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ROBERT WORTH IS DISARMED.
"Strange sons of Mexico, and strange her fate; They fight for freedom who were never free; A kingless people for a nerveless state." * * * * * "Not all the threats or favors of a crown, A Prince's whisper, or a tyrant's frown, Can awe the spirit or allure the mind Of him, who to strict Honor is inclined.
Though all the pomp and pleasure that does wait On public places, and affairs of state; Though all the storms and tempests should arise, That Church magicians in their cells devise, And from their settled basis nations tear: He would, unmoved, the mighty ruin bear.
Secure in innocence, contemn them all, And, decently arrayed, in honor fall." * * * * * "Say, what is honor?
'Tis the finest sense Of justice which the human mind can frame." The keenest sufferings entailed by war are not on the battle-field, nor in the hospital.

They are in the household.

There are the maimed affections, the slain hopes, the broken ties of love.

And before a shot had been fired in the war of Texan independence, the battle had begun in Robert Worth's household.
The young men lay down to rest, but he sat watching the night away.
There was a melancholy sleepiness in it; the mockingbirds had ceased singing; the chirping insects had become weary.