Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb (an elegant building), several mills and factories, and about 2,500 inhabitants. Center College, chartered in 1819, is located here; the Rev. Dr. Chamberlain became its first president in 1823. There are also here 2 female academies and a theological institute. The town was laid out by Walker Daniel, who gave it its name; it was established by the legislature in 1787, and was for many years the seat of government for Kentucky. The first court house and jail in the limits of Kentucky were erected here, and here the first constitution of state government was formed. Paris, Shelbyville, Cynthiana, Versailles, Carrolton, Georgetown and Bardstown are all important towns in this part of the state, the largest of which has a population of 2,500. That well known Catholic institution, St. Joseph's College, is at Bardstown, and Georgetown College is at Georgetown. Paducah, the seat of justice for McCracken county, situated at the mouth of Tennessee River, is an important shipping port, 347 miles below Louisville. It is a place of active business, and a great amount of agricultural products are brought down the Tennessee River to this place, consisting of tobacco, pork, live stock, etc., it being the depot for the product of the valley

LANDING AT PADUCAH.

of that stream. It has large warehouses, 2 banks, 10 churches, a large number of stores, and about 5,000 inhabitants. It was laid out in 1827 by General William Clark, of St. Louis, brother of Gen. George Rogers Clark, and named after the Indian chief

Paducah, who once resided in this region. The town is substantially built, and has a very thriving appearance, being the largest and most important place in Kentucky west of Louisville. Hon. Linn Boyd resided in this vicinity, where he died in 1859. He was speaker of the house of representatives from 1851 to 1855, and in 1852 was prominent as a candidate of the democratic party for the nomination for the presidency.

Henderson, capital of Henderson county, 12 miles below Evansville and 210 below Louisville, is the principal shipping point on the Ohio for the tobacco, corn and other rich products of the fertile valley of Green River. It is a thriving business town, and has about 3,000 inhabitants. Smithland, on the Ohio, just below the month of the Cumberland, is a point for the reshipment of goods up that river. Owensboro, capital of Daviess county, 155 miles below Louisville, on the Ohio; Hickman, capital of Fulton county, on the Mississippi, 35 miles below the mouth of the Ohio, in the extreme southwestern corner of the state, are both busy towns, each having about 2,500 inhabitants. Bowling Green, Hopkinsville and Russelville are county seats and important interior towns in Lower Kentucky, with each from 2,000 to 3,000 inhabitants. Columbus, a village of about 1,200 inhabitants, on the Mississippi, 25 miles below Cairo, is the terminus of the Mobile and Ohio Railroad.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES, MISCELLANIES, ETC.

Kentucky, next to Virginia, is the greatest tobacco producing state in the Union. The statistics of 1850 gave her total product at 55 millions of pounds, while that of Virginia exceeded it but a little over a million. The plant is most extensively cultivated in western Kentucky, in the Green River country and vicinity; and the greatest tobacco raising county is Chris

tian, the annual yield of which is six millions of pounds. This part of the state was much settled by Virginians, who followed out the general law of emigrants, of especially cultivating those crops to which they had been accustomed on the soil of their birth.

"It is a curious fact in the history of tobacco that the exports from this country have varied but very little in the last fifty years; in 1790, our country, in round numbers, sent abroad one hundred and eighteen thousand hogsheads; in 1840, one hundred and nineteen thousand. This is one of the most curious facts developed in statistics, and may probably be directly traced to the fact that the population and wealth of European countries have not increased, and that the duties levied upon its introduction are as high as can possibly be borne. No article of commerce pays a duty so enormous, compared with its home price, as American tobacco. From it is derived an important part of the revenue of almost every European government. In Great Britain, the import duty is three shillings sterling (seventy-five cents) per pound—about twelve hundred per cent. upon the original cost-and two dollars per pound on manufactured tobacco; thus for what her people give us less than two millions of dollars they pay to their own government, for the privilege of using it, twenty-two millions of dollars, which is twice the sum realized by the American producer for all the tobacco exported to every part

A TOBACCO PLANTATION.

of the world! As might be supposed, the most stringent laws govern its introduc tion into that country, and a large fleet of ships and a heavy marine are supported to detect smugglers who alone traffic in this article. It is therefore not surprising that among all the wonders of London, and all the creations of that great Babylon dedicated to commerce, few are so remarkable as the government warehouses used for bonding or storing tobacco. Their interiors present such vast areas of ground that they become bewildering to the eye, and they never had any rivals in size until the erection of the Crystal Palace. Almost as far as the eye can reach are alleys of hogsheads, whose number is immense. In all convenient places are large scales for weighing, together with other apparatus connected with the operation of examining the staple.

The amount of the present production of tobacco is about two hundred millions of pounds. The home consumption is increasing faster than the population. Its use is most detrimental to our people by increasing their mental activity at the expense of their bodies, through its continual strain upon the nervous system and weakening of the appetite and digestive organs. It is at the seasons of greatest excitement that he who uses the plant is certain to do so in unwonted quantities. A young volunteer, relating his experience at the battle of Buena Vista, truthfully remarked, though in coarse phrase, "Our boys chawed lots of tobacco that day!" So fascinating the habit, that few can break from it; and he who succeeds should be more honored than he who storms a battery. Multitudes essay the trial; generally, they only make the good resolution at the precise moment when under the exhilerating influence of a quid of extra size revolving against the inner wall of their cheek. The corresponding depression that succeeds the disuse is continually pressing for the stimulus, with a power akin to that of a raging thirst, day in and day out, week in and week out, month in and month out, until finally a weak moment arrives, when the will gives way and the victim flies for relief to his chains again-only to repeat in the future a similar futile attempt to escape his enslavement. A gentleman who had ceased using it for five years stated that the desire was even then continually upon him, and he "would give anything" for the indulgence, were it not for the accompanying suffering that he knew would accrue. Probably few persons use tobacco to excess but acknowledge to themselves that, in their individual experience, the sum of misery from it a thousand fold outweighs the sum of gratification.

It is often amusing to witness the resolution with which those who use tobacco part even temporarily from the indulgence. "Fanny Kemble used to relate, with great gusto, a cigar adventure she met with while traveling in Georgia. It appears that the day was hot, the roads rough, and she an invalid-the passengers in the stage, herself and a gentleman. As the heavy vehicle rumbled along, there mingled, with the dust that constantly penetrated its interior, the fumes of a most execrable cigar. Every blast of the 'Stygian fume' sent a tremor of deadly sickness through Fanny's heart. The gentleman, her traveling companion, remonstrated with the driver, explained the mischief he was doing, and promised the independent Jehu, at the end of the journey, the reward of twenty-five choice Havanas if he would throw away his vile weed. The driver's reply was, 'Yes, yes, in a minute,' but the evil complained of continued until finally it became insufferable. Then it was that Fanny leaned out of the coach window and said, 'Sir, I appeal to your generosity to throw away that cigar, and I know, from the proverbial politeness of the Americans, that my request will be granted.' 'Yes, yes,' said the driver, with some trepidation, 'I intended to do it, but I wanted first to smoke it short enough to put in my hat!'"

EARLY TIMES AMONG THE PIONEERS OF KENTUCKY.

That eccentric and talented Methodist preacher, Peter Cartwright, has given in his autobiography some valuable reminiscences of life among the pioneers of Kentucky, from which we extract this article as a valuable contribution to the history of the times:

I was born September 1, 1785, in Amherst county, on James River, in the state

of Virginia. My parents were poor. My father was a soldier in the great struggle for liberty, in the Revolutionary war with Great Britain. He served over two years. My mother was an orphan. Shortly after the united colonies gained their independence, my parents moved to Kentucky, which was a new country. It was an almost unbroken wilderness from Virginia to Kentucky at that early day, and this wilderness was filled with thousands of hostile Indians, and many thousands of the emigrants to Kentucky lost their lives by these savages. There were no roads for carriages at that time, and although the emigrants moved by thousands, they had to move on pack horses. Many adventurous young men went to this new country. The fall my father moved, there were a great many families who joined together for mutual safety, and started for Kentucky. Besides the two hundred families thus united, there were one hundred young men, well armed, who agreed to guard these families through, and, as a compensation, they were to be supported for their services. After we struck the wilderness we rarely traveled a day but we passed some white persons, murdered and scalped by the Indians while going to or returning from Kentucky. We traveled on till Sunday, and, instead of resting that day, the voice of the company was to move on.

It was a dark, cloudy day, misty with rain. Many Indians were seen through the day skulking round by our guards. Late in the evening we came to what was called "Camp Defeat," where a number of emigrant families had been all murdered by the savages a short time before. Here the company called a halt to camp for the night. It was a solemn, gloomy time; every heart quaked with fear.

Soon the captain of our young men's company placed his men as sentinels all round the encampment. The stock and the women and children were placed in the center of the encampment. Most of the men that were heads of families, were placed around outside of the women and children. Those who were not placed in this position, were ordered to take their stand outside still, in the edge of the brush. It was a dark, dismal night, and all expected an attack from the Indians.

That night my father was placed as a sentinel, with a good rifle, in the edge of the brush. Shortly after he took his stand, and all was quiet in the camp, he thought he heard something moving toward him, and grunting like a swine. He knew that there was no swine with the moving company, but it was so dark he could not see what it was. Presently he perceived a dark object in the distance, but nearer him than at first, and believing it to be an Indian, aiming to spring upon him and murder him in the dark, he leveled his rifle, and aimed at the dark lump as well as he could, and fired. He soon found he had hit the object, for it flounced about at a terrible rate, and my father gathered himself up and ran into camp.

When his gun fired, there was an awful screaming throughout the encampment by the women and children. My father was soon inquired of as to what was the matter. He told them the circumstances of the case, but some said he was scared and wanted an excuse to come in; but he affirmed that there was no mistake, that there was something, and he had shot it; and if they would get a light and go with him, if he did not show them something, then they might call him a coward forever. They got a light and went to the place, and there found an Indian, with a rifle in one hand and a tomahawk in the other, dead. My father's rifle-ball had struck the Indian nearly central in the head.

When we came within seven miles of the Crab Orchard, where there was a fort and the first white settlement, it was nearly night. We halted, and a vote was taken whether we should go on to the fort, or camp there for the night. Indians had been seen in our rear through the day. All wanted to go through except seven families, who refused to go any further that night. The main body went on, but they, the seven families, carelessly stripped off their clothes, laid down without any guards, and went to sleep. Some time in the night, about twenty-five Indians rushed on them, and every one, men, women, and children, was slain, except one man, who sprang from his bed and ran into the fort, barefooted and in his night clothes. He brought the melancholy news of the slaughter. These murderous bands of savages lived north of the Ohio River, and would cross over into Kentucky, kill and steal, and then recross the Ohio into their own country.

Kentucky was claimed by no particular tribe of Indians, but was regarded as a common hunting-ground by the various tribes, east, west, north, and south. It

A

abounded in various valuable game, such as buffalo, elk, bear, deer, turkeys, and many other smaller game, and hence the Indians struggled hard to keep the white people from taking possession of it. It was chiefly settled by Virginians, as noble and brave a race of men and women as ever drew the breath of life.

In the fall of 1793, my father determined to move to what was then called the Green River country, in the southern part of the state of Kentucky. He did so, and settled in Logan county, nine miles south of Russellville, the county seat, and within one mile of the state line of Tennessee.

Logan county, when my father moved to it, was called "Rogues' Harbor." Here many refugees, from almost all parts of the Union, fled to escape justice or punishment; for although there was law, yet it could not be executed, and it was a desperate state of society. Murderers, horse thieves, highway robbers, and counterfeiters fled here until they combined and actually formed a majority. The honest and civil part of the citizens would prosecute these wretched banditti, but. they would swear each other clear; and they really put all law at defiance, and carried on such desperate violence and outrage that the honest part of the citizens seemed to be driven to the necessity of uniting and combining together, and taking the law into their own hands, under the name of Regulators. This was a very desperate state of things.

Shortly after the Regulators had formed themselves into a society, and estab lished their code of by-laws, on a court day at Russellville, the two bands met in town. Soon a quarrel commenced, and a general battle ensued between the rogues and Regulators, and they fought with guns, pistols, dirks, knives, and clubs. Some were actually killed, many wounded, the rogues proved victors, kept the ground, and drove the Regulators out of town. The Regulators rallied again, hunted, killed, and lynched many of the rogues, until several of them fled, and left for parts unknown. Many lives were lost on both sides, to the great scandal of civilized people. This is but a partial view of frontier life.*

When my father settled in Logan county, there was not a newspaper printed south of Green River, no mill short of forty miles, and no schools worth the name.

*The most notorious of the desperadoes who infested the settlements were two brother named Harpe, of whom Judge Hall, in his Western Sketches, has given this narrative: In the fall of 1801 or 1802, a company consisting of two men and three women arrived in Lincoln county, Ky., and encamped about a mile from the present town of Stanford. The appearance of the individuals composing this party was wild and rude in the extreme. The one who seemed to be the leader of the band, was above the ordinary stature of men. His frame was bony and muscular, his breast broad, his limbs gigantic. His clothing was uncouth and shabby, his exterior, weatherbeaten and dirty, indicating continual exposure to the elements, and designating him as one who dwelt far from the habitations of men, and mingled not in the courtesies of civilized life. His countenance was bold and ferocious and exceedingly repulsive, from its strongly marked expression of villainy. His face, which was larger than ordinary, exhibited the lines of ungovernable passion, and the complexion announced that the ordinary feelings of the human breast were in him extinguished. Instead of the healthy hue which indicates the social emotions, there was a livid unnatural redness, resembling that of a dried and lifeless skin. His eye was fearless and steady, but it was also artful and audacious, glaring upon the beholder with an unpleasant fixedness and brilliancy, like that of a ravenous animal gloating on its prey. He wore no covering on his head, and the natural protection of thick coarse hair, of a fiery redness, uncombed and matted, gave evidence of long exposure to the rudest visitations of the sunbeam and the tempest. He was armed with a rifle, and a broad leathern belt, drawn closely around his waist, supported a knife and a tomahawk. He seemed, in short, an outlaw, destitute of all the nobler sympathies of human nature, and prepared at all points for assault or defense. The other man was smaller in size than him who led the party, but similarly armed, having the same suspicious exterior, and a countenance equally fierce and sinister The females were coarse, and wretchedly attired.

The men stated in answer to the inquiry of the inhabitants, that their names were Harpe, and that they were emigrants from North Carolina. They remained at their encampment the greater part of two days and a night, spending the time in rioting, drunkenness and debauchery. When they left, they took the road leading to Green River. The day succeeding their departure, a report reached the neighborhood that a young gentleman of wealth from Virginia, named Lankford, had been robbed and murdered on what was