ing letter written by Houston upon the death of Flaco, a Lipan chief:

"To the Memory of Gen. Flaco, Chief of Lipans:
"My Brother:-

"My heart is sad. A dark cloud rests upon your
nation. Grief has sounded in your camp. The
voice of Flaco is silent. His words are not heard
in council. The chief is no more. His life has
fled to the Great Spirit. His eyes are closed. His
heart no longer leaps at the sight of buffalo. The
voices of your camp are no longer heard to cry:
"Flaco has returned from the chase." Your chiefs
look down on the earth and groan in trouble.
Your warriors weep. The loud voices of grief are
from your women and children. The song of
birds is silent. The ears of your people hear no
pleasant sound. Sorrow whispers in the winds.
The noise of the tempest passes. It is not heard.
Your hearts are heavy.

“The name of Flaco brought joy to all hearts. Joy was on every face. Your people were happy. Flaco is no longer seen in the fight. His voice is no longer heard in battle. The enemy no longer made a path for his glory. His valor is no longer a guard for your people. The right of your nation is broken. Flaco was a friend to his white brothers. They will not forget him. They will remember the red warrior. His father will not be forgotten. We will be kind to the Lipans. Grass shall not grow in the path between us. Let your wise men give the counsel of peace. Let your young men walk in the white path. The grayheaded men of your nation will teach wisdom. I will hold my red brothers by the hand."

The state of Texas, an expanse larger than any European country except Russia, and the American Federal Union, of which it is so important a part, are richer and better because for them whole heartedly Sam Houston lived and broken-heartedly he died.

The story which begins in a log shack and ends at the White House is wonderful because it is simple. In it are no magic lamps or fairy wands. It is of an humble American boy who slowly and steadily educated himself by using well the materials at hand.