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when wearied, they laid themselves down under the wide spreading branches of tall trees, upon the long grass or dried leaves, and slept without fear. Thus our fearless adventurers, witnessing on the way many interesting and attractive scenes known only to the pioneer, proceeded through a “ mountainous wilderness, in a westerly direction,” until the seventh of June following, at which time they found themselves on the top of the Allegany ridge.
From this commanding eminence they looked down with feelings of joy and delight upon the • lovely levels' of Kentucky. They realized ihe feelings of a discoverer. Doubtless, they felt very much as Columbus did, gazing from his vessel on San Salvador ; as Cortes, looking down from the crest of Ahualco, on the valley of Mexico; or Vasco Nunez, standing alone on the peak of Darien, and stretching his eyes over the hitherto undiscovered waters of the Pacific,” when they surveyed the ocean waste of forest which then spread from the dim Western outlines of the Alleganies, to the distant and untraveled waters of the Mississippi. It was a bright and enrapturing-a magnificent prospect. It was a view of Nature, dressed in her most simple, and therefore most attractive and charming attire. Here was the dense forest of towering trees, clothed in their most exuberant foliage-the tall grass of the prairie proudly waving its beauteous green in the fanning breezes of the genial clime, and beautiful flowers blushing in the rays of a vernal sun. There too were rolling hills and sloping valleys, and crystal streams flowing over the sparkling minerals buried under their silvery surface. The trees were peopled with undisturbed songsters, who poured out their delicious music all the day long. Hundreds of buffaloes were to be seen browsing on the leaves of the cane--the deer bounded fearlessly by, and wild turkey's might be shot from the branches of the very trees under which the pioneers stood. The golden dreams of the hardy foresters began now to be realized. “ Glorious country,” cried Finley, “this wilderness does indeed blossom like the rose.” “Yes," replied Boone," and who would live amid the barren pine-hills of North Carolina, to hear the screaming of the blue jay-bird, and now and then shoot a deer too lean to be eaten ? This is the land for hunters. Here man and beast grow to their full size."
Upon this spot of Arcadian happiness and beauty, the party determined to encamp. A rude shelter was constructed of bark, to protect their heads from the showers of the day and the cold dews of night. Now for the first time did the · Dark and Bloody Ground --such is the signification of the Indian word Kain-tue-kee-echo to the footsteps of the white man. Our hunters continued for six months to prosecute their sport with great delight. They wandered through the woods, shooting buffaloes and deers by day, and feasted upon their flesh and slept upon their skins at night. But a change was at hand. On a fine morning in the latter part of December, Boone and Stewart sallied forth with their rifles to reconnoitre the country and " bring in” a supply of provisions. The air was scented with flowers—the trees were loaded with ripe fruits, and clusters of grapes were hanging from the cumbrous vines. In short, nothing was wanting to lure them on. They wandered several miles from the camp and lost their way. About sun-set they reached the Kentucky river. Having thrown a bunch of leaves into the water to see which way it ran, they ascended a neighboring hill to get a better view of the course of the streain. Suddenly the shrill war-whoop of the Red man of the forest burst upon them like a clap of thunder. Indians rushed forth from the çanebrake in which they had been concealed, and in a moment Boone and Stewart were prisoners. They were plundered of their ammunition and marched off to an Indian village with their hands tied behind them. Knowing that it would not do to betray any indication of fear, they submitted cheerfully to every indignity and savage cruelty. The Indians, thinking their captives contented with their condition, ceased to guard them closely. On the seventh night of the march, while the savages were all sound asleep, Boone--ever on the alert for an opportunity to escape--touched his companion-a gesture sufficed for the formation of his plan—and the next moment found Boone and Stewart groping their way through the dark from the camp of their sleeping enemies. About the close of the next day they reached their cabin, but to their surprise and disappointment it was plundered and their friends "dispersed or gone home.” Both history and tradition are silent as to the fate of these men
“ Nor trace nor tidings of their doom declare,
Where lived their grief, or perished their despair.” While tortured with suspense and trying to conjecture what had become of their comrades, a noise was heard. Each seized his rifle and took his stand by a large tree, expecting an attack from their former captors. Two men were indistinctly seen approaching their hut“ who comes there?” demanded Boone ; “white men and friends," was the quick reply. The reader may imagine what must have been the feelings of Boone as he welcomed to his cabin Squire Boone, his brother, and a friend from North Carolina, and learned from them that “ his wife and children were still alive and well.” It was a cheering accident, and the meeting was as cordial as unexpected. But the little party, now consisting of four, was soon to be thinned. Squire Boone's friend returned to North Carolina. One day, while the remaining three were chasing a buffalo which Stewart had wounded, they were fired upon by Indians-Stewart fell dead, and the Boones, in their flight amid Indian yells and arrows, beheld the savage as he stripped the fresh scalp from the bleeding skull of their companion. Thus ended the first scene-an ominous prelude to the events that were to followof the bloody tragedy of the settlement of Kentucky.
Notwithstanding these misfortunes, the Boone's were still happy. “ You see,” said our hero to his brother, “ how little human nature requires. It is in our own hearts, rather than in the things around us, that we are to seek happiness.” Our hunters continued their sport during the winter without further molestation from the savages. But with the return of spring, the ammunition was nearly exhausted. Their rifles being their only means of security and support, it was resolved that Squire Boone should revisit “the settlements”—the abodes of civilization were so called—and procure more ammunition. The brothers exchanged a mournful farewell, and Daniel Boone was left a solitary wanderer, in a wilderness swarming with savages—the implacable enemies of his race and nation. Boone has described this interesting crisis in his life, in terms so touching and impressive that I prefer to adopt his own language. “ On the first of May, 1770,” he relates, “my brother returned to North Carolina for a new recruit of horses and ammunition, leaving me alone, without the company of a fellow-creature, without bread, salt, or sugar, or even a horse or a dog." His thoughts naturally turned homeward, and he passed a few days uncomfortably. Thoughts of his family filled his mind and made him melancholy; for,
“ Thinking of an absent wife
In the spirit of a true philosopher, the “rough stoic of the woods" soon banished all feelings of melancholy and gloom, and was happy. He speaks of his situation at this period as perfectly delightful. He was completely charmed with the beauties of the forest, while he forgot that its thickets of green concealed the painted savage.
Thus, in a second paradise, was a second Adam, or, if the language be too strong, a sort of Robinson Crusoe, in the howling wilderness. Buffaloes and deer were his companions by day, and he tells us he was sometimes diverted by the dismal howling of wolves and the screaming of blood-thirsty panthers around his camp at night. He was seen roaming through the forest on a certain occasion by a band of Indians, who pursued him with all the eagerness of a blood-hound. When he reached the brow of a hill, where grape vines were hanging from the trees, being well nigh exhausted, a happy thought occurred to him. Seizing hold of a vine, and bracing his feet against a tree, he sprang as far as he could, and thus broke the trail, and his pursuers were compelled to give up the chase.
While out hunting on another occasion, he fired at a bear, but the ball did not take effect. The hunter and his game, on this occasion too, met. The bear laid her paws upon him-drawing his hunting knise, be pointed it to the heart of the fondling animal, and as she grasped him the dagger entered her body and she fell dead.
Thus did Boone continue to roam over these pathless woods, killing wild animals, and, like other discoverers, giving names to heights, plains, and waters, until July, when his brother returned with an abundance of ammunition and two horses.
[To be continued.]
And now, kind readers, having by the assistance of our obliging contributors so nearly completed the allotted pages of our Magazine, nothing remains to be done by us, except, with a very gracious doffing of our Editorial cap, to bid you a polite good morning, to say as many pleasant things in the interim as we possibly can, and finally, to bow an adieu. If you have borne so far leniently with us, we are most happy to thank you, and can only hope that the same charity may extend even to the end.
Since our last little confab, you have been doubtless tasting of all the enjoyments of that pleasant festival, a New England Thanksgiving. That day of happy meet ings, of social fire-sides, of merry family circles, of long tables laden with all the good things of the land, huge turkeys and vast pies, and the many little dainties peculiar to the skillful cookery of Eastern house-wives. But we would not have you interpret these few words as an attempted description of this “ day of days"-we have only sought, by its bare mention, to recall to your recollection pleasant memories~"Forsitan haec olim meminisse juvabit.”
Or now, perhaps, forgetful of the joys of the past in the cares of the present, you are looking forward in bright anticipation, (as we are, when our editorial la bors shall be ended,) to other festal days. To Christmas, the jubilee of " Merrie England," with its gay carols and its festive wreaths—(we hope the printers will not make us speak this a day after the fair)-or to New Year, with its kind congratulations and its pretty smiling faces--and wishing of each of these days that the one may be merry for you, and the other happy, we will relinquish the pleasant themes upon which we might much longer dwell, and give you as a substitute a short sketch of the sayings and doings of our conclave.
We are indebted, (as one of our predecessors has already informed you,) chiefly to the records of the very faithful Secretary of the Club, for the short sketch which we shall give you.
MIDNIGHT—December. Four fifths of the Club had been some minutes assembled, impatiently awaiting the arrival of their Chairman-already had they refilled their pipes, and as the clock slowly tolled the hour of twelve, were busily suggesting reasons for this unwonted delay, when the heavy tread of Hal was heard without, and the members rose to receive him. As he entered the sanctum, it might have been observed that a most unusual expression of sorrow and despondency was settled upon his countenance-indeed, so marked was it, that it became at once the subject of general comment. One thought it was ascribable to recent disappointment, (perhaps in the way of contributions,)--another, that it was owing to liquor-a third, to love-and Lean Jack ventured a villainous pun upon it. Notwithstanding all this, however, and without deigning the slightest explanation, Hal took his chair and called the Club to order. " Gentlemen," said he, rising slowly and sorrowfully, “Gentlemen, I am sad, lamentably sad. You have already discovered my sadness, but not its cause, and I have to request of you that you will use all convenient dispatch in transacting the business of the eveningno fol de rol, I beseech of you, gentlemen--no detestable punning--no uttering of such aggravating sentiments as those in which you sometimes indulge—commend me to the life of an editor,' &c. It is insult to injury—be plain-spoken and expeditious. There are twenty-eight pieces for your present consideration, three in prose and the remaining twenty-five in verse--dispose of them with all possible dispatch.”
At the close of this amiable declamation, Lean Jack rose and proposed that something be procured to soothe the apparent distress of their Honorable Chairman-some balm, some lotion, an opiate, a little laudanum perhaps, or if more agreeable to the gentleman himself, a little brandy.
This motion was loudly seconded by Hotspur, but was not put to the Club, the Chairman crying order.
The first article offered by Hal to the notice of the Club, was a prose essay of fifteen pages, entitled “Love,” a tale of the imagination. The reading of the piece had been continued through some ten pages, when Hotspur suggested (Bardolph and Lean Jack assenting) that it be thrown aside as rejected. At this proposition, King Jowl, who had manifested sundry evidences of painful anxiety during its perusal, laying down his pipe, rose and said —“Gentlemen, and fellow-Editors, I am sorry to perceive a fresh outbreak of this fearful spirit of hypercriticism, which has been weekly increasing with you. Gentlemen, it is an accursed, a damnable spirit—it is at variance with all those god-like feelings of sympathy and humanity, which should fill the Editorial breast. I shudder, as I reflect that I am the Editor of the next Magazine, at the probably fatal consequences of the course you are adopting—I gaze with horror as I seem to see a whole eternity employed in its publication-I know, gentlemen, I am fully aware that we must be strict and rigid, that we must have a high standard of taste and excellence for the literature of our Magazine, but still there must be a limit to this strictness and this rigor--we must avoid extremes, if possible, and choose that golden mean where virtue is. Such remarks as these have been drawn forth from me at this time, gentlemen, by the unexpected rejection of this tale on · Love.' I dissent most decidedly to your decision. Gentlemen, I know the author of that piece. I know him as a man of exalted sentiment and feeling—and having advised him to present this piece, I may be expected to feel some interest in its fate. It seems to me (reluctant as I am to say it) that our Chairman has done it no justice—that he has sadly marred its beauties. Consider, for a moment only, a few of its more excellent
assages—is there not truth and real feeling in the lover's fervent speeches, and the loved one's modest blushing, replies? Is not the fanaticism of love, which beautifully unites at times the ridiculous and the sublime, most faithfully portrayed, as on bended knees the lover swears to his mistress, that he would rather be her eyebrow than a king ? Or is there not a rare combination of simplicity and sentiment exhibited in the fieldscene, where he plucks the little butter-cup, that flower of love, and asks his fair one to wear it for his sake? Gentlemen, perhaps in the excitement of the moment I may have forgotten myself, but experience, (said the senior member, rising with the enthusiasm of the sentiment to his full height, and folding his hands upon his heart while his eyes were upturned to heaven,) but experience, gentlemen, has taught me to sympathize with such feelings
Love holds dominion o'er my breast,
And all my senses doth enslave.'
No remarks were made, but the glowing appeal of the gentleman had been useless, and when the question was submitted for decision, his solitary aye alone prevented a unanimous condemnation.
Hal immediately seized upon one of the remaining prose pieces, an article of thirtytwo pages in length, and was preparing to read it, when Lean Jack, who had been for several moments very intently engaged with a short specimen of poetry, which he had extracted from the huge pile upon the desk, rose and begged a few moments indulgence from the club. “Gentlemen,” said he, " I rise to commend to your favorable consideration the verses which I hold in my hand. I have two reasons for rising-first, because I think that the contribution in question deserves especial notice; and secondly, because I fear, as has been previously suggested, although on both occasions with extreme reluctance, that full justice may not be awarded it by the reading of our Hono. rable Chairman. The poem is a mournful, nautical ballad. For myself, I have long felt and mourned for it while feeling, that there has been such a deplorable want of this species of literature to diversify and enliven the monotonous pages of our Magazine. I am free and willing to confess, that I love the sea,
"The deep, dark-green, the rolling seaits mariners and their songs. There is in them a most bewitching bluntness and frankDess of manner and feeling. It is nature, pouring itself forth in free and spontaneous gushes, unrestrained and unobstructed in its course, by the dams and floodgates of poetic rules and metres. But I forbear further comment, useful or pleasant as it inight be, and will present the poem immediately to you. It is styled