Marshall is one of the most enterprising towns in the State, being a great railroad centre, and settled almost exclusively by Northern people.

We had a most delightful visit to Shreveport, Louisiana:  It lies at the head of Red River navigation, and is the port of entry for New Orleans steamers, being a place of great wealth and equal generosity.  The editors worked with great zest to aid me, and among the many people I met very few failed to buy books.  The genial skies and bright sunshine made it hard to realize that it was the winter season; and I shall ever revert to its warm-hearted people not only with pleasure but with gratitude.

At Longview—­in the dilapidated prison-like room of my hotel, I received tidings of the death and burial of Hattie.  My surroundings were in such sad accord with my feelings, that I wondered if the sun would ever shine, or the flowers bloom again, so much light went out with her dear life.

At Longview we took a branch of the International Railroad to Palestine—­Mr. Smith, the Vice-President of the road, not only largely patronizing me, but presenting me with a six months’ pass and the assurance that if I ever again visited the State a letter addressed to him would ensure a repetition of the favor.

Thence we went to Galveston, where Mr. Arms had been for three months trying the efficacy of sea-bathing.  This city is beautifully located upon a fertile island in Galveston Bay.  The streets are lined upon either side with oleander trees, which, arching over at the top, form a very bower of bloom, while every breath of the clear bright air is balmy with the odor of orange blossoms.

The Mesquite trees, with attenuated leaves and gracefully drooping pods, adorn all the parks of the city, the beans forming a delicious dish either cooked or raw.

No wonder Texas is called “The Happy Hunting Ground,” for the five delightful weeks we spent in Galveston seemed like a dream of Paradise.  Its many pleasures were varied by sailing and bathing, every morning finding us upon the pure, white beach, where the waves whispered the sweetest melodies.

We went back to Houston in the month of bloom, and no “vale of Cashmere” could have been more beautiful in its “feast of roses.”

The street car ran to the depot, and we found in it but one passenger, a gentleman who carried a rose in his hand.  Noticing at once that I was blind, he arose and said to me, “Although you cannot see the beautiful flowers you can inhale their sweetness,” at the same time asking me to accept the rose.  His delicate kindness and urbane manner struck a deep chord in my heart, and I never think of Houston without recalling the gentle touch and tone.

I must not omit to mention an act of generosity upon the part of the railroad office at Galveston.  Leaving there I had paid fare to Houston, and the agent refunded five dollars, adding that I should never be allowed to pay railroad fare.