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For a time, all that had passed since the
morning appeared to him like a painful
dream, but gradually the reality of the
events that had transpired forced itself
upon his mind, and • he cautiously raised
himself upon his elbows to reconnoitre.
All was still, and no living or moving
creature was visible near him—nothing
but the pallid up-turned faces of his mur
dered comrades, glistening in the cold
light of the moon. He found himself ex
tremely weak from the loss of blood, and
his limbs were sore and stiffened, but he
was suffering intolerably with thirst, and
resolved, if possible, to drag himself to the
river. With much pain and difficulty, he
at length succeeded in reaching the wa
ter. Here he bound up his wounds as
well as he could, with strips of cloth torn
from his shirt, and before morning he had
recovered his strength so far as to be able
to swim the river. From the river, he
proceeded to a Mexican “ ranch,” on the
Manahuilla creek, with the people of
which he had had some previous acquaint
ance, thinking it better to trust himself
to the tender mercies of the Mexicans,
than to attempt to travel through the
wilderness in his wounded and weakened
condition. Hear the “ranch,” he met a
Mexican woman, to whom he made him
self known, and who told him he would
certainly be killed if the “rancheros”
should discover him. She advised him to
secrete himself in a neighboring thicket,
and promised him that as soon as it was
dark, she would come out to him and
bring him clothes, provisions and water.
Hunter had his suspicions that she in
tended to betray him, but there was no
alternative but to trust her; so he hid
himself in a thicket near by, which she
had pointed out to him, and anxiously
awaited her re-appearance. True to her
promise, a little after dark she returned,
bringing with her something for him to
eat, and a suit of Mexican clothes. For
nearly a week, this kind and faithful crea
ture visited his place of concealment near
ly every night, fed him, and dressed his
wounds, until his strength was sufficient
ly restored to enable him to take the road.
She then furnished him with a supply of
provisions, and a flint and steel for mak
ing fire, and bidding him “ God speed,”
she returned to the hut, and he saw her
no more. Thus recruited and supplied
with clothing and provisions, Hunter
boldly plunged into the wilderness ; and,
having a pretty good knowledge of the
“lay” of the country, after many narrow
escapes, he eventually made his way safe
ly to the Texan army under General
Houston, and lives to recount his strange
adventures.
BURKE’S WEEKLY.
Duty.
Os the first false step beware, oh beware !
Who would tread life’s way secure
The straight path of Duty yet follow with care,
Her star keep in view, and vainly the snare
Os temptation may allure.
From Duty’s straight path, the first step aside
Ever leads farther astray :
The unbarred door is soon opened wide ;
The crevasse begun, how soon the vast tide
Sweeps through with resistless sway.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
HELEN’S IMPROVEMENT, and THE
CAUSE OF IT.
BY ELOISE V. ALLEN.
H, Ma, here is the eighth
Oi plpSw number of Burke's Week
ty exclaimed Helen
Martin one evening, as
Mli she entered the parlor of
her father’s beautiful mansion in
C . She had just returned from
Ju the post office, and had, as she said,
a number of Burke's Weekly.
“ Look ma,” she added, “ here is an en
igma from Hattie A. D. What a smart
little girl she must be, to make an enig
ma. I wish I was as smart as she is.”
“ So you might be, if you studied hard
er,” said Mrs. Martin, a pleasant-faced
lady in the corner.
“Does study make any one smart?”
asked Helen sadly, for she did not love to
study.
“ Os course it does, and if you do not
study harder you will be expelled from
school. Miss Bell told me she could not
stand the way you are going on any
longer.”
« She told me so, too, to-day, but, ma,
she will not have the pleasure of doing it,
for I intend beginning to-morrow to see
if I cannot be smart, like- Hattie D. I
wonder how old she is?”
“How old are you?”
“ Ten, yesterday.”
“ If you begin to study hard to-morrow,
as you say you will, we shall see, this day
year, if you are not smart enough to
write something for the Weekly. If you
will, and not miss a single lesson all the
week, I’ll tell you a part of my history at
the end of it. Will you try ?”
“Yes, ma, I will try.”
“Now get your lessons tor to-morrow,
so you will not miss any of them.”
The next day, Helen went to school,
and never spoke a word during school
hours. The children looked at each other
as much as to say, “ What does it mean ?
for Helen had been an idle girl. Instead
of studying, she would throw paper balls
across the room, pinch the children, and
do anything rather than study. Her
brother Frank tried in vain to make her
study. This morning he looked up and
smiled as she passed, on her way to her
seat, after saying a perfect lesson.
I doubt if it ever entered Miss Hattie
D’s head that her one enigma would make
a little girl stop play for her books, to be
come smart like herself. We shall soon
see if it did.
The next Friday evening, Helen went
into her mother’s room with a bright and
happy face. She went up to her mother,
kissed her, and said :
“Oh ! mother, lam so happy! I have
not missed a single lesson this week, and
have come to hear your story. I cannot
imagine how I could have been so idle at
the first of the session. I feel so happy
w T hen I say a perfect lesson. Now, moth
er, give me your history.”
“You shall have it, my dear; or, at
least, a part of it. Get your knitting;
we must work while we talk.”
Helen obeyed, and Mrs. Martin began
her history:
“When I was nine years old, I was a
selfish, ill-tempered girl. Scarcely any
body loved me. I would not study, or do
anything without grumbling. Mother
tried to break me of the habit, but all in
vain.
“ One Thursday evening, as I was go
ing home, a carriage overtook me. There
was a lady, a gentleman, and a little girl
in it. I hurried home, (for it stopped at
our gate,) and went in at the back porch,
where I met mother, who told me it was
Mr. Gresham and his two children. lie
had lost his wife a short time before. He
was going abroad, and, as father was his
schoolmate and friend, he left his daugh
ters in his charge until he should return.
“Lillie Graham was a very smart and
pious girl, and would trust her little sis
ter, Mollie, out of her sight but for a short
time. Mother asked her if she would’nt
teach me with Mollie. She assented, and
the next Monday, greatly against my
will, I started to school to her. At first,
I vowed I would say no lessons; she
talked to me a great deal, and at last pre
vailed on me to study, and during the two
years of her stay there I became a better
girl. Like you, I wondered how I could
ever have been idle, when there was so
much pleasure to be found in study.
“Now, my little girl, you have heard a
part of my history. I hope you will pro
fit by it, and when you grow older I will
tell you the rest. Get your lessons now,
for to-morrow. If you study hard, Mr.
Burke will, perhaps, publish some of your
enigmas in his T Veekly."
Eagle Rock , X. C.
119