d his means of
execution, at least, "he who aims at the sun," though he may lose his
arrow, "will not strike the ground." He is a great projector--but he is
eminently practical, as well as theoretical; and if _he_ cannot realize
his visions, no other man need try.

He is restless and migratory. He is fond of change, for the sake of the
change; and he will have it, though it bring him only new labors and new
hardships. He is, withal, a little selfish--as might be supposed. He
begins to lose his attachment to the advantages of his home, so soon as
they are shared by others. He does not like near neighbors--has no
affection for the soil; he will leave a place on which he has expended
much time and labor, as soon as the region grows to be a "settlement."
Even in a town, he is dissatisfied if his next neighbor lives so near
that the women can gossip across the division-fence. He likes to be at
least one day's journey from the nearest plantation.

I once heard an old pioneer assign as a reason why he must emigrate from
western Illinois, the fact that "people were settling right under his
nose"--and the farm of his nearest neighbor was twelve miles distant, by
the section lines! He moved on to Missouri, but there the same
"impertinence" of emigrants soon followed him; and, abandoning his
half-finished "clearing," he packed his family and household goods in a
little wagon, and retreated, across the plains to Oregon. He is--or was,
two years ago--living in the valley of the Willamette, where, doubtless,
he is now chafing under the affliction of having neighbors in the same
region, and nothing but an ocean beyond.

His character seems to be hard-featured.

But he is neither unsocial, nor morose. He welcomes the stranger as
heartily as the most hospitable patriarch. He receives the sojourner at
his fireside without question. He regales him with the best the house
affords: is always anxious to have him "stay another day." He cares for
his horse, renews his harness, laughs at his stories, and exchanges
romances with him. He hunts with him; fishes, rides, walks, talks, eats,
and drinks with him. His wife washes and mends the stranger's shirts,
and lends him a needle and thread to sew a button on his only pair of
pantaloons. The children sit on his knee, the dog lies at his feet, and
accompanies him into the woods. The whole family are his friends, and
only grow cold and distant when they learn that he is looking for land,
and thi