nty of self-protection, because they were trained from childhood
to wield the rifle and the long sheath-knife.

It is odd enough to read, in the chronicles of those days, that amid
all this suffering and squalor there was drawn a strict line between
"the quality" and those who had no claim to be patricians. "The
quality" was made up of such emigrants as came from the more civilized
East, or who had slaves, or who dragged with them some rickety vehicle
with carriage-horses--however gaunt the animals might be. All
others--those who had no slaves or horses, and no traditions of the
older states--were classed as "poor whites"; and they accepted their
mediocrity without a murmur.

Because he was born in Lexington, Virginia, and moved thence with his
family to Tennessee, young Sam Houston--a truly eponymous American
hero--was numbered with "the quality" when, after long wandering, he
reached his boyhood home. His further claim to distinction as a boy
came from the fact that he could read and write, and was even familiar
with some of the classics in translation.

When less than eighteen years of age he had reached a height of more
than six feet. He was skilful with the rifle, a remarkable
rough-and-tumble fighter, and as quick with his long knife as any
Indian. This made him a notable figure--the more so as he never abused
his strength and courage. He was never known as anything but "Sam." In
his own sphere he passed for a gentleman and a scholar, thanks to his
Virginian birth and to the fact that he could repeat a great part of
Pope's translation of the "Iliad."

His learning led him to teach school a few months in the year to the
children of the white settlers. Indeed, Houston was so much taken with
the pursuit of scholarship that he made up his mind to learn Greek and
Latin. Naturally, this seemed mere foolishness to his mother, his six
strapping brothers, and his three stalwart sisters, who cared little
for study. So sharp was the difference between Sam and the rest of the
family that he gave up his yearning after the classics and went to the
other extreme by leaving home and plunging into the heart of the forest
beyond sight of any white man or woman or any thought of Hellas and
ancient Rome.

Here in the dimly lighted glades he was most happy. The Indians admired
him for his woodcraft and for the skill with which he chased the wild
game amid the forests. From his copy of the "Iliad" he would read to
them the though