The white old town, with its picturesque crowds, its murmur of
voices and laughter, its echoes of fife and drum, its
loves and its hatreds, was at his feet; and, far off, the hazy
glory of the mountains, the greenness and freshness of
Paradise, the peace and freedom of the vast, unplanted places.
The old marquis was insensibly led to contemplate the whole;
and, in so doing, to put uppermost that pride of country which
was the base of every feeling susceptible to the priest's
influence.
"Such a pleasant city, Marquis! Spanish monks founded it.
Spanish and Mexican soldiers have defended it. Look at its
fine churches and missions; its lovely homes, and blooming
gardens."
"It is also all our own, father. It was but yesterday I said
to one of those insolent Americans who was condescending to
admire it: `Very good, Senor; and, if you deign to believe
me, it was not brought from New York. Such as you see it, it
was made by ourselves here at San Antonio.' Saints in heaven!
the fellow laughed in my face. We were mutually convinced of
each other's stupidity."
"Ah, how they envy us the country! And you, Marquis, who have
traveled over the world, you can imagine the reason?"
"Father, I will tell you the reason; it is the craving in the
heart to find again the lost Eden. The Almighty made Texas
with full hands.
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