curred, and, possibly, it can not do any party to this strange affair aught of injustice to make the only statement known to have been made by him to another. It is well known that between the second Mrs. Houston and General Houston there was the most perfect sympathy, a devotion of the one to the other, a chivalric respect for each other's feelings and peculiarities, a Christian regard for all the responsibilities of the marital relation, which made their union a blessed one, over which no breath of suspicion ever floated. Nearly two years after his death, and about two years before her own death, the second Mrs. Houston, whose history will form a chapter in this volume, gave the writer the only clue to his separation from his first wife which ever escaped his lips. It can be summed up in a few words, and then dismissed to the shades of oblivion. The first Mrs. Houston, three months after their marriage, in a conversation with General Houston, admitted that at their marriage he had not won her heart, and that he did not possess it then. There was no admission of infidelity on her part, and no charge of the same on his part. She plainly intimated that, although married to him, her affections had never been transferred from another to him. To a man of grand physique, attractive manners, heroic nature, poetical temperament, rare conversational powers, and a natural speaker; a man who had rapidly ascended the ladder of fame, and was the idol of the multitude; a man of fervid impulses, and knightly attachment to woman's virtues—to such a man, such an admission was overwhelming. The moral courage which had faced poverty, the heroism which had dared death on the battle-field, the fortitude which had endured the excruciating pains of unhealed wounds, were all insufficient for such an ordeal, and he succumbed.
Almost by acclamation he had been elected Major-General, District Attorney, Member of Congress, and Governor of a great State, but he determined to surrender all his brilliant prospects of future distinction in Tennessee, and immediately resign the office of Governor. His decision was that indicated by the reasonings of a philosophic mind, and not the suggestions of a guilty nature. Odium was cast upon him, the journals of the day denounced him, malignity untiring vented its spleen upon him, and threats of violence were made against him. Amid all, he exhibited no craven spirit, nor sought for the world's sympathy. He defied human malice and violence. Although enemies were vehement and threatening, his friends gathered around him, and were his shield of defence. Bloody scenes would have forever disgraced Nashville, had any of the threats of personal violence been executed, and, to this hour, there are none more willing to vindicate Sam Houston than the survivors of that period and the children of his early friends in Nashville. He re-
