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my horse humped his back, like a mad cat, and gave one tremendous pitch that landed me, head-foremost, on the ground, some ten or a dozen feet 'in advance of him. I was partially stunned by the fall, and when I rose up, I found, to my great comfort, that all the rest had been served in the same way except one rider, who still managed to stick to his horse, in spite of all his pitchings and lurchings. The Mexicans, no doubt, had selected the wildest horses from the drove—indeed the majority of them, perhaps, had never been backed a half a dozen times, even by the rancheros themselves, who are unsur passed by any people in the world in horsemanship. lam confident that the padre and his flock enjoyed this equestrian performance much more than the actors, but, as heretofore the laugh had been all upon our side, we did not begrudge them the pleasure they evidently took in our discomfiture. However, we concluded to dispense with such unruly steeds, and once more resumed our line of march on foot, for Goliad. An hour or so after dark, we got back to the city, and again took possession of our old quarters. The Mexican padre was sent the next day to San Felipe, on the Brazos, where he was kept in confinement until Santa Anna and his army were defeated and driven from Texas. lie had the reputa tion of being a great scoundrel and a most unconscionable gambler, and his villain ous countenance did not belie his charac ter. I will do him the justice, though, to say that to him we -were indebted for the best breakfast we had set down to since we came into the country. HOW THE CRICKETS BROUGHT GOOD FORTUNE. RACQUES, my friend, went into a baker’s shop one day to buy a little cake which he had fancied in passing. He intended it child whose appetite was md who could be coaxed to ly by amusing him. He it that such a pretty loaf might tempt even the sick. While he waited for the change, a little boAq six or eight years old, in poor, but perfectly clean clothes, entered the baker’s shop. “Ma’am,” said he to the baker’s wife, “ my mother sent me for a loaf of bread.” The woman climbed upon the counter, (this happened in a country toAvn,) took from the shelf of four-pound loaves the best one she could find, and put it into the arms of the little boy. My friend Jacques then first observed the thin and BURKE’S WEEKLY. thoughtful face of the little fellow. It contrasted strongly with the round, open countenance of the great loaf, of which he was taking the greatest care. “Have you any money?” said the ba ker’s Avife. The little boy’s eyes greAv sad. “No, ma’am,” said he, hugging the loaf closer to his thin blouse; “ but mother told me that she would come and speak to you about it to-morrow.” “Run along,” said the good woman; “carry your bread home, child.” “ Thank you, ma’am,” said the poor lit tle fellow. My friend Jacques came forward for his money. He had put his purchase in to his pocket, and Avas about to go, Avhen he found the child with the big loaf, Avhom he had supposed to be half Avay home, standing stock behind him. “ What are you doing there ?” said the baker’s A\ T ife to the child, AA r liom she had thought to be fairly oft’. “ Don’t you like the bread ?” “ Oh, yes, ma’am!” said the child. “Well, then, carry it to your mother, my little friend. If you AA r ait any longer she will think that you are playing by the Avay, and you Avill get a scolding.” The child did not seem to hear. Some thing else absorbed his attention. The baker’s Avife Avent up to him and gaA T e him a friendly tap upon the shoulder. “ What are you thinking about?” said she. “ Ma’am,” said the little boy, “ what is it that sings ?” “There is no singing,” said she. “Yes!” cried the little fellow. “Hear it! Queak, queak, queak, queak !” My friend and the woman both listen ed, but they could hear nothing, unless it Avas the song of the crickets, frequent guests in baker’s houses. “It is a little bird,” said the dear little fellow, “ or perhaps the bread sings Avhen it bakes, as the apples do.” “No, indeed, little goosey!” said the baker’s Avife ; “ those are crickets. They sing in the bakehouse because Ave are lighting the oven, and they like to see fire.” “Crickets!” said the child ; “are they really crickets ?” “Yes, to bo sure,” said she, good hu moredly. The child’s face lighted up. “ Ma’am,” said he, blushing at the bold ness of the request, “I would like itA T ery much if you would give me a cricket.” “A cricket!” said the baker’s Avife, smiling ;Avhat in the Avorld do you want with a ticket, my little friend ? I would gladly give you all there are in the house, to get rid of them, they run about so.” “ Oh, ma’am, give me one, only One, if you please!” said the child, clasping his little thin hands under the big loaf; “they say that crickets bring good luck in houses ; and perhaps if Ave had one at home, mother, Avho has so much trouble, A\ r ould not cry any more.” “ Why does your mother cry ?” said my friend, avlio could no longer help joining in the conversation. “ On account of her bills, sir,” said the little fellow. “Father is dead, and mo ther Avorks very hard, but she cannot pay them all.” My friend took the child, and with him the great loaf, into his arms, and I really believe he kissed them both. MeanAvhile, the baker’s wife, avlio did not dare to touch a cricket herself, had gone into the bake-house. She made her husband catch four, and put them into a box AA’ith holes in the coAmr, so that they might breathe. She gave the box to the child, avlio Avent away perfectly happy. When he had gone, the baker’s Avife and my friend gave each other a good squeeze of the hand. “Poor little fellow,” said they both together. Then she took doAvn her account-book, and, finding the pages Avhere the mother’s charges Avere Avritten, made a great dash doAvn the page, and Avrote at the bottom, “ Paid.” MeanAvhile, my friend, to lose no time, had put up in paper all the money he had in his pockets, Avhere fortunately he had quite a sum that day, had begged the good Avife to send it at once to the moth er of the little cricket boy, with her bill receipted, and a note, in which he told her she had a son who Avould one day be her joy and pride. They gaA T e it to a baker’s boy Avith long legs, and told him to make haste. The child, Avith his big loaf, his four crickets, and his little short legs, could not run A T ery fast, so that Avlien he reached home he found his mother, for the first time in many Aveeks, Avith her eyes raised from her Avork, and a smile of peace and hap piness upon her lips. The boy believed that it was the arri val of his four little black things Avhich had worked this miracle, and I do not think he Avas mistaken. Without the crickets, and his good little heart, Avould this happy change have taken place in his mother’s fortune ? ——— — Time to Go to Bed. “Mamma,” said Eddie, while looking out of the windoAv one evening during a thunder storm, “Mamma, isn’t it time for me to go to sleep? I hear G©d pull ing out his trundle bed for the littl# an gels to sleep in.” 79