ght against him by his
enemies, that he had retreated through cowardice. But to this day, it
is a riddle to me how he managed to reduce to obedience the unruly
spirits he commanded, and to induce them to retreat across the Brazos to
Buffalo Bayou. Of one thing I am certain--only Sam Houston could have
done it; no other man in the republic.

Mr Ehrenberg escaped from all his perils in time to share the rejoicings
of the Texians at the final evacuation of the country by the Mexican
army. And certainly they had cause for exultation, not only at being rid
of their cruel and semi-barbarous oppressors, but in the persevering
gallantry they had displayed throughout the whole campaign, during which
many errors were committed and many lives uselessly sacrificed, but of
which the close was nevertheless so glorious to those engaged in it.
Unskilled in military tactics, without discipline or resources, the
stubborn courage of a handful of American backwoodsmen proved an
overmatch for Santa Anna and his hosts, and the fairest and freshest
leaf of the Mexican cactus was rent from the parent stem, never to be
reunited.[I]

FOOTNOTES:

[G] _Fahrten und Schicksale eines Deutschen in Texas._ Von H. EHRENBERG.
Leipzig: 1845.

[H] The founder of the American colonies in Texas, and father of Stephen
F. Austin.

[I] The arms of Mexico are a cactus, with as many leaves as there are
states of the republic.

THE MOTHER AND HER DEAD CHILD.

With ceaseless sorrow, uncontroll'd,
The mother mourn'd her lot;
She wept, and would not be consoled,
Because her child was not.

She gazed upon its nursery floor,
But there it did not play;
The toys it loved, the clothes it wore,
All void and vacant lay.

Her house, her heart, were dark and drear,
Without their wonted light;
The little star had left its sphere,
That there had shone so bright.

Her tears, at each returning thought,
Fell like the frequent rain;
Time on its wings no healing brought,
And wisdom spoke in vain.

Even in the middle hour of night
She sought no soft relief,
But, by her taper's misty light,
Sate nourishing her grief.

'Twas then a sight of solemn awe,
Rose near her like a cloud;
The image of her child she saw,
Wrapp'd in its little shroud.

It sate within its favourite chair,
It sate and seem'd to sigh,
And turn'd upo