He called his name and the monk, startled by his voice, raised his head and stepped from the ranks of his brother penitents. The others continued their silent march until another great door had closed behind them. The Houston man gazed at the friar in wonder. He wore a long black robe, slightly confined at the waist by a hempen cord, that hung to his feet in classic, shapely folds. The crown of his head was shaven and his face was as smooth as a maiden's. But the most noticeable thing was the expression of absolute peace and serene happiness that shone from his features. There was no trace of the worried and absent look that his friends had noticed before he disappeared. A calm and holy beatitude beamed from his face like a benison. "In heaven's name," said his friend, "what brought you here to bury yourself forever from the world; why did you leave your friends and pleasures to pass your days in this dreary place?" "Listen," said the monk, "and I will tell you. I am now supremely and ecstatically happy. I have attained the goal of my desires. Look at this robe." He glanced proudly at the dark, severe robe that swept downward from his waist in graceful folds. "I am one man," he continued, "who has arrived at the fruition of his dearest earthly hopes. I have got something on at least that will not bag at the knees." (_Houston Daily Post_, Sunday morning, November 24, 1895.) The Legend of San Jacinto The Hermit of the Battle Ground Relates an Ancient Tradition to a Post Man The battle ground of San Jacinto is a historic spot, very dear to those who make the past reputation of Texas a personal matter. A Texan who does not thrill at the mention of the locality where General Sam Houston and other gentlemen named after the counties of Texas, captured Santa Anna and his portable bar and side arms, is a baseborn slave. A few days ago a _Hoodoo Jane_ went down the bayou to the battle ground with the intention of gathering from some of the old inhabitants a few of the stories and legends that are so plentiful concerning the events that occurred on that memorable spot. The _Hoodoo Jane_ let the reporter off at the battle ground, which is on the bank of the bayou, and he wandered about under the thick grove of trees and then out upon the low flat country where the famous battle is said to have raged. Down under a little bunch of elm trees was a little cabin, and the reporter wandered thither in the hope of finding an old inhabitant. A venerable man emerged from the cabin, apparently between 15 and 80 years of age, with long white hair and silvery beard. "Come hither, youth," he said. "Would'st know the legend of this place? Then cross my palm with silver, and I'll tell it thee." "Good father," said the reporter, "Gramercy, and by my halidome, and Got wot, as you love me, ask me not for silver, but even fire away with your old legend."