general appearance of this wanderer of the Western forests,"
he says, "approached the gigantic. His chest was broad and
prominent; his muscular powers displayed themselves in every
limb; his countenance gave indication of his great courage,
enterprise, and perseverance, and, whenever he spoke, the
very motion of his lips brought the impression that whatever
he uttered could not be otherwise than strictly true."

Mr. Irving tells a similar story of him in his eighty-fifth
year. He was then visited by the Astor overland expedition
to the Columbia. "He had but recently returned from a
hunting and trapping expedition," says the historian, "and
had brought nearly sixty beaver skins as trophies of his
skill. The old man was still erect in form, strong in limb,
and unflinching in spirit; and as he stood on the river bank
watching the departure of an expedition destined to traverse
the wilderness to the very shores of the Pacific, very
probably felt a throb of his old pioneer spirit, impelling
him to shoulder his rifle and join the adventurous band."

Seven years afterwards he joined another band, that of the
heroes who have gone to their rest. To his last year he
carried the rifle and sought the depths of the wood. At
last, in 1818, with no disease but old age, he laid down his
life, after a most adventurous career, in which he had won
himself imperishable fame as the most daring, skilful, and
successful of that pioneer band who have dared the perils of
the wilderness and surpassed the savage tenants of the
forest in their own chosen arts.

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE.

It was night at Boston, the birthnight of one of the leading
events in the history of the world. The weather was balmy
and clear. Most of the good citizens of the town were at
their homes; many of them doubtless in their beds; for early
hours were kept in those early days of our country's
history. Yet many were abroad, and from certain streets of
the town arose unwonted sounds, the steady tread of marching
feet, the occasional click of steel, the rattle of
accoutrements. Those who were within view of Boston Common
at a late hour of that evening of April 18, 1775, beheld an
unusual sight, that of serried ranks of armed men, who had
quietly marched thither from their quarters throughout the
town, as the starting-point for some secret and mysterious
expedition.

At the same hour, in a shaded recess of the suburb of
Charlestown, stood a strongly-built a