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 stream. 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 canebrake 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

Will blanch a faithful cheek."

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 Idid not take effect. The hunter and his game, on this occasion too, met. The bear laid her paws upon him-drawing his hunting knife, he 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.

F.

[To be continued.]

EDITORS' TABLE.

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 labors 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 evening— no 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 passages 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.'

Pardon my indiscretion, but in your mercy grant my request."

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.

64

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 w moment's 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 Honorable 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 sea'

its mariners and their songs. There is in them a most bewitching bluntness and frankness 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 night be, and will present the poem immediately to you. It is styled

'POOR BESSY'S LAMENT.'

"Tell me, ye jovial sailors' tell me true,

Does my sweet William sail among your crew?'

All upon the beach a poor girl was weeping,

Weeping for her true love, weeping all alone:

He had sailed in a big ship, on a voyage bound to Pekin,

And had not been heard from since he left home.""

"Je-hu," shouted Hotspur, with so long an emphasis upon the first syllable of his exclamation, that we shuddered for its conclusion.

"This is trifling with the dignity of the occasion," said King Jowl, "and I move, Mr. Chairman, that the Editor be called to order."

"Order, order, sir," cried the infuriated Chairman, while Lean Jack resumed his seat, enraged and embarrassed.

"I move that the remaining articles of poetry be immediately consigned, unhonored and unsung,' Mr. Chairman, to the coffin," said Bardolph, with his characteristic aversion to "rhyming nonsense," as he styled the efforts of our College bards. "No, no," exclaimed several voices simultaneously. Hear them, let us hear them." And Hal accordingly picked up several. First, "The Lyre," eight verses of fraternal love, was offered but rejected; a poem without fault and without merit. Then followed "Lines to a Friend," by Lamba, a bad eulogy upon Virtue, Happiness, and Peace. It is noticed in our Table as its ambitious author requested, very poor grist," ground in a very bad mill-" Lines to the Young Ladies who attend the Chemical Lectures," and the mournful ditty of the "Old Horse upon the Green," were also respectfully declined. Fifteen different effusions to Mary," each worthy of a Chatelar, were decently placed in the coffin. But a truce to poetry.

66

Hal then resumed the article, which had been temporarily laid aside, to give opportunity for Lean Jack's unhappy effort. It was headed, "A Few Thoughts upon the Sub-Treasury and Finance in general."

King Jowl said, that he did not think it was necessary to read the article, as however excellent it might be, he should for one object to its political character; and Hotspur swore, (not profanely, of course,) that it would undoubtedly put him to sleep, for he hated money-matters most bitterly. Bardolph, however, rose and requested the attention of the Club for a few moments; (a great many wry faces, as Bardolph was the Treasurer of the corps.)

"I have long forborne, gentlemen," said the officer and Editor, slowly and distinctly, "to mention so uninteresting a subject, as must necessarily be, the finance of our Magazine. There are in it alike many bright and many dark spots. We have, I rejoice to say, quite a large list of subscriptions, which if promptly and punctually paid, will be adequate to defray all expenses; (loud cheers from the corps :) but, (great and sudden silence,) I fear, gentlemen, lest, as in years previous, many of these may be unpaid, and the deficiency consequently fall heavily upon us. I therefore would propose, in order to secure this payment, that we require every subscription to be paid on or before the delivery of the third number of the present volume of this magazine, or its delivery be discontinued." (Cries of good, good; and the law was unanimously passed.) I propose, also, gentlemen, provided a sufficient number of paying subscribers can be procured, that we issue the portrait which we have so long promised. (This was also acceded to.) And finally, gentlemen, I would suggest, as an action worthy of the kindness and extended liberality of ourselves, that we collect all the back numbers of our cherished Magazine; and having bound them in fine cloth, with gilt edges, that we present them, as a species of hereditary bequest, to the future Editors of the Periodical. The expense for each editor would not exceed fifteen dol”—— We heard no more; suddenly the lamp was overturned, a hurried scampering and shuffling of feet, with now and then an oath, succeeded, and the Editorial chamber was as still and dark as the grave. Whether or not Bardolph completed his speech, what was the nature of his feelings, or what his subsequent actions, we are not informed. We presume, however, that as soon as he recovered from the shock to his self-possession, he followed his associates in their adjournment. Reader! a hasty GOOD BYE.

NOTE. We have been reluctantly compelled, by want of room, to omit many things which we had prepared for insertion in our Table,-our Literary Notices, a sketch of the Grand Jubilee of the College Temperance Society, words to Correspondents, chitchat with readers, &c.-EDS.