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Dissimilar as were their acquirements, Coleridge Eu! What a crowd of pleasing remembrances of being a finished scholar, Lamb, one who had made delightful hours spent with thee throng around our up for his smaller portion of education by the love hearts at the mention of thy name,-a name so well of letters, there seems to have been a syinpathy of fitted to conjure up happy feelings, and gladden the soul between them. Lamb regarded Coleridge with spirits with quaint huinour, and with puns which reverential love for his mighty genius; Coleridge seem, like good old wine, to become racier as they loved Lamb for his genuine simplicity and goodness grow older.
as well as for his overflowing humour. The individual who bore this happy nom de guerre In conjunction with Coleridge and his friend was born on the 18th of February 1775, in Crown Charles Lloyd, Lamb first made his appearance as Office Row, in the Inner Temple. 'He was the third an author in a volume of poetry, published in the son of Mr John Lamb, clerk to one of the benchers / year 1797. This volume, which excited little of the Inner Temple, whose character and habits the attention in the literary world, was yet to Lamb inimitable Elia has so faithfully portrayed.
a matter of some consequence. It introduced Although the parents of Charles Lamb might him to the notice and warm friendship of Robert properly be said to be of humble origin, yet fortune Southey and William Wordsworth, then beginning seemed to compensate for the want of her golden the course they have so honourably trod. favours by bestowing on him, in addition to his In the year following his debut as an author, intellectual gifts, the virtues of contentment, of Lamb composed and published his beautiful tale of gentleness, and purity of sentiments and manner Rosamund Gray, which was favourably noticed in worthy of the gentlest blood. He was educated at the reviews at the time ; and whieh, for depth of Christ's Hospital, which he has immortalized in his feeling, is still so universally admired. Deeply im“Recollections." The delineations he gives of the bued with the love of the old dramatic literature of habits and feelings of the schoolboy are, perhaps, England, which tinged many of his works, and which more a picture of himself than of schoolboys in he may be said to have been the means of reviving general. Remarkable, even at this early age, for the in later days-(as his Tales from Shakespeare to the gentleness of his nature, Charles was a favourite specimens of the old English drama show),-he set with all from the master to the scholar of humblest about the composition of “ John Woodvil," a drama, capacity. Unfitted by the delicacy of his frame, which brought on him the wrath of the Edinburgh and the retiring character of his disposition, for Review. The public were not yet prepared for the mingling in the rough rude sports of his companions, quaint Old English style of a play, written in imitahe yet was loved by all. Lamb's parents, if not tion of the early writers of Elizabeth's reign. Lamb, poor, were perhaps unable to give him that portion in truth, was not ordained to be fortunate as a draof education necessary to give him the dignity of a matic writer, notwithstanding the brilliancy of his wit, scholar. A natural impediment in his speech entirely and the richness of his fancy. The three specimens precluded any hope of the ecclesiastical profession; of dramatic talent which he has left us, like the and while most of his companions were leaving works of many of the greatest in our day, may be school for the higher seats of learning, Charles took read with delight in the closet, while they may hardly his seat at the desk as a clerk in the South, Sea be endurable orche stage. House, in which his elder brother John then held an Mr H— a farce, was brought out at Drury appointment, and shortly after entered the India | Lane ; but, with all the humour which enlivens it, House, where he remained as long as the business of and the puns, which sparkle in almost every senlife demanded his attention. Whatever might have tence, together with the acting of such a man as been his feelings of regret in being thus placed in a Elliston, it was hissed from the stage ; and the situation so apparently at enmity with his tastes, and author, who, with his sister, sat in the front rank of so likely to check his literary aspirations, Lamb the pit, perhaps with the expectation of being called uniformly exhibited that fine spirit of contentment upon to present himself as a successful author, to an and equanimity which formed a prominent point in admiring audience, joined in the general roar, and his character. His filial affection and his scrupulous hissed among the loudest. attention to every filial duty were remarkable. Lamb's fame as an author was now, however, rapidly Never having married, he dwelt through life with an extending. The Reflector, then under the editorship only sister, to whom his attachment was extreme, of Leigh Hunt; the Examiner; and, above all, the -an attachment which brought out the loveable London Magazine, to which he contributed the character of the brother, and the amiable disposition | inimitable Essays of Elia (afterwards published in of the sister, and which was only broken when the two small volumes), brought him into familiar corformer was taken away by the hand of death.
respondence with the first literary men of the age. In the early years of his life his principal associates Among the familiar friends of the select sapper were Jem White (as he was familiarly called by his parties in his chambers of the Temple, he numbered companions) and Samuel Taylor Coleridge ; and Hazlitt, for whom he had a profound respect. In many were the famous nights which the companions one of the Essays in Hazlitt's Round Table, there is an spent together in the study of the old English drama- excellent description of the delights of those famous tists for whom Lamb had formed a great partiality. suppers, where that writer himself might be heard White is described by his friends as a person pos- contesting fiercely for the supremacy of his idol sessed of almost a Shakespearian wit ; and so tho. Napoleon, or for the splendid powers of Edmund roughly was this accomplishment appreciated by Kean; where poets, wits, critics, and clerks from the Lamb that he used all his powers of persuasion to India House, sat entranced by the glowing eloquence bring into repute a small volume which White of Coleridge ; or were stirred to their inmost soul published under the title of “ The Falstaff Letters,” | by his recitation of Christabel, or Kubla Khan. There abounding with what he was pleased to call, the even, the remarkable silence of Godwin broke, very cream of the writer's thoughts. Coleridge, from as he poured forth a stream of wonderful speculation. the time he first became acquainted with the subject in these meetings, the inaterials of many of Elia's of this sketch at Christ's Hospital till his death, may Essays were found; and there the veritable Elia threw be said to have been Lamb's bosom friend.
Tout his pointed sarcasm against popular fallacies.
In the comparatively uneventful life of Lamb, | leaving behind him many sorrow-stricken friends, there were seasons which he marked out as eras in and perhaps not one foe. The gentleness of his the history of his existence. One of these was the nature endeared him to all. To his literary contemsummer vacations, which he very frequently spent pora ies he had been peculiarly endeared, not only in or near Cambridge. He had a particular fancy by the wealth of his intellect, but by the friendly for those venerable seats of learning, where so many feeling and humour of his correspondence. Almost of his schoolfellows and early friends had been all the leading journals of the time bore testimony students; and where many of those whose names he to the worth of his character. Poets mourned him loved to remember, and whose genius he so much in strains of the deepest pathos ; and Wordsworth, in admired, had laid the foundations of their future his immortal epitaph, has conveyed alike the testigreatness. In a sonnet, written at Cambridge, he mony of a familiar friend and the faitnful portrait thus describes his feelings on these occasions :
of “ Mine have been any thing but studious hours;
“A good man, of most dear memory." Yet can I fancy, wandering 'mid thy towers, Myself a nursling, Granta, of thy lap,
Lamb had a particular reverence for the good old My brow seems tightening with the doctor's cap,
time: but it seldom extended farther back than the And I walk gowned."
days of his own childhood ; and though he spoke in Another great epoch in Lamb's life was his retire- enthusiasm of his visit to Wordsworth and Southey, ment (1825) from the India House. For a consider of the glories of Skiddaw and the beauties of Winable time previously, he had had a faint glimmering dermere, yet the lingering love which he had for the idea of his emancipation from the desk. He had dingy alleys and courts of London, rendered him been laving plans for the employment of those great incapable of enjoying a permanent residence out of the hours of liberty. Hitiierto his visits to his more metropolis. “I have shed tears," he said, “ in the distant correspondents had been necessarily few and motley Strand, for fulness of joy at so much life." short ; now, he looked forward to the time when at His very genius seemed linked to the old grey walls Cambridge, at Grasmere, then the residence of of London and its environs. Once he was found by Wordsworth, or at Keswick, where Southey lived, a friend who was sent by his sister to seek him, he might feel all the delights of those unoccupied gazing on the old house in which he was born. forenoons which they had so long enjoyed. After And how touchingly he talks of the South Sea House, all, his restlessness and impatience, the long delayed of the old benchers' of the Temple, indeed, of all that realization of his hopes, broke upon him in a bewil- | interested him in his boyish days. dering manner. It seemed as if it were a dream, As an essayist, Lamb will be remembered with that he had really come home one afternoon from
Steele and with Addison : no writer in the past the India House in the enjoyment of a pension equal century or in the present has so many of the excelto two-thirds of his salary. In a letter to the vener lencies which characterise the Essayists of Queen able Wordsworth, he thus describes his feelings :
Anne's reign. As a poet, he will be remembered for “ The incomprehensibleness of my condition over the staunch Elizabethian style of John Woodvil, and whelms me every year to be as long as three, i. e., the touching beauty of his smaller pieces. As a to have three times as much time that is my own. / critic and periodical writer in general, he stands, Holydays were always uneasy joys, with their con- facile princeps, in all he handled. The air of honest scious fugitiveness. Now, when all is holy day, there simple truth hangs'around all he wrote. As a man, are no bolydays." His feelings on this occasion are he was loved with that ardour which is kindled by beautifully recorded in the “ Superannuated Man," a warm and benevolent heart. Those who have one of the “ Last Essays of Elia.”
known him are still eloquent in his praises And The liberty which Lamb now fully enjoyed added although the olod of the valley must soon cover little to his literary occupations. He had written,
them, as it has covered the theme of their praise, his in his leisure hours, almost all that the world now genuine worth, the good he has done for inankind, possesses of his works. And, saving an occasional and the rich legacy of happy thoughts and gentle contribution to the magazines, and the share which feelings which he has left, may not soon be' forhis benevolent heart prompted him to take in the gotten. Everyday Book of Hone, he wrote little of any notice.
His letters have lately been published, in two The years 1830 and 1834 were peculiarly painful volumes, by Sergeant Talfourd ; and Mr Moxon has seasons to Charles Lamb. The former closed over republished his poems, in one, and his prose works the grave of William Hazlitt, and the latter deprived in three volumes. him of Coleridge. Those melancholy events seem not to have struck him with so much concern at the time as to have sunk deep into his heart ; and ever
LACONICS. after, when the names of either of these distinguished
From the earliest dawnings of policy to this day, the men were mentioned in his hearing, he exhibited
| invention of men has been sharpening and improving the signs of tlie deepest melancholy. Often would he
mystery of murder, from the first rude essay of clubs and start and break off from the theme of some discourse,
stones to the present perfection of gunnery, cannoneering, and cry “ Coleridge is dead !” He had not long to bombarding, mining.-Burke. mourn their loss. In the latter end of 1834, he was / Imaginary evils soon become real ones by indulging called to join them in the world of spirits. A slight our reflections on them; as he who, in a melancholy fancy, injury caused by a stumble while taking his usual sees something like a face on the wall or the wainscot, forenoon walk, produced erysipelas in the head, can, by two or three touches with a lead pencil, make it and ended in his death. He was buried in the look visible, and agreeing with what he fancied.-Swift. churchyard of Edmenton, where he had been re- ! Those beings only are fit for solitude, who like nobody,
are like nobody, and are liked by nobody.—Zimmerman. siding, and in a spot which, but a fortnight before,
Satire is a sort of glass, wherein beholders generally he had pointed out to his sister as the place he wished
discover every body's face but their own, which is the to be the last rest of his mortality.
chief reason for that kind of reception it meets in the Thus, in his sixtieth year, died one of the most world, and that so very few are offended with it. amiable of men, and the most delightful of writers, ' Swift.
The Story Teller.
“To beg, .no, in faith I couldn't do that; I have still a brace of active hands attached to my body."
“Well, and so have I; but with all that we have at last WHAT A MOTHER CAN ENDURE.
been obliged to sell and to pawn every thing, except our
handbarrow, which now stands 'here. We had long A TRUE STORY.
pinched ourselves, and eaten even sour bread, only to buy (Concluded from page 233.)
it. Well, then, if it be God's will let it be done. Would the auctioneer made haste, so that I might be able to
carry bread to my wife and children!” CHAPTER III.
"Here he is; but just tell me, are you still living in WITHOUT any regard to the severe frost, the auctions Winkle-street ? " went on as usual on Friday (market-days). Not far from “Yes, we are." the auctioneer, in the midst of similar objects, a two-wheel The auctioneer at this moment came up to the spot handbarrow was to be seen, and near it a man, who where the distressed workman was standing, and cried looked exceedingly downcast. Crossing his arms on his aloud, “Here, gentlemen! Let people come here who chest, he continued to turn his eyes to and fro from the want to buy handbarrows." A bitter smile overcast the barrow to the auctioneer, who was busied in disposing of features of the workman. other objects. Every now and then the man stamped The two young ladies whispered together on a point impatiently on the ground, as if painful thoughts were that seemed to give them pleasure. tormenting him ; yet he relapsed into deep melancholy, The auctioneer again began : “ Thirty francs for the as soon as his glance fell on the implement which had, handbarrow! Thirty francs! Five-and-twenty! It is until now, enabled him to earn his bread like an honest as good as new; it is giving it away. Well, then, twenty labourer.
francs !" Whilst he was thus plunged in despondency, two young One of the young ladies nodded her head, and the ladies were crossing the market-place with hasty steps. auctioneer continued, “Twenty francs are offered ! One of them must have remarked the agony of grief in Twenty francs, does anybody say more ?" the physiognomy of the workman, for a step further on Now others began to bid, but the young lady outbid she stopped and said to the friend who accompanied her, them all. The auctioneer turned from one to the other “ Didn't you see, Adele, what a world of sorrow is speak- to catch the nods of the bidders. ing from the features of that man yonder ?”
“ One-and-twenty francs! twenty-two, three, twenty* Of which man, my dearest ? "
five, six, seven, twenty-seven! Anybody more! Twenty“Of him who is stamping with his feet; look, how he seven francs! Once, twice- thrice. There is a bargain!" presses his elbows against his sides; I am sure, Adele, The young lady said some words to the assistant of the that man is unfortunate."
auctioneer, who, walking immediately off to his lodgings, “May be, Anna; but it is possible it is only caused by cried out with a powerful voice, "The money will be paid annoying circumstances."
down immediately." “No, Adele; I know that only too well. The real The workman was quick as thought at the house of the misfortune bears a stamp not to be mistaken ; there is auctioneer to get the money; but before hastening home, something in it that attracts the sympathies and the com. just cast one melancholy look on his handbarrow, when passion of a sensitive heart, whilst anger and passion, on he was addressed by one of the young ladiesthe contrary, are repulsive to the looker-on. I am not “My good man, will you have a job ?" mistaken, my dear; that workman is a victim of the long The workman reflected for a moment, and then asked, winter. Only look, his dress is not dirty and ragged ; let “What is your pleasure, madam ?”. us go up to him ; I'll ask him the reason of his sorrow." “We want this handbarrow to be driven home!”
The two young ladies returned to the man; but when “I am sorry I can't do it, I have pressing business of they approached him he was just accosted by another my own." man, who like him, seemed to belong to the class of Anna, who was very kind-hearted, and knew better labourers. Tapping him on the shoulder, the latter said than her friend the ways of poor people, said bastily to to him: “ Well, now, horrid weather, isn't it? Come the man who was on the point of retiring, “We are going along, I'll stand something to keep the cold out."
to Winkle-street." The distressed workman forcibly withdrew his shoulder “Then I can do it, madam, as my way, too, lies in that from the hand which had been laid upon it, but answered direction." not. The other, surprised, looked more attentively in his He pulled the handbarrow forth from amongst the face, and observed the wild looks of his rolling eyes. articles of sale where it was standing, and followed the two “ How, now ?” he cried, “ What's the matter with you, young ladies, who made hastily off. A bitter feeling old fellow ?”
stung his heart, when he reflected that he was now wheelThe answer did not follow so quick but that the two | ing for strangers the barrow that had been his own. young ladies had full time to approach, and better to listen But the certainty that he could now dry up the tears of to what the man, whom they took to be unfortunate, his wife with the money he had received for it, mingled would say.
sweet consolation with his sorrow. He was vexed when A husky voice, interrupted by long drawn sighs, and the ladies told him to stop before a shop. But he had not betraying deep mental agony, at last spoke
long time to wait for the damsels had only been a minute “Now, Gerard, you are talking to me of a dram ; but within when a sack of potatoes, some large loaves of I'd rather die than drink a glass of brandy now! If you bread, and several bundles of wood were loaded on the only knew, my friend, what a distress is mine!”
barrow ; whilst Anna herself placed an earthen jar against These words were uttered with such a deep grief, that the sack. Gerard felt startled, and exchanged his jocular for a more Arrived in Winkle-street, the man asked where the serious tone. He seized the hand of his comrade, and ladies wanted the barrow to be taken to ? asked with evident sympathy, “What is it, friend? You Anna answered deliberately, “Just move on, it is look as if you were dying. Is Theresa dead ?”
somewhat further off !” “No, no, it is not that, Gerard ; but you are our friend, Notwithstanding this direction the man stopped before and so I won't keep it from you. Now, you know, a low door, which Anna recognised as the same she was Gerard, I never was too lazy to earn my bread; and, about to enter in the morning. The man, taking off his thank Heaven, I have always got it until now; but now it's cap, said politely, “Pray, madam, will you kindly permit all over. My Theresa, poor dear soul, it's now two days me to step in here for a minute ?" since she has tasted a morsel; our Johnny is dying of Permission being granted, he opened the door and hunger, and the baby is perhaps dead already; the life went hastily in ; but the ladies followed closely on his of its mother is dried up from hunger and cold! Indeed, heels, and rushed with him into the chamber. Gerard, only to think of it drives me to desperation. An icy shudder shook Anna and her friend. The Would you be able to beg, Gerard ?”
scene which presented itself to their view, was enough to make one's blood run cold. The young mother, who had are well aware how much you have suffered from hunger sat near the bed, lay senseless on the stone, her eyes shut, and cold, and what grief it would give you if you were her lips livid, and her head leaning backwards on the reduced to the necessity of begging; since, like honest, corner of the bed, like a corpse. The little boy had seized hard-working people, you would rather earn your bread the dangling arm of his mother, and at the very moment by the sweat of your brow. Such principles must be rethe two young ladies entered with the father, exclaimed, warded; you shall suffer no privations.” "Oh, mother, dear, I am hungry; give me a piece of Here she laid down a handful of money on the table, bread!"
and continued : “Here is money; at the door there are The man, regardless of the presence of Adele and her potatoes, fuel, and bread; all this is yours. Nor has friend, sprang towards his wife, tore his hair, and in in your handbarrow been sold; it is still your property; coherent words sobbingly exclaimed, “Theresa, my un use it to gain a living; continue honest and do not beg. fortunate wife! Lord in heaven, is it possible! Dead, But if hunger and cold should again press upon you, here dead, of hunger and cold! Have we deserved this on | is my name and address written on this paper; you will earth!” With these cries he struck his hand on the always find a friend and supporter in me." table, and seized a knife ; but Anna, perceiving this Whilst Anna spoke, such was the silence that not a movement, jumped up to him, and snatched the deadly breath was to be heard in the chamber; but a flood of instrument from his hand.
tears burst forth from the eyes of the workman and his "Your good wife is not dead !” she cried, “take this, wife. He was unable to utter a word, and only threw a and run quickly for some wine to the next public-house." gaze of astonishment upon the young ladies by turns, as She gave him a piece of money, and pointed to the door, if he would not believe what he heard. When Anna had when he darted off quick as an arrow.
ceased speaking, the mother, overcome by her feelings, Anna took the unfortunate woman in her arms. The dropped down from her seat, crept weeping on her knees noble girl did not mind her silk cloak and velvet bonnet to Anna, seized her hand, and wetting it with her tears being crumpled against the poor clothes of the wretched exclaimed: “Oh! madam, you shall assuredly die a happy sufferer, but tenderly nursed her in conformity with the death ; the Lord will reward you for having entered our divine command of the Saviour, considering this poor house as guardian angels, and saved us from death!” woman dying from misery as her real sister. She took “ Are you happy now, mother?” asked Anna. an orange from her pocket, and squeezed the juice be “Oh, yes, my good lady, now we are happy ; don't you tween the livid lips of the woman, and rubbed her hands see our Johnny jumping for joy near the fire, poor boy! between her own. A cry of joy issued from her breast, and if that innocent lamb which lies here dying was able when at length she saw the mother open her eyes. Nor to speak, it would certainly thank you and bless you !" had Adele contented herself with gazing idly on this At these words Anna ran to the child, and perceiving picture of misery. No sooner had she heard the plaintive that the poor little thing, too, was near the tomb from cry of the hungry little boy, than she fetehed from the want, she beckoned to Adele to depart. The latter delightbarrow the earthen jar and a loaf of bread, and told the ed with the raptures of the little boy, took him up, kissed boy to lay some pieces of wood on the fire. Johnny had his cheek, and then joined her friend. Whilst departing scarcely seen the loaf, when his eyes grew fixed upon it, Anna again said, “Be at ease, my good people, we shall and he once more asked for a slice of bread and butter. presently send a doctor to the suffering babe, and I hope, And such was the emotion of Adele, who in the morning mother, you will see her growing up a joy and comfort had exhibited so lively an aversion to poor people, that to you !” A happy smile beamed at these words on the she took herself the loaf from the table, and put it against features of the parents. Both of them attended their her breast and her fine clothes, in order to cut for the charitable visitors as far as the door, and a gush of thanks little fellow the much longed-for slice, which she forth- and blessings poured from their lips until they lost sight with buttered. “Here, my boy,” she said, “eat as you of their benefactresses. like, you shall no longer suffer from hunger!”
| Anna and Adele walked on for some time without Johnny, in the delight of his heart, seized the slice of speaking å word. Their hearts were too full for them to bread, kissed his hand to express his thanks, and looked give expression to their feelings. At last, after having at Adele with such a sweet expression, that she was silently traversed a few streets, Anna asked: “ Now, dear obliged to turn away, in order to conceal her emotion. Adele, tell me, do you still find the poor people as repulAt the same time the mother had opened her eyes, and sive and disgusting as they are generally thought to be?”. fixed them with inexpressible delight on her eating child. “Oh! no!” said Anna, “I am exceedingly glad at
She was about to give vent to her feelings of gratitude having met you to-day. I feel as if some sacred impulse towards ber benefactress, when the return of her husband had elevated my heart, and it beats with an emotion interrupted her. When, contrary to all his expectations, hitherto unknown to me. I am no longer shocked with he fonnd his wife alive, he hastily placed his bottle on poverty ; didn't you see how I took the little boy on my the table, and flew to her neck, covering her with his lap and kissed him? What a nice, dear child !” kisses amidst a flood of tears; he held her locked in his « Poor Johnny, the tears gushed from his eyes when arms, as if afraid to lose her again, and cried in an ecstacy, he saw you leaving. Well, my love, tell me, is there a "Theresa, my dear wife, are you still alive? Oh, then, greater happiness upon earth than that we now feel ? all is well! I have got the money for our barrow, we Those good people were starving; they raised their hands may eat now, so be of good cheer, my love! Heaven! to heaven and cried to the Lord. We came to them as in all our misery I am still as happy as an angel! Yes, messengers of divine mercy; they knelt before us as my dear Theresa, so I am ; for I never thought that í before angels who announced to them that their prayers should see you again alive !"
had been heard, and whilst thanking us they praised and Anna approached with a cup of wine, and put it to the blessed their Heavenly Father. Oh! Adele, even if our lips of the suffering woman. Whilst she was sipping the lives had hitherto been useless and vain, the tears of cordial, the man threw a glance, full of astonishment, on gratitude shed by these poor people might wash away Anna, and her friend who was standing with Johnny | many of our sins!" near the fireplace, holding the two hands of the child “Say no more," Adele eagerly interrupted her ; “I towards the fire, and saying, “ Just warm your poor frozen quite understand you. I shall henceforth accompany paws, my fine little fellow, and eat quickly your bread, you every day in your visits to the poor, and share in the and I'll give you another piece."
exercise of your charity. Yes; for this is the first day , The man seemed to awake from a dream ; it was as if of my life that I knew the happiness of heaven on earth, he remarked the presence of the two strangers for the first á foretaste of eternal joy. Blessed charity ! how unhappy time: "Ladies," he said, with a faltering voice, “I beg are the rich who do not know thee!-What sweet emotion, your pardon, that I have not yet thanked you for the as. what delightful rapture are lost to them.” sistance which you have bestowed upon my poor wife. It At this moment they turned round the corner of the 13 certainly very kind of you to come to the house of such market-place, and disappeared. poor people, and I offer you a thousand thanks for it.” 1
“My good people,” said Anna, raising her voice, “we! [As intimated in last number, the above is taken from
* Conscience's Sketches from Flemish Life," an elegant | found it deserted. Ile, however, was not yet tired little work, published by Messrs Longman. Amidst in- of the pleasures of the wilderness, nor frightened by discriminate reprints of continental works of questionable its dangers, so, with his companion named Stewart, tendency, it is pleasing to refer to one of such solid he continued to hunt as before, only using greater merit. We owe some apology to the publishers for mak
caution to avoid the Indians. They were soon joined ing so long an extract, but the beauty of the tale would have been spoiled by abbreviation, and we think no work by his brother, Squire Boone, and another man, and is ever injured by one quotation, as instead of preventing
had commenced their winter campaign against the people from buying a book, it only induces them to pur
wild beasts, when Stewart was killed by the Indians, chase it the more readily. When extracts are carried to which so frightened Squire Boone's companion, that such a length as to tend to retard the sale of a book, they he returned to Carolina, leaving the two brothers become unfair appropriation, and should be treated as alone in the forests of Kentucky. such. Abstracts of works come under a different category! There they remained together for more than a year, --what we now refer to is literal quotation; and we think'except in May and June 1770, when the squire it right to state this at the outset of our career for the in-, visited the colonies for a supply of powder and shot, formation of authors, publishers, and our own readers.] while Daniel, without even a dog for company,
---- hunted, travelled, ate, slept, meditated, and enjoyed DANIEL BOONE AND THE PIONEERS OF his leisure. Every day he changed his position, KENTUCKY.
every night he slept in a new place, constantly in
danger, and constantly on his guard, with nothing BETWEEN the southern windings of the Ohio, and the to repay him for his trials, toils, and watchfulness, western slopes of the Alleghanies, lie the richly but freedom, the love of nature, and the excitement wooded and romantic valleys of Tennessee and Ken- of peril. It seems wonderful how he escaped the tucky. Even in the middle of last century, not a' bands of roaming savages ; but his biographers exwhite man's foot had ever disturbed their lone re- plain it in a curious manner. The forests of Kencesses; the axe was yet unheard in their forest wilds, tucky were then filled with a species of nettle which and the rifle of the hunter had not driven the long retained any impression made on it. This buffalo and elk from their favourite haunts by the weed Boone never touched, while the Indians, nusalt-springs. Even the Indians had no fixed dwellings merous and fearless, took no pains to avoid it, and in these forests, but met in them only to chase the he had thus a sure means of tracing the number, bison, or to engage in deadly combat.
situation, and motions of his enemies, without In 1767, one John Finley having crossed the betraying his own. The surface of the country was mountains hy the Cumberland gap, turned north by as if covered with snow for the feet of his foes, but i the Warrior's road, which led through the centre of naked for his own. His favourite resort seeing to the hunting ground to the mouth of the Scioto. He have been the country near Lexington, then covered traded with the Indians for the peltry of the game with a turf like that of an English park, shaded by taken in this wild land, and returned to the colony tall and stately trees, with clear springs gushing well satisfied with his profits. He brought back from every hill, and brooks singing along every with him wondrous tales of the game that crowded valley. Another resort was the salt springs of the these unknown regions, and thus excited a great Blue Licks, now a fashionable watering-place, but sensation among the hunters on the eastern side of then frequented by immense herds of elk and buffalo, the mountains. Among these was Daniel Boone, from ten to twenty thousand of the latter being born in 1732, and at that time about thirty-six years sometimes gathered round the salt-springs. The of age. Daniel was born a hunter, and preferred to ground around was trodden bare by the numerous roam the mountain, and to sleep in a solitary cave, herds, and their forest crossed in all directions by the or by the forest fire, to tilling his farm, or resting buffalo-tracts, the only roads then known. in his own quiet bed. As might be expected, he Though game was plenty in this quarter, yet it was thus a poor man, but strong and active in body, had to be sought with caution, as the hills around cautious, bold, and prompt in mind, with many of were bare and open, and Indian bands frequent in the qualities of the Indian ingrafted on those of the the vicinity. Yet Boone had enough of the skill white man. Boone heard the rumours of the new and courage of the hunter to brave its dangers as the hunting ground, and his heart burned to partake of following anecdote proves. On one occasion he had its enjoyments. He found out Finley, and learned approached the Licking from the west, at the same that of a truth there was a land where buffaloes time that Simon Kenton, another pioneer, reached swarmed like flies in summer, and deer and wild the valley from the east. Each paused to reconturkeys were to be found under every tree. The noitre before leaving the shelter of the woods, and temptation was too strong to resist, so in May 1749, each ascertained that he was not the only visitor, when Finley was about to renew his visit, Boone Then began a trial of skill who should discover the took leave of his wife and children, shouldered his character of the other, whether a white man and rifle, and started with five comrades for the country friend, or an Indian and foe, which continued for of Kentucky.
forty-eight hours, before it terminated to their mutual For five weeks they toiled through the woods and satisfaction, Near this spring he was found by his mountain valleys amidst incessant rain. But in the brother, and with him wandered south, returning beginning of June, Finley told them they had home in March 1771. reached the land of promise, and the herds of buffalo From that time till 1773, Boone remained at home, confirmed the joyous news. So they built them a but on the 25th September of the latter year, he set hut by a forest stream, cleaned their rifles, and pre-out with a band for the far west, where many backpared for the wild campaign. From June to Decem-woods-men had already preceded him. He sold his ber they hunted with great success, but on the 22d farm, and, with his wife and children, was far on his of the latter month, Boone and a companion were way to his destination with five families of his taken prisoners by the Indians, and their four neighbours, and forty men who had joined on comrades retired to the settlements as speedily as the march, when they were assailed by a hand of possible. After a week's captivity, Boone and his Indians. The savages were soon repulsed, but six neighbour escaped, and returning to their camp, of the white men, among them Boone's eldest son,