white woman."

It was after such an experience as we have endeavored to paint by the
simple tale of his life thus far, that Kit Carson longed, once more,
to look upon and mingle with civilized people. For some time before
he determined to visit the United States, this desire had taken
possession of his mind and had been growing stronger. The traders of
the Fort were accustomed, yearly, to send into the States a train of
wagons, for the purpose of transporting their goods. The opportunity,
therefore, presented for Kit Carson to gratify his wish. In the spring
of 1842, one of these caravans started with which Kit Carson traveled
as a supernumerary. When it arrived within the boundary lines of the
State of Missouri, he parted from his _compagnons de voyage_ and went
in quest of his relatives and friends, whom, now, he had not seen for
over sixteen years. The scenes of his boyhood days, he found to be
magically changed. New faces met him on all sides. The old log-cabin
where his father and mother had resided was deserted and its
dilapidated walls were crumbling with decay. The once happy inmates
were scattered over the face of the earth while many of their voices
were hushed in death. Kit Carson felt himself a stranger in a strange
land--the strong man wept. His soul could not brook either the change
or the ways of the people. While he failed not to receive kindness and
hospitality, to which his name alone was a sufficient passport among
the noble-hearted Missourians, nevertheless, he had fully allayed his
curiosity, and, as soon as possible, bid adieu to these unpleasant
recollections. He bent his steps towards St. Louis. In this city he
remained ten days; and, as it was the first time since he had reached
manhood that he had viewed a town of any magnitude, he was greatly
interested. But, ten days of sight-seeing wearied him. He resolved
to return to his mountain home where he could breathe the pure air of
heaven and where manners and customs conformed to his wild life and
were more congenial to his tastes. He engaged passage upon the first
steamboat which was bound up the Missouri River.

We cannot resist the impulse which here struggles for utterance. Look
upon that little steamboat as it ascends the mighty Missouri bearing
in its bosom the man who was destined to point out the hidden paths of
the mighty West; to mount and record the height of the loftiest peak
of the American monster mountain chain; to unfold the riche