were killed, and in a general council, it was deter- | mined to return. Boone seem destined not to reach his earthly paradise, and dozing in security by the fireside, or the westward flowing stream, sighed in vain for the howl of the wolf and the stealthy tread of the Indian. But his time for action had come, the white men were thronging into the woods, driving the natives from their hunting grounds, and murdering them without mercy when they ventured to murmur. War between the white and the red men seemed inevitable, and Boone longed to join in the war dance, for he hated an Indian as heartily as he loved an Indian life. In the spring of 1774 he was sent by the governor, Lord Dunmore, to guide back the surveyors on the Ohio to the colony, which he did with complete success, having travelled by his own calculation eight hundred miles in two months, though the Indian tomahawk was then gleaming bright all along the border. But before the year was over the war with the Shawanese was at an end, and the wilderness again open to the white men. In company with one Henderson, an ambitious man, who had been chief judge in North Carolina, but who had fallen into difficulties, by living, spending, and speculating freely, and some other rich and influential persons, Boone, in March 1775, concluded a treaty with the Cherokees, for the purchase of all the ground between the Cumberland and Kentucky rivers. Boone well knew that the southern Indians had no right to dispose of these lands, and that their title would be resisted by their brethren in the north, with whom peace was hardly concluded. But he had got the pretence he wanted, and set out to take possession, and to open up a way for his companions. For some time his band met with no opposition, but, on reaching the plains, was attacked by the Indians, who killed four of his followers, but were repulsed by the superior skill and prowess of the white men. On the 1st April they reached the Kentucky river, and commenced the construction of a fort, named Boonesborough, which was completed with much labour and danger, the pioneer working with the axe in one hand and the rifle in the other. Henderson, with another party, had followed, and other two stations had been commenced by other pioneers. On the 23d May, delegates from the rising republic met below a vast elm tree, on the banks of the Kentucky river, to decide on articles of union, and laws for the colony of Transylvania, as they named it. A chairman and clerk were chosen, and the meeting opened by prayer by the Rev. Mr Lythe, one of the delegates. They established courts, and passed several laws, which were highly judicious, but rendered vain, by the claim which Virginia set up, to superiority over the whole district. These matters being settled, Boone, in June 1775, returned to the borders for his wife and family, and, in September, brought them, with four other families, to their new home. The party consisted of twenty-seven fighting men, and four women-the first who had ever entered the wilderness-the "mothers of the west." And bold must the women have been who thus ventured into the forest wild, for troubles with the mother country had commenced, and no doubt was entertained that Britain would try to make allies of the savages against her rebellious children. The claims of Virginia, and dissentions among the settlers, were also troubling the new colony. The latter were brought to a happy termination by George Rogers Clark, who had first visited Kentucky in 1775, and returned in the following year to settle. He was energetic, enterprising, and intelligent; well adapted to secure the favour of the wild spirits among whom his lot was cast, to rule their minds, and to guide them out of their difficulties. He was chosen to represent the new state in the Congress at Philadelphia, and, after much labour, succeeded in securing its independence. But meanwhile affairs were looking darker on the frontier. All through the winter and spring, the settlers gathered close round the fortified stations, and scouts came in with rumours of bands of savages seen in the forest. Then parties of rangers would set out in search of them, starting two or three together at daybreak to return before evening. In such parties Boone took no share, but sat quietly by the fireside darning his hunting-shirt, mending his leggings, or casting rifle-balls. But "when day had drawn herself into the shadow of the earth, and the forest paths were wrapped in gloom," noiselessly he would steal out, scarce missed by his comrades round the smouldering logs. And now," they would say, "we shall know something sure, for old Daniel's on the tract." And when he brought back tidings of safety, all slept in peace, assured that danger was still distant. In this way the winter and spring passed, and no Indians came; but when the summer leaves covered the trees, then the scene changed; the forests swarmed with savage bands, the white man was shot down as he ploughed his fields, many farms were abandoned, and more than three hundred emigrants sought shelter in the mountain stations. In July of that year happened one of the most romantic incidents of the border warfare. A daughter of Daniel Boone and two of her companions, about fourteen years old, ventured on the Kentucky river in a small canoe in sight of the fort. They incautiously approached too near the opposite bank, thickly covered with bushes to the water's edge. In these bushes the savages were lurking, and one of them slipped noiselessly into the river, and was lost to sight. Soon, however, the canoe was seen moving as by magic towards the northern bank, and the terrified girls saw the savage who had seized the rope dangling from the prow. "One shriek, and they were beneath the branches, and stout arms seized them, and rough hands closed their mouths, and they were borne away." But that shriek was heard by the watchers in the fort in time to show them the struggling girls and the dark forms of the captors as they bore them away beneath the bushes. A council was held, pursuit determined on, but there was no boat save the canoe on the other side, and no one would venture to swim over for it, when the enemy might yet be lurking in the woods. length the river was crossed, but before they could proceed five miles, the night had come on, and they had to wait till morning. By daybreak Boone had recovered the trail, but it was soon lost in a canebrake, where hours might be spent in disentangling the maze. But hours could not be wasted where life or death, freedom or captivity hung on the right use of every moment. With prompt decision Boone turned to the south, leaving the trail on his left, having already decided from its general direction that the Indians would take their prisoners to the towns on the Scioto or Miami. He travelled with all speed for above thirty miles forward, and then turned north at a right angle, looking carefully for the trail of the marauders. This was a bold and sagacious device, and, the event showed, a fortunate one, for, after proceeding a few miles, they came on the Indian track in one of the great buffalo paths. The white men now pushed on quickly but cautiously, and, after about ten miles, found the Indians half-stripped, and leisurely preparing their dinner. At The keen-eyed savages had seen them almost at the same time; but Boone was too quick for them: he and three of his companions fired at once, and the whole party rushing forward, the Indians fled, leaving their knives, guns, mocassins, and blankets. The three girls were recovered without injury. The whole of 1776, and the following year, was spent in incessant alarms and frequent contests with the natives. In this warfare the colonists received little aid from the eastern states, now deeply engaged in their struggle with the mother country. On the result of this, the resistance of the pioneers had more influence than is generally allowed; for at many seasons of the war, an attack from Canada, aided by the whole power of the Indian nations, might have turned the almost balanced scale. Many are the tales of hairbreadth escapes from the red men which yet survive in the western land, rivalling those which Cooper has recorded in his admirable novels. But we can find room only for one, in which Daniel Boone is again the hero. In 1778, the frontier men had repulsed the savages so often that they began to fear them less. One thing, however, was much wanted-salt, and a party under the guidance of Boone set out for the Licks to procure it. They had to manufacture the salt from the water, and whilst his companions were busy with this employment, Boone acted as hunter and scout. They had sent off the first supply to the forts, when, on the 7th February, Boone came suddenly on a party of above one hundred Indians, and, having in vain tried to escape, was taken prisoner. His companions, twenty-eight in number, met the same fate, and were carried off to an Indian town on the Miami. The British then paid the Indians a price for all the prisoners brought to them, and Boone, with eleven companions, were marched off twenty day's journey to Detroit in the north. His companions were soon resigned to the British, who treated them, he says, with great kindness; but no persuasion would induce the Indians to part with Daniel, with whom they were quite enamoured. He must return with them, and become one of themselves, and accordingly was marched back, and received into the tribe with all due solemnity. He contrived to conceal his dislike to the caresses bestowed on him by his new relations, and took part in their various games. Their suspicions were thus disarmed; he was consulted by the chiefs on important occasions, and, in fine, was sent with a party to the Scioto to prepare salt. They were on their way back, when, at a town on the river, he saw four hundred and fifty warriors, painted, and on their way to attack his old home. Boone was Indian enough to conceal his feelings, but at daybreak of June 16th, left his red friends to mourn his loss, and sped over hill and valley, forty miles a day, for four successive days, with only one meal by the road. He at length reached Boonesborough, but found his wife gone, as his friends told him-"She put into the settlements long ago; she thought you was dead, Daniel, and packed up, and was off to Carolina, to the old man's." Daniel had little time for reflection on his desertion, as the fortress was wholly out of repair for the expected visitors. The whites laboured hard to have all in order for their reception but still they came not, till at length another captive who had escaped told them that the whole expedition had been put off in consequence of Boone's escape, which thus proved the salvation of the forts. Boone then determined to pay a visit to his red relations, and started for the Scioto river, where he had been at salt-making, with nineteen men. He crossed the Ohio, and was within a few miles of the | town he meant to attack, when Simon Kenton, who alone composed the advanced guard, discovered two natives riding on one horse, and laughing at some joke. Simon at once shot, and was proceeding to scalp them, but found himself among a dozen of his foes, from whom he only escaped by the coming up of Boone and the remainder. Spies were immediately sent forward to the town, and found it deserted; from which and other circumstances Boone judged rightly that the savages must be meditating an attack on the settlements. He immediately turned homewards, and on the way passed round a party of five hundred Indians, led by Canadians, marching towards Boonesborough, which he reached only the day before them. On the 8th August, the dusky army sat down before the fort, and Captain Duquesne summoned Boone to surrender. Boone had no desire to revisit his Indian relations, but the cattle, on whom the garrison greatly depended, were all in the woods, so he asked two days for consideration. In this time he drove the cattle home, and then announced his determination to fight. Duquesne next proposed a treaty, to which Boone, anxious to gain time, consented, and left the fort with eight others to meet the leaders of the enemy, taking care, however, to remain within rifle shot. At its conclusion the Indians said it was the custom for two of them to shake hands with every white man, and Boone having gone too far to recede, consented. The warriors seized them with fierce eagerness, but too plainly revealing their treachery; the whites struggled to get free, and a shower of rifle balls from the fort struck down the foremost of their assailants. Amidst the confusion Boone and his companions escaped to the fort, all, except one, unhurt. A regular siege then commenced, which lasted for ten days, when the Indians, having lost thirty-seven of their number and expended a vast amount of powder and lead, retired. The garrison picked up from the ground after their departure, one hundred and twenty-five pounds of their bullets. With a more enterprising leader this invasion might have wrested the whole of the west from the Americans; but the opportunity was lost for ever. In the following years emigrants poured in in numbers, so that all serious danger to the settlements from the Indians was at an end. Their history then becomes less that of individuals, and more that of a political society, and here we shall leave it, at least for the present; only mentioning that Daniel Boone long survived, the patriarch of the west, having died in 1820, eighty-eight years old. AN UNFORTUNATE AUTHOR. ONE evening, some years ago, when the sky was serene and unclouded, when the sun, fast declining, was beautifully crimsoning the west, and the face of Nature was bearing a mild and exhilarating aspect, I was walking Edinburgh, and came up to a man clad in black, and near the old castle of Merchiston, in the near vicinity of rather advanced in years, looking intently upon that ancient and celebrated building. His dress, which had once been good, and was not yet unfashionable, indicated poverty: "the furrowed lines of anxious thought" were visible on his dejected countenance; and I immediately concluded that he had seen better days, and probably "had felt the pangs which worth should never know." I approached him with reverence, and after the usual introductory salutation, entered into discourse with him; by which it soon became apparent that he was a man of a superior mind, and had a heart susceptible of the tenderest emotions. His mode of speaking was deliberate and graceful; and, in the course of our conversation, he frequently expressed his ideas by appropriate quotations from our more esteemed authors, and made some very striking and pathetic observations.-" Many," he suddenly exclaimed, "who are, at this moment, enjoying every happiness which this transitory world can afford, and are prognosticating to themselves many years of success and esteem, will soon be consigned to their mother earth, and the place which knew them once will know them no more at all for ever.' This life is truly uncertain; for of the morrow who can assure us? But while we live, let us do good to society, that we may be looked upon as useful citizens; not," continued he, "to gratify the desire of being celebrated, but of being respected and esteemed. Epaminondas, upon receiving the highest commendations after the battle of Leuctra, nobly declared, that his joy arose principally from the thoughts of the pleasure that his father and mother would feel from the news of his success;' and our great Dr Johnson was indifferent about his reputation, when the dear object of his affections no longer lived to enjoy it. Applause from beloved relations and friends is more acceptable and stimulating than that of the multitude. Every man of any mind pants after honest fame, and endeavours to deserve it. I would rather die inglorious and unknown than be a Voltaire. But who would not wish to be an Addison or a Johnson?" The prepossession of his ingenuous manner, and the amiability of his heart, induced me to express a desire to know his employment and history, which he related nearly in the following words: 66 My parents," said he, "were remarkable only for their poverty, honesty, and piety; and, having a strong tonviction of the advantages of learning, exerted themselves to bestow on me a liberal education. They have both gone the way of all the earth; and to my latest hour I will cherish their memory and imitate their virtues. I have several brothers and sisters, who have all removed from the place of our nativity, and whom, though I sincerely love them, I have seldom the pleasure of seeing. The teacher of my youth, who is still alive, is a man of learning and of worth: he was particularly kind to me, and I can only repay him with gratitude and respect. About thirty years ago I entered college; since which time I have either been employed as a teacher, or have written for the booksellers. The life of a mere author by profession, is far from being enviable: his industry seldom adds much either to his fame or his emolument; and protracted study often brings him prematurely to the grave at the moment when he is forming great literary projects, and anxiously looking forward to honour and celebrity. He may be beneficial to mankind, but it is often at the expense of his own health and quiet; and of all this respectable class, there are few, according to my knowledge, who have not had reason to complain of the delusion of their hopes, and the frustration of their designs. Though I am neither rich nor eminent, I cannot say that I have been altogether unsuccessful. Since I came to Edinburgh, I have written several pamphlets on ephemeral subjects,-contributed, more or less, to almost all the periodical publications,-edited, with notes and illustrations, many valuable works,-and have often been gratified by seeing my anonymous pieces honoured with the reward of liberal approbation. I have generally written for bread, and my subjects were mostly prescribed me by my employers. I have long had in contemplation, and, would my condition admit, will soon have ready for the press, a work, the profits of which, I hope, will secure me, if I live, a tolerable competence, and entitle me to be ranked among those who have enlarged the literature of their country; at least I fondly flatter myself, that my writings will always plead the cause of virtue, and tend to promote the dearest interests of mankind. But why am I speaking about fame which I shall never attain, or which, if I could attain it, I shall never be able to enjoy? Domestic calamities quite overwhelm me. Many years ago, I married the daughter of a long lost friend,-one of the most amiable and dignified of her sex,-whose recent death has unhinged my mind, and rendered me regardless of existence. Most of the companions of my youth are no more. I have few friends whose happiness would be increased by my success, and neither wife nor child to participate my honours. I feel so distracted that I can only walk about and weep. Embarrassments of every kind are crowding upon me; and though I bear my calamities with as mach fortitude as is possible, I doubt the torrent of affliction is become irresistible." Such was his interesting narrative, during the recital of which the tears flowed from his eyes; and I confess I could not listen to it unaffected. After a short pause, I ventured to suggest that he should not cherish such gloomy reflections; that he should mingle with the world, or engage in some great literary undertaking, in order to turn his ideas into a different channel, to overcome his sadness, and ultimately to effect his composure. "Your suggestion," replied he, "is kind, and the remedy you propose would be efficacious in ordinary cases; but a man of letters is a peculiar being. His ideas, it is true, are enlarged and ripened; his mind is stored with imagery and knowledge; but his susceptibilities are acute, and when, for example, in a solitary walk, he either resigns his soul to sorrow, or, as was my case when your goodness prompted you to accost me, allows his thoughts to soar above the world, and to hold high converse with the mighty dead. O lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, At the moment, in truth, when you addressed me, I was in raptures. That edifice was the property of the immortal Napier, one of the brightest ornaments of Scotland,— a building which I often visit, because with it are associated ideas of the most patriotic and ennobling kind. Scotland as a kingdom is now no more, but as a land of scholars, like a rock in the ocean, she stands pre-eminent and alone. "The best of my years are gone, and I have no prospect but that of experiencing the fate of a Savage, a Derrick, or a Heron;* if my name be allowed to be as eminent in literature as theirs, and the tenor of my life to have been virtuous and godly, the time and place of my departure from the world are to me a secondary consideration: Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou liv'st, Live well; how long or short permit to heaven.' The poor unfortunate and I parted with mutual protestations of friendship, and a desire of being better acquainted, and having exchanged addresses with him, “I soon after received a note, requesting me to call at No. 10, Street. I did so, and there found my poor friend stretched on the bed of death. He clasped my hand in his bony fingers, and told me that he had sent for me to make me his literary legatee, and to request that I should see his weary remains deposited in their final resting place. "I have long looked forward to this hour," said he; "and as I have been no burden to the world in life, I shall not be one in death. In my desk will be found as much as will provide for the ceremony • The melancholy lives of Savage and Derrick are universally known. The former, the son of a nobleman, was a poet and dramatist of eminence, and perished in a jail! The latter, a native of Dublin, was a poet and an author by profession-was acquainted with all the literary characters of his age--many a night walked died of a broken heart, overwhelmed with poverty. the streets of London when he had no lodging to go to and at length Robert Heron, the author of a History of Scotland, in six volumes, and many other works, spent a most laborious and unhappy life. In Edinburgh, in which he resided nearly twenty years, he made a very respectable figure as an author, and was intimately acquainted with all the literati of that period. He afterwards went to London, where, after leading a life of dissipation and of irregular study, he died in an hospital. Of him, however, we may say what Johnson said of Savage:-" The reigning error of his life was, that he mistook the love for the practice of virtue; and was not so much the good man as the friend of goodness." in a humble way; and as for my papers, they contain what may interest you, if they do not instruct othersthey have cost me much labour, and I would not have them lost." The entrance of the medical attendant prevented farther conversation. I called next day, but found that he had died on the previous evening, and that his wounded spirit had at length found release from the cares and sorrows of this world of tears. Soon after his death I had to go abroad, but having leisure now, I intend offering some of poor -'s papers for publication in this work. THE HORSES AND BUFFALOES OF OREGON. THE boundary question regarding the partition, or rather occupation of Oregon, since America will have it all, has been thoroughly discussed; but we still desiderate minute information regarding its internal resources, and this we are glad to find copiously supplied in a small work, entitled "The Oregon Territory,' by the Rev. C. G. Nicolay, forming one of the numbers of Knight's Weekly Volume. We cordially recommend it, and extract the following account of the horses and buffaloes of this important region: "When an Indian wishes to increase the number of his working horses, he mounts the fleetest he has, and, lasso in hand, rushes into the band of wild animals, throws it upon the neck of the chosen one, and chokes him down, and while in a state of insensibility ties the hind and fore feet firmly together. When consciousness returns, the animal struggles violently, but in vain, to get loose. His fear is then acted upon by throwing bear-skins, wolfskins, and blankets at his head, till he becomes quiet; he is then loosened from the cords, and rears and plunges furiously at the end of a long rope, and receives another introduction to bear-skins, &c. After this he is approached and handled, and if still too wild, he is again beat with blankets and bear-skins as before, until he is docile. The captive is then initiated into the mysteries of the bridle and saddle, and, after the same mode practised in South America, frequently forced at full gallop by the armed heel' until thoroughly'subdued.' "In this mode of horse-breaking the Indians are most admirably proficient, and by it they make of the wild horse the most pleasant, docile, and fearless animal in existence. Of their speed and powers of endurance some estimate may be formed from the following story, related by Mr Cox:-'In the spring of 1813, before the dissolution of the Pacific Fur Company, while I was stationed at Spokane House, with Mr Clarke, he received a letter from Mr Farnham, who had charge of the party sent to the Flatheads, stating that he had arrived at the Flathead portage, a distance of seventy-two miles from Spokane House, where he should be obliged to remain a few days to recruit his horses; that his trading goods were exhausted, and that he was entirely out of tobacco; that a party of Flatheads were following them with a quantity of valuable skins; that his rival Mr M'Donald, was also unsupplied with tobacco; that whichever of them got the first supply of that article would, by treating the Indians to a grand smoking match, succeed in getting the produce of their hunt, and that in order to attain their object it was absolutely necessary the tobacco required should be with him that night, lest the natives should go over in a body to Mr M'Donald, with whom they had been longer acquainted. 666 It was eleven o'clock in the forenoon when this letter reached us, and Mr Clarke thought it impossible for any horse to go a distance of seventy-two miles during the remainder of the day; at all events he knew that none of the Company's horses were fit for such a task, and was about giving up the idea as hopeless, when I offered to undertake it with a celebrated horse of his own, named 'Le Bleu.' The case was important; a blow was necessary to be struck; and although he prized the horse above all his chattels in the Indian country, he at once determined to sacrifice his private feelings to the interests of the Company. Two men were selected to accompany me, and orders were given to catch 'Le Bleu.' He was a noble animal, between fifteen and sixteen hands high, seven years of age, admirably built, and derived his name from his colour, which was dappled white and sky-blue. He was also a prime racer, and had beaten all his competitors on the turf. Owing to the delay occasioned by catching the horses, we did not start till twelve o'clock. I remained in company with the men the first two hours at a slight canter; after which I took the lead at a handgallop, and quickly lost sight of them. I followed an excellent and well-beaten pathway for upwards of sixty miles through the Pointed Heart plains, but late in the evening it brought me to a wood, through which it runs for a distance of ten miles, when it terminates at the portage. "Shortly after entering the wood night overtook me, and I several times lost the pathway, which, owing to the darkness and a quantity of fallen trees and brushwood, became exceedingly intricate. The sagacity of my horse, however, extricated me from these 'égaremens,' and a little after eight o'clock I emerged from the forest, and was delighted at the cheering appearance of a range of fires along the banks of the river. Le Bleu,' who had been for some time drooping, on seeing the light, knew his task was at an end, and galloped up in fine style to Mr Farnham's tent, when he was immediately let loose to regale himself on the prairie. I had brought a few fathoms of thick twist tobacco with me, on hearing which the Indians crowded round us, and in a few seconds each man's head was enveloped in clouds of smoke. They promised that we should have all their skins; but in order to make assurance doubly sure, we requested them to bring their respective packages to the tent and deposit them therein until morning. This was at once complied with, after which smoking_recommenced. About two hours after, two of our rivals came in with a quantity of tobacco; they had started from Spokane House shortly after us, but were never able to overtake the gallant Bleu. They were much better acquainted with the intricacies of the pathway through the wood than I was, and if their horses had been equal to mine, it is very probable the result would have been different: they were much chagrined at our success, and on taxing the Indians with having deserted them for strangers, they replied, that being the first to satisfy their hungry cravings after tobacco, they could do no more than give us the preference; but added that they would punctually pay them any debts which they had contracted with Mr M'Donald, which promise they_faithfully kept. About midnight the two men whom I had left behind me reached the encampment; they also were for some time lost in the wood, and, like myself, were obliged to depend on the sagacity of their horses to set them right. 66 6 We returned to Spokane House by easy stages, but I did not ride the Bleu. In less than a week after he was perfectly recovered from the fatigue of his journey, and in the summer of the same year beat the fleetest horses of both Companies on the race-course.' "It should be remarked that the Indian horses are not shod, and owing to this circumstance the hoofs, particularly of such as are in constant work, are nearly worn away before they are ten or eleven years old; they are never taught to trot, but their pace is a canter or handgallop. The Indians ride them with hair-rope bridles and padded deer-skin saddles, which are not only severe, but cruel in their operation. Their average price may be stated at L.2, and they unite in herds of sometimes three or four thousand. In the south their increase is so rapid, that in 1812 the Spaniards at San Francisco were obliged to kill thirty thousand to procure grass for the buffalo, the fat of which is a staple commodity. It is killed in immense numbers for the sake of its skin, and on the great prairies still more for food, where the skin and bones and inferior parts are left for the birds and the wolves. The rapidity with which the buffaloes are disappearing is remarked by all travellers in the western prairies; two circumstances combine to their destruction; "But to this large number must be added those killed without their skins being taken. The Camanchees, whose country abounds in buffalo, trade in skins, and the greatest number killed on the prairies is during the summer months, when their skins are valueless to traders, as it is only from November to March that they are fit for dressing the skins of bulls are never taken or dressed. From these data some notion may be attained of the number killed annually. West of the Rocky Mountains, the buffalo is now only found to the south of the Great Pass; formerly the hunting-grounds extended over all the south and west head-waters of the Columbia as far as the Dalles. It is probable, however, that the period of their first crossing the mountain is not very remote, as in the region to the west the great highways' made by them in passing from river to river or across the mountain ranges are never met with. The Snake Indians attribute their crossing to the American trappers. To the south, on the Colorado and head-waters of Rio del Norte, they never extended any considerable distance. At the present time they are for the most part confined to a very limited range along the east base of the Rocky Mountains, sometimes extending into the plains of the Platte and Arkansas, and along the eastern frontier of Mexico as far as Texas. Of the animal productions of Oregon the fur-bearing animals are at present of most importance, their skins forming the staple trade of the territory; but many considerations combine to induce the conclusion that it will not long continue so: indeed the operations of the Company by which it is carried on impress this forcibly upon the mind; for while in its conduct economy is the order of the day, and the receipts are said to be on the decrease, insomuch that the expense of procuring the fur is not much exceeded by the proceeds of its sale, the farming and grazing operations of its offspring, the Puget's Inlet Agricultural Society, are carried on with much spirit, and it has its agents not only in England, but in California and the Sandwich Islands. Latterly, however, the Company has reduced the expenses of collecting furs by supplying the trapping parties with food from the Company's farms. The present annual value of the furs exported from the Columbia has been very differently stated; it may, however, safely be reckoned as between forty and fifty thousand. This is, however, a large amount when the smallness of the means employed is considered. The number of the Company's forts has been already stated as about thirty. It has on the coast six vessels and a steamer, and its immediate servants and dependants do not probably exceed fifteen hundred. "But whatever be the state of this branch of trade at present, it cannot continue long in it. Every new settler' every fresh location, reduces, if but a little, the number of fur-bearing animals; and though the marten tribe, frequenting principally the mountainous districts, especially New Caledonia, may continue to be, for some time, of importance in commerce, the beaver and all animals inhabiting the more fertile districts must soon become extinct. That this is the inevitable consequence of the occupation and cultivation, the constant occurrence of deserted beaver-dams and entire absence of the animal itself from the eastern shores of the continent, sufficiently prove, and it therefore becomes probable that at no distant period the fur-trade of the Oregon will be carried on in the smaller animals only. "It is, however, obviously the policy of the Hudson's Bay Company to prevent this, and accordingly great care is taken not to exhaust any district by over hunting; so that, when the fur-bearing animals have become scarce in any particular locality, the post established there is temporarily relinquished; and so strictly is this policy adhered to, that Lieutenant Wilkes exonerates even their migratory trapping parties in Lower Oregon and the borders of California, and round Fort Hall, from the blame which has usually attached to them of killing all fur-bearing animals without respect to age, although they cannot hope to retain those districts long in their own hands. "One source from which skins may be obtained has been as yet comparatively untried. The coast swarms with amphibious animals of the seal kind, known by the vulgar names of sea-lion, sea-elephant, and sea-cow; but, above all, with the common seal: the traffic to be derived from these in skins, oil, &c., could not but be lucrative. To this may be added the whale-fishery, both the black and spermaceti whales being found in the North Pacific, and from which large supplies of oil and cetine may always be obtained." 66 we. NEWSPAPER PUFFING. DURING the height of the late railway excitement, the speculating world was thrown into consternation by a rumour, that certain newspapers had gratuitously received allocations in given lines, on the understanding that they were to puff these lines in leading articles, copiously adorned with the editorial "The age was not prepared for such unblushing profligacy, and loud were the protestations made against it; and not the least indignant of the parties concerned were the newspaper editors themselves, who disclaimed the venality in terms both "loud and deep." Their disclaimer and the public indignation corroborates the existence of this curious principle in human nature, that error, which is deliberately indulged or tolerated in one class of cases, is at once denounced and reprobated when alleged to exist in others. Thus, the newspapers have, from time immemorial, inserted hired puffs of new books the editors persevering in the traffic, and all the time harping on independence in other matters; while the public stands tamely by and says nothing. It would be difficult to show wherein the dishonesty of this differs, except in degree, from the unprincipled puffing of railways which all parties denounce. A. invests money in a certain line of railway. B. does the same in a certain book. A. is threatened with opposition, so is B. A goes to the newspaper and says, "Here is a paragraph lauding my line, put it into your paper, and I will send you "No," says the editor, a monster advertisement." "that would not be honest." B. goes to him and says, "Here are certain puffs of my publications, insert them, and you shall also insert my advertisements." "Thank you," replies the grateful editor. That there may be no mistake about such matters, from one of the most respectable newspapers in the we insert four specimen puffs, bona fide, selected empire, nothing being altered except the suppression of names: PUFF 1.-"The Qof D- -, (sister of George III.,) an historical novel, edited by Mrs GConsiderable interest has been excited by the announcement of the above tale of royal life, edited by the most popular of our female novelists. We understand that the work possesses startling claims to public attention, not only as a well told and interesting story, but as a most curious and credible narrative of historical events of the highest interest, and a faithful picture of the manners of the court of Christian VII. So truthful are said to be the style and sentiments, that instead of feeling ourselves to be perusing a novel, or even a romantic series of historical memoirs, we could fancy 'the Q of |