"You are nearer to me now," he said; "will be nearer at least when

I get to Texas; and I do not despair to see you making tracks after

me when I go there."

"But when go you?"

"Not soon. I am in some trouble here. I am pleading and being

impleaded. You are just come in season to take up the cudgels for

me. My landrights are disputed--my titles. You will have something

of a lawsuit to begin upon at your earliest leisure."

"Indeed! but what's the business?"

He gave me a statement of his affairs, placed his papers in my hands,

and I found myself, on inspecting them, engaged in a controversy

which was likely to give me the opportunity which I desired, of

appearing soon in cases of equal intricacy and interest. Kingsley

had some ten thousand dollars in land, the greater part of which

was involved in questions of title and pre-emption, presenting some

complex features, and likely to occasion bad blood among certain

trespassers whom it became our first duty to oust if possible. I

was associated with a spirited young lawyer of the place; a youth

of great natural talent, keen, quick intellect, much readiness of

resource, yet little experienee and less reading. Like the great

mass of our western men, however, he was a man to improve. He had

no self-conceit--did not delude himself with the idea that he knew

as much as his neighhor; and, consequently, was pretty certain to

increase in wisdom with increase of years. He had few prejudices

to get over, and though he knew his strength, he also knew his

weakness. He felt the instinct of natural talent, but he did not

deceive himself on the subject of his deficient knowledge. He was

willing to learn whenever he could find a teacher. His name was

Wharton. I took to him at once. He was an ardent, manly fellow--frank

as a boy--could laugh and weep in the same hour, and yet was as

firm in his principles, as if he could neither laugh nor weep. As

an acquaintance he was an acquisition.

Kingsley was delighted to see me, though somewhat wondering that

I should give up the practice at home, where I was doing so well,

to break ground in a region where I was utterly unknown. He gave

me little trouble, however, in accounting to him for this movement.

It was not difficult to persuade him--nay, he soon persuaded

himself--that something of my present course was due to his

own counsel and suggestion. To a man, like himself, to whom mere

transition was pleasure, it needed no argument to show that my

resolve was right.

"Who the d--l," he exclaimed, "would like always to be in the same

place? Such a person is a mere cipher. We establish an intellectual

superiority when we show ourselves superior to place. A genuine

man is always a citizen of the world. It is your vegetable man that

can not go far without grumbling, finding fault with all he sees,

talking of comforts and such small matters, and longing to get

home again. Such a man puts me in mind of every member of the cow

family that I ever knew. He is never at peace with himself or

the world, but always groaning and thrusting out his horns, until

he can get back to his old range, and revel in his native marsh,

joint-grass, and cane-tops. Englishmen are very much of this breed.

They go abroad, grumble as they go, and if they can not carry their

cane-tops with them, afflict the whole world with their lamentations.

I take it for granted, Clifford, that this step to Alabama, is

simply a step toward Texas. Your next will be to New Orleans, and

then, presto, we shall see you on the Sabine."




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