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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