one of his sons,
enjoying, perhaps, as serene and happy an old age as ever fell to the
lot of mortals. His conversation often gathered charmed listeners around
him, for he had a very retentive memory, and his mind was crowded with
the incidents of his romantic career. It is said that at this period of
his life an irritable expression never escaped his lips. His
grand-children vied with each other in affectionate attentions to one
whom they ardently loved, and of whose celebrity they were justly proud.

Colonel Galloway, the gentleman whose two daughters were captured, with
one of the daughters of Colonel Boone, in a boat by the Indians, which
event our readers will recall to mind, visited Colonel Boone in Missouri
about this time. He gives a very pleasing description of the gentle and
genial old man, as he then found him.

His personal appearance was venerable and attractive, very neatly clad
in garments spun, woven, and made in the cabin. His own room consisted
of a cabin by itself, and was in perfect order. "His countenance was
pleasant, calm, and fair, his forehead high and bold, and the soft
silver of his hair in unison with his length of days. He spoke feelingly
and with solemnity of being a creature of Providence, ordained by heaven
as a pioneer in the wilderness to advance the civilization and the
extension of his country. He professed the belief that the Almighty had
assigned to him a work to perform, and that he had only followed the
pathway of duty in the work he had pursued; that he had discharged his
duty to God and his country by following the direction of Providence."
His stormy day of life had passed away into an evening of unusual beauty
and serenity.

Still he was continually busy, engaged in innumerable acts of kindness
for his neighbors and his friends. He could repair rifles, make and
carve powder horns of great beauty, and could fashion moccasins and
snowshoes of the most approved patterns. His love for the solitude of
the wilderness, and for the excitement of the hunter's life, continued
unabated to the last. He loved to cut tender slices of venison, and to
toast them upon the end of his ramrod over the glaring coals of his
cabin fire, finding in that repast a treat more delicious than any
gourmand ever yet experienced in the viands of the most costly
restaurants of the Palais Royal, or the Boulevard.

Upon one occasion he could not resist the impulse of again going
hunting, though in the eight