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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