There is a story that Nolan met Burr once on one of our vessels, when a party of Americans came on board in the Mediterranean.  But this I believe to be a lie; or, rather, it is a myth, ben trovato, involving a tremendous blowing-up with which he sunk Burr,—­asking him how he liked to be “without a country.”  But it is clear from Burr’s life, that nothing of the sort could have happened; and I mention this only as an illustration of the stories which get a-going where there is the least mystery at bottom.

Philip Nolan, poor fellow, repented of his folly, and then, like a man, submitted to the fate he had asked for.  He never intentionally added to the difficulty or delicacy of the charge of those who had him in hold.  Accidents would happen; but never from his fault.  Lieutenant Truxton told me that, when Texas was annexed, there was a careful discussion among the officers, whether they should get hold of Nolan’s handsome set of maps and cut Texas out of it,—­from the map of the world and the map of Mexico.  The United States had been cut out when the atlas was bought for him.  But it was voted, rightly enough, that to do this would be virtually to reveal to him what had happened, or, as Harry Cole said, to make him think Old Burr had succeeded.  So it was from no fault of Nolan’s that a great botch happened at my own table, when, for a short time, I was in command of the George Washington corvette, on the South American station.  We were lying in the La Plata, and some of the officers, who had been on shore and had just joined again, were entertaining us with accounts of their misadventures in riding the half-wild horses of Buenos Ayres.  Nolan was at table, and was in an unusually bright and talkative mood.  Some story of a tumble reminded him of an adventure of his own when he was catching wild horses in Texas with his adventurous cousin, at a time when he mast have been quite a boy.  He told the story with a good deal of spirit,—­so much so, that the silence which often follows a good story hung over the table for an instant, to be broken by Nolan himself.  For he asked perfectly unconsciously.—­

“Pray, what has become of Texas?  After the Mexicans got their independence, I thought that province of Texas would come forward very fast.  It is really one of the finest regions on earth; it is the Italy of this continent.  But I have not seen or heard a word of Texas for near twenty years.”

There were two Texan officers at the table.  The reason he had never heard of Texas was that Texas and her affairs had been painfully cut out of his newspapers since Austin began his settlements; so that, while he read of Honduras and Tamaulipas, and, till quite lately, of California, —­this virgin province, in which his brother had travelled so far, and, I believe, had died, had ceased to be to him.  Waters and Williams, the two Texas men, looked grimly at each other and tried not to laugh.  Edward Morris had his attention attracted by the third link in the chain of the captain’s chandelier.  Watrous was seized with a convulsion of sneezing.  Nolan himself saw that something was to pay, he did not know what.  And I, as master of the feast, had to say,—­