At the period when our story is laid, that city, in which General Lallemand wished to found the _Champ d'Asyle_--that sublime Utopia of a noble and broken heart--was far from that commercial prosperity which the progress of civilization, successive immigrations, and, most of all, the speculations of bold capitalists, have caused it to attain during the last few years. We shall therefore describe it such as it was during our stay in America, leaving out of sight the enormous transformations it has since undergone. Galveston is built on the small sandy islet of St. Louis, which almost closes up the mouth of the Rio Trinidad. At that time the houses were low, mostly built of wood, and surrounded by gardens planted with fragrant trees, which impregnated the atmosphere with delicious odours. Unfortunately there is one thing that cannot alter--the climate and the nature of the soil. The suffocating heat that almost continually prevails in the town corrodes the earth and changes it into an impalpable dust, in which you sink up to the knees, and which, at the least breath of air, penetrates into the eyes, mouth, and nostrils; myriads of mosquitoes, whose stings are extremely painful; and, above all, the bad quality of the water, which the inhabitants collect with great difficulty in plank reservoirs during the rainy season, and which the sun renders boiling--these grievous occurrences, especially for Europeans, render a residence at Galveston insupportable, and even most dangerous. The Texans themselves so greatly fear the deadly influence of this climate that, during the torrid heat of summer, rich persons emigrate by hundreds to the mainland, so that the town, which becomes almost suddenly deserted by this momentary departure, assumes a look of sad desolation which is painful to behold. About four in the afternoon, at the moment when the rising sea breeze began to refresh the atmosphere, a little Indian canoe, made of beech bark, left the mainland, and vigorously impelled by two men supplied with wide sculls, proceeded toward the city and pulled alongside the plank quay, which served at that time as the landing place. So soon as the canoe was stationary, a third person, carelessly reclining in the stern sheets, rose, looked round him as if to recognise the spot where he was; then, taking a spring, he landed on the quay. The canoe immediately turned round, though not a syllable had been exchanged between the scullers and the passenger they had brought.