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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. 207