Last Days of Colonel Boone—Reinterment of the Remains of Himself and Wife at Frankfort—Conclusion.

The hunting days of Colonel Boone at last came to an end. He had passed his three score and ten, and the iron limbs and hardy frame were compelled to bend before the infirmities of age, to which Hercules himself must succumb in the end.

So long as he was able, he kept up his hunting expeditions in the wood, but on one occasion, he was taken violently ill, and made his preparations for death, his only companion being the negro boy, who had been with him many times before.

He was brought to recognize at last the danger of going beyond the immediate reach of his friends, and for ten years he did not do so.

He was held in great affection and respect by his numerous friends and relatives, and he was a more than welcome visitor at the hearthstone of each. The harsh treatment received at the hands of the government could not embitter such a sweet nature as his, and he showed no resentment over the fact that the land upon which he had toiled in the vigor of his early manhood, and whose labors had made it exceptionally valuable, passed to the hands of a stranger without cost or claim. As the stream of life neared the great ocean beyond, it assumed a serene and majestic flow, which comes only from the assurance that no storms are awaiting the bark which has been tossed so long on the waves of suffering, danger and disaster.

In the summer of 1820, the well known American artist, Chester Harding, visited Boone and painted an excellent portrait of him. The old pioneer was so feeble that he had to be supported by a friend while sitting for the likeness.

Boone at this time made his home with his son-in-law, Flanders Callaway, and he was continually visited by distinguished citizens and foreigners, who, having heard of the exploits of the explorer of the wilderness, hastened to look upon him ere the opportunity should pass forever.

Some years before his death he had his coffin made, and kept it in the house. His temperate habits, the active out-door life of his earlier days, and his regard for the laws of health, naturally resulted in a ripe old age, marked by the gradual decay of the vital powers, and unaccompanied by any pain, as should be the case with all mankind.

It was not until the month of September, 1820, that the premonition of his coming end unmistakably showed itself. He was attacked by a species of fever, which did not prove severe, for he soon recovered, and afterward visited his son Major Nathan Boone. He was attacked again, was confined to his bed three days, and peacefully passed away on the 26th of September, in the eighty-sixth year of his age. The legislature of Missouri was in session at the time, and as soon as the news reached it, adjourned, after passing a resolution that its members should wear the usual badge of mourning for twenty days.

He was laid by the side of his wife, who died a number of years before, an immense concourse attending the funeral. There the remains of the two lay for a quarter of a century, when an interesting ceremony took place.

The consent of the family having been obtained, the coffins were disinterred and removed to Frankfort, Kentucky, and there placed in the new cemetery.

The ceremonies were touching and impressive. Nearly three quarters of a century had passed since the daring hunter and pioneer, in the flush of early manhood, had threaded his way through the trackless forests from the Old Pine State, and, crossing mountain and stream, braving all manner of dangers, had penetrated the solitudes of Kentucky and laid the foundation of one of the grandest States of the Union.

There were a few old men who had known Boone, and they were present from different parts of the State, with hundreds of friends, descendants and relatives. The hearse was hung with lilies and evergreens, and the ceremony was one which can never be forgotten by those who took part in or witnessed it.

A stirring and powerful address was delivered by Senator J.J. Crittenden, in which eloquent tribute was done the daring hunter, the intrepid scout, and matchless pioneer.

In closing the biography of Colonel Daniel Boone, we feel that the reader of these pages, shares with us in our admiration of the stern integrity, the unquestioned bravery, the clear self-possession, and the honest simplicity of the most illustrious type of the American pioneer, who, long before his death, had fixed his place high and enduring in the history of our country.

Toward the close of the latter part of the century, Colonel Boone dictated his autobiography to a friend, and nothing can be more appropriate as an illustration of his character than these few closing words, with which we lay down our pen:

"My footsteps have often been marked with blood; two darling sons and a brother have I lost by savage hands, which have also taken from me forty valuable horses and cattle. Many dark and sleepless nights have I been a companion for owls, separated from the cheerful society of men, scorched by the summer's sun, and pinched by the winter's cold—an instrument ordained to settle the wilderness.

"What thanks, what ardent and ceaseless thanks are due to that all-superintending Providence which has turned a cruel war into peace, brought order out of confusion, made the fierce savages placid, and turned away their hostile weapons from our country.

"May the same almighty goodness banish the accursed monster, war, from all lands, with her hated associates, rapine and insatiable ambition! "Let peace, descending from her native heaven, bid her olives spring amid the joyful nations; and plenty, in league with commerce, scatter blessings from her copious hand!"