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to make thei. appearance upon the prai
ries.
To-day I met with a specimen of the
joint eel-snake, the first I had ever seen.
P was small —not more than eighteen
inches in length—striped, and its skin
had a verified or glassy appearance. It
seemed to be rather sluggish and un
wieldy, and when I struck it with a small
stick it broke into half a dozen pieces,
each piece hopping off in a very lively
manner “ upon its own hook.” I have
heard it asserted by some, that after a
time these pieces will re-unite, and the
snake crawl off as if nothing had happen
ed; but the truth of this I must confess I
am inclined to doubt.
To-day, I noticed, too, for the first time,
several “ horned frogs,” as the}' are call
ed, but they arc, in fact, a species of the
lizzard tribe. They are from four to six
inches in length, and derive their name
from several horny excrescences on the
top of the head, resembling miniature
horns. They are rather an ugly-looking
“varmint,” but are perfectly harmless.
About mid-day, I descried a cloud of
dust rising in the prairie, a long way off
to the right, caused, as I at first supposed,
by a body of troops in motion. I was
traveling near the edge of the cane-brake,
both for greater safety, and for fear that
I might pass by, without observing it,
some road or trail that possibly might
lead me across it. I, therefore, quickly
hid myself behind a small thicket, from
whence, without being visible myself, I
could see all that passed upon the prairie.
Presently I saw issue from the cl-oud of
dust a dense body of horses, which, upon
a nearer approach, I perceived were rider
less. I computed that there were between
five and six hundred of them, but they
were galloping, curveting, and charging
amongst each other in such a way that I
could not form any correct estimate of
their number. On they came, until with
in three hundred yards of the little thicket
in which I was concealed, when I sprang
out, at the same time yelling as loud as I
could, after the manner of the Indians,
lhey suddenly halted, and, with head
erect stood for a moment looking at me
astonishment, then with one univer
sal snort, they all quickly wheeled about
ana scampered off, and in a short time
ere lost to view upon the distant prairie.
I continued on my way, and when I
bad made, according to my calculation,
fen or twelve miles from where I had
started in the morning, to my great joy I
came to a road running at right angles
from the prairie into the cane-brake. I
frit confident it would take me through
fr, but after I had followed it a couple of
BURKE’S WEEKLY.
hundred yards into the cane-brake it came
to an abrupt termination at a point where
a large tree had been felled and split into
boards. Dispirited, and sadly disappoint
ed, I retraced my steps to the prairie, and
thence back towards home, where I ar
rived a little after dark, and so much fa
tigued by my days tramp that 1 turned
into bed supperless, and slept like a log
until roused at daylight the next morning
by the crowing of cocks, and the cackling
of hens, and the squealing of pigs. It
may seem strange to the “uninitiated”
that one as much accustomed to walking
as I was, should have been so completely
“knocked up” by a jaunt of not much
more than twenty miles; but walking
through the woods and prairies is not
like walking upon a Avell beaten road. In
the former case, your progress is neces
sarily slow and laborious, on account of
having to force your way through the
rank grass, and the many creeping vines
that are constantly entangling your legs,
and occasionally tripping you up. Be
sides, the bottoms of your shoes or boots
soon become as slick as glass by friction
against the leaves and grass, and, like the
boy on the ice, who slid two steps back
ward to one he made forward, you almost
feel inclined to turn about and travel in
the opposite direction in order to reach
your destination.
I have no hesitation in saying that a
tramp of forty miles upon a firm, hard
road would be found less fatiguing than
one of twenty through the woods and
prairies, particularly in dry weather. At
any rate, this has been the result of my
experience in “ wood craft,” of which I
have had as much as most men in the
course of my life, barring the aborigines,
Kit Carson, and some others of “that ilk.”
For walking in the woods, moccasins are
far preferable to boots or shoes. They
never become slippery by friction, they
are much lighter, and being soft and
pliant, they bend and give to every ex
pansion and contraction of the foot. I
throw this hint out for the benefit of such
of my young friends as may be partial to
field sports, or who may hereafter be em
ployed in surveying, or other occupation
in which walking plays a prominent part.
Determined to persevere in my search
for some road that would lead me across
the cane-brake, as soon as I had eaten
breakfast, I shouldered my knapsack, and
set out again in the direction I had taken
two days previously when I made such a
narrow escape from the Mexican lancers.
MM-
Never be prejudiced, or allow your
self to be led, without first judging for
yourself.
The Golden Gate.
rjlir my little daughter know
1 k ere Peaceful waters flow
A\ here the sweetest flowers grow
Along the path of life?
ij* 1 Where the meadows are more green,
Av here the brightest birds are seen,
Where the skies are all serene,
And where there is no strife ?
Yonder is the “golden gate,”
All around, the angels wait;
There the narrow path is straight;
My daughter, enter in.
Here the Shepherd feeds His sheep.
Here the lambs securely sleep,
Here’s a fountain pure and deep,
To wash away our sin.
Near, there is a broader way,
AVhere the thoughtless and the gay
Throw their priceless souls away.
Forgetful of their God.
There the gate is opened wide.
And the tempter stands beside,
Luring on the thoughtless tide,
Adown the dreadful road.
Daughter, turn not to the right.
Nor the left; hut in the light
Os the gospel, pure hnd bright,
Seek to be forgiven.
Enter through the “golden gate,”
Where the angels gently wait,
AVhere the narrow path is straight,
Leading up to Heaven.
Musn’t Always take People at Their
Word.
R ? EIED the Bullfinch, “O
that I Avere dead.”
“ I don’t Avonder at it,
I’m sure, dear,” said the
,ing with her eyes fixed on
be penned up here from
day, while all my friends
•icing in the sweet sunny
sky and the flowers,” said the Bullfinch.
“Hoav distressing!” said the cat.
“And just to be allowed nowand then,
for a feAV minutes, to try my wings by a
flight around the room.”
“Mere mockery! A cruel insult I call
that,” said the cat.
“And as to singing, hoAV can I sing?”
said the bullfinch.
“ Hoav, indeed,” said the cat.
“ This piping song that I have been
drilled into, not a note of it comes from
my heart.”
“ I never could bear anything that did
not come from my heart,” said the cat.
“ O that I Avere dead!” said the bullfinch.
“ It’s what your best friends wish for
you, dear,” said the cat, “and as the door
of your cage is a little ajar I see, you ha\e
only to come out, and —
“And what?” asked the bullfinch.
“ Why, dearest, I would, however pain
ful to my feelings, soon put you out of
your misery,” said the cat, preparing to
spring.
Upon which the bullfinch set up such a
scream of terror that his mistress flew in
to the room, and puss escaped doAvn stairs.
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