He was five feet ten inches in height, of a very erect, clean limbed, and athletic form--admirably fitted in structure, muscle, temperament, and habit, for the endurance of the labors, changes, and sufferings he underwent. He had what phrenologists would have considered a model head--with a forehead peculiarly high, noble, and bold--thin and compressed lips--a mild, clear, blue eye--a large and prominent chin, and a general expression of countenance in which fearlessness and courage sat enthroned, and which told the beholder at a glance, what he had been, and was formed to be. We have only to add, that the bust of Boone, in Washington, the painting of him ordered by the General Assembly of Missouri, and the engravings of him in general, have--his family being judges--very little resemblance. They want the high port and noble daring of his countenance. Though ungratefully requited by his country, he has left a name identified with the history of Kentucky, and with the founders and benefactors of our great republic. In all future time, and in every portion of the globe; in history, in sculpture, in song, in eloquence--the name of Daniel Boone will be recorded as the patriarch of Backwoods Pioneers. His name has already been celebrated by more than one poet. He is the hero of a poem called the "MOUNTAIN MUSE," by our amiable countryman, Bryan. He is supposed to be the original from which the inimitable characters of LEATHER STOCKING, HAWKEYE, and the TRAPPER of the PRAIRIES, in Cooper's novels, were drawn; and we will close these memoirs, with the splendid tribute to the patriarch of backwoodsmen, by the prince of modern poets, Lord Byron. Of all men, saving Sylla, the man-slayer, Who passes for in life and death most lucky, Of the great names which in our faces stare, The General Boone, backwoodsman of Kentucky, Was happiest among mortals any where, For killing nothing, but a bear or buck; he Enjoy'd the lonely, vigorous, harmless days Of his old age, in wilds of deepest maze. Crime came not near him; she is not the child Of solitude; health shrank not from him, for Her home is in the rarely trodden wild, Which, if men seek her not, and death be more Their choice than life, forgive them, as beguil'd By habit to what their own hearts abhor-- In cities cag'd. The present case in point I Cite is, Boone liv'd hunting up to ninety: And what is stranger, left behind a name, For which men vainly decimate the throng; Not only famous, but of that good fame, Without which glory's but a tavern song; Simple, serene, the antipodes of shame, Which hate or envy e'er could tinge with wrong; An active hermit; even in age the child Of nature, or the Man of Ross run wild.