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Entered according to Act of Congress, in J une, 1869, by J. W. Burke & Cos., in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the So. District of Georgia.
Vol. HI—No. 24.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
NAZARETH.
. m HE ancient Nazareth was a city
Galilee. The modern Naz
p* areth belongs to the better
class of Eastern villages. It is situated
among the hills which constitute the
south ridge of Lebanon, just before they
sink down into the plain of Esdraelon.
Its population is three thousand to four
thousand ; a few are Mahomedans, the
remainder Latin and Greek Christians.
“Most of its houses,” says Smith’s
Bible Dictionary, “are well built of
stone, and appear neat and comfortable.
The streets or lanes are narrow and
crooked, and after a rain are so full of
mud and mire as to be almost impassa
ble. A hill behind the town commands
an extensive and magnificent prospect,
including the villages of Lebanon and
Herman, Carmel and Tabor, the plains
of Esdraelon, the Mediterranean Sea, the
mountains and villages of Samaria and
Galilee,” etc.
Nazareth was the home of Joseph and
Mary, the mother of Christ; it was here
the Angel announced to Mary that the
Messiah should be born ; the holy fami
ly returned to Nazareth after the flight
into Egypt; “ here Jesus lived from in
fancy to manhood ; here He taught in
the synagogue, and was twice rejected
by His townsmen, who attempted, on
the last occasion, to cast Him down
from ‘ the brow of the hill on which the
city was built.’ ”*
When Christ was crucified, the in
scription put on His cross by Pilate was,
“Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews,”
and when St. Paul, journeying to Da
mascus, saw the miraculous light and
heard the voice saying, “Saul, Saul,
why persecutest thou me?” and cried
out, “ Who art thou, Lord?” the reply
was, “I am Jesus of Nazareth whom
thou persecutest.”f
* Luke, iv—l6th to 32d verses.
t Acts, xxii—7, 8.
•»<*.«.
Time, patience, and industry are the
three great masters of the world.
MACON, GEORGIA, DECEMBER 11, 1869.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
THE ADVENTURES OF
BIG-FOOT WALLACE,
The Texas Ranger and Hunter.
By the Author of “ Jack Dobell ; or, A Boy's
Adventures in Texas."
CHAPTER XXII.
THE SUDDEN STORM—SAD FATE OF “ THE
author’s” UMBRELLA —WHAT HE
THOUGHT OF MR. COOPER—THE AUTHOR
NAZARETH.
GOES A-HUNTING, AND WHAT IIE FOUND
—HE PRONOUNCES MR. COOPER A HUM
BUG.
4[|: WAS satisfied, the Indians
| having had so much the start
of us, that it was useless to
“hurry up” with the expectation of
overhauling them before they reached
the country they intended to occupy
permanently, and I determined to travel
along leisurely, and keep our horses in
as good plight as possible for the long
“scout” that I knew was ahead of us;
so we travelled only about twenty-five
miles that day, and encamped just be
fore sundown in a little valley where
there was a bold running creek and
plenty of good grass for our horses.
When we had got some supper, we
staked out our animals, placed the usual
guard over them, and laid down under
| the trees upon our blankets, the author
I occupying one bunk together.
In a little while after we had “ gone
to roost,” the author said to me:
“ Captain, what is that roaring I hear
like a charge of cavalry?”
I rose up and saw a dense black cloud
coming rapidly towards us from the
north, and I knew we were about to
have one of those sudden squalls com
mon at that season of the year in the
hilly country, and invariably accom-
panied by a heavy fall of rain.
“We are in for a ducking, my friend,”
I said, “ unless you can manage to pro
tect us with your umbrella.”
“ 0, I can do that,” said he, jumping
up, “and you will find that an umbrella
is not such a bad article to have on a
scout, after all.”
So he unstrapped it from his saddle
and hoisted it over us, but scarcely had
he diyjje so when the squall struck us
with the force of a tornado, and the first
gust of wind turned the umbrella wrong
side out, wrenched it from his hand, and
carried it out of sight in a moment.
“Captain,” said he, “what’s to be
done now? The umbrella has been
whisked off like an old witch upon a
broom stick, and we shall be drenched
to the skin.”
“ I know it,” I replied, “ but there’s
Whole No. 128.
no help for it, and all we can do is, to
‘lay low’ and take it quietly.”
“Why, Captain,” he answered, “it
will be the death of us ! I never caught
a wetting but once in my life, and then
as soon as I got home, I didn’t feel safe
until I was tucked into bed with the
‘ sheets aired,’ and had swallowed a
couple of hot toddies. Oh, dear 1 the
water is running down my back in a
stream now, and I shall certainly perish
from such horrible exposure.”
“ Not a bit of it, Mr. Author,” I re
plied; “you’ll wake up as fresh as a
lark in the morning. There’s a stream
running down my back, too, but it isn’t
quite as big as the Colorado, and I’m
not the least afraid of its drowning me.
All you’ve got to do is to keep quiet,
and you will very soon be comfortable
enough.”
“Well,” said he, after awhile, “if
this is what you call ‘ comfortable,’ your
ideas and mine differ very widely on the
subject. The water is half way up my
sides. I begin to think,” he continued,
shivering and scrouging closer up to
me, to borrow a little of my warmth, of
which in fact I hadn’t much to spare ;
“I begin to think there was a good deal
of humbug about Cooper, after all, for
in all his descriptions of the woods and
frontier life, he never says a word about
a fellow’s having to sleep in a puddle,
on the ground, with a damp blanket,
smelling of horses, over his shoulders,
and a stream of cold water trickling
down his back. When people ‘bivouac’
in his novels, the nights are always se
rene and clear, the stars twinkle over
head, the turf is green and soft, (there’s
a boulder as big as my fist exactly un
der my hip,) and everything is pleasant
and agreeable. I’m losing my confi
dence in Mr. Cooper rapidly.”
In about an hour, the rain ceased, the
puddle disappeared from around us, and
notwithstanding his “uncomfortable”
situation, our author slept like a top the
balance of the night.
The first thing we saw in the morn
ing, when we woke up, was the “ um
brell” on tie top of a muskeet bush,
where the wind had lodged it, about fifty
paces from where we had slept. Ihe