laid me in the stern-sheets of the
boat.

"How do you feel?" asked the mate. "God help us, we were looking for
you in the wrong direction, till, all at once, I remembered you ought
to be to windward, and so at last made you out, a mere speck on the
horizon. We had a hard pull to reach you too! At first I thought we
should be swamped. But here you are safe. And now, lads, give way
lustily."

The crew, at these words, put double strength into their oars, and
away we sped toward the ship. What a sensation of comfort and security
came over me as I felt the planks under me, and heard the waters,
which, cheated of their prey, followed roaring in our wake.

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