sod, Unfettered souls, with humble prayer, Go up to worship God. And dearer far than sculptured fane Is that gray church to me, For in its shade my mother sleeps, Beneath the willow-tree; And often when my heart is raised, By sermon and by song, Her friendly smile appears to me From the seraphic throng. The sunset glow, the moon-lit stream Part of my being are; The fairy flowers that bloom and die, The skies so clear and far. The stars that circle Night's dark brow, The winds and waters free, Each with a lesson all its own Are monitors to me.