time, I was in command of the George Washington corvette, on the South
American station. We were lying in the La Plata, and some of the
officers, who had been on shore and had just joined again, were
entertaining us with accounts of their misadventures in riding the
half-wild horses of Buenos Ayres. Nolan was at table, and was in an
unusually bright and talkative mood. Some story of a tumble reminded him
of an adventure of his own when he was catching wild horses in Texas
with his adventurous cousin, at a time when he mast have been quite a
boy. He told the story with a good deal of spirit,--so much so, that the
silence which often follows a good story hung over the table for an
instant, to be broken by Nolan himself. For he asked perfectly
unconsciously.--

"Pray, what has become of Texas? After the Mexicans got their
independence, I thought that province of Texas would come forward very
fast. It is really one of the finest regions on earth; it is the Italy
of this continent. But I have not seen or heard a word of Texas for near
twenty years."

There were two Texan officers at the table. The reason he had never
heard of Texas was that Texas and her affairs had been painfully cut out
of his newspapers since Austin began his settlements; so that, while he
read of Honduras and Tamaulipas, and, till quite lately, of California,
--this virgin province, in which his brother had travelled so far, and,
I believe, had died, had ceased to be to him. Waters and Williams, the
two Texas men, looked grimly at each other and tried not to laugh.
Edward Morris had his attention attracted by the third link in the chain
of the captain's chandelier. Watrous was seized with a convulsion of
sneezing. Nolan himself saw that something was to pay, he did not know
what. And I, as master of the feast, had to say,--