paring the ground for cultivation. While thus occupied some negro laborers were felling trees. A tree being about to fall, he was warned to get out of the way, but, not heeding in time, was caught beneath the falling branches. For a while he was insensible, and it was feared he was killed. On returning to consciousness his first observation was that he got out of the way, but the d-d tree turned and followed him." He was severely bruised, but the most serious injury was a broken hand. The bones of the right hand were so fractured as that his fingers were stiffened, and, to a great extent, rendered useless. Ever afterward in writing he thrust his pen between his crippled fingers, removing it with his left hand to get ink and replacing it again. * He was of wonderful physical endurance. He went in professional pursuits from county to county, often traveling from forty to fifty miles per day; and these journeys were constantly made in all seasons and weather, and always on horseback, and for great part of the year over wretched roads. He was cheerful and hopeful always. He was discouraged by no obstacle, difficulty, or labor. He seemed to feel himself equal to any emergency. He had that mainspring of all great men-indomitable will. He was tenacious of purpose, and on whatever he had determined, he rallied every energy and resource of his powerful nature. "I never saw my father despondent," says his daughter,† “save on the occasion of the death of his children." But from these sorrows he quickly roused himself, deeming it unbefitting the dignity of life to brood over griefs to which all were subject. Yet late in life his highest pleasure was in recalling and talking of the memory of his precious dead. He was self-reliant and self-possessed, and enjoyed the full exercise of his faculties in emergencies. His powers of observation and perception were of a rare order. His mental vision and apprehension were clear and strong in their grasp. He was extremely perspicuous in statement and easily heard and comprehended. His mind may be compared to a locomotive at night in one respect; it illuminated the track before it. His hearers had a sensation of having anticipated what he was uttering. "There were things about him," writes Ken Chapeze Esq.. son of Mr. Hardin's distinguished contemporary (Ben Chapeze), "that marked him to *In his speech in R. Logan Wickliffe's case, Mr. Hardin gave a different account, but this, like many other "facts" referred to on that occasion, received the pleasing adornments of a lively fancy. Mrs. Kate Riley. me, though a child, from all other men I knew. He seemed to have a clearer idea of what he drove at than others. He talked by gestures, and no one ever possessed clearer articulation. His voice was of the ringing class. I once heard him, when I was but a boy, making a political speech in Hardinsburg. He talked of money, and referred to metals, and, among others, referred to iron. I still freshly remember his pronunciation of the word bar-iron, which made me feel as though I heard the sound of a bar of iron thrown on a pavement of stone." "From 1836 to 1840," writes Hon. B. J. Webb, "when I had frequent opportunities of seeing him, his walk along the street could but remind one of an absorbed thinker. Unless addressed, he seldom lifted his eyes from the ground, and there was a movement of the lips indicative of an inter-communication between his mind and the organs of speech." If Mr. Disraeli had had Mr. Hardin for his single illustration, he, perhaps, would not have expressed himself otherwise than he did in his "Literary Character of Men of Genius," concerning the art of meditation.* "The art of meditation may be exercised at all hours, and in all places; and men of genius in their walks, at table, and amid assemblies, turning the eye of the mind inward, can form an artificial solitude, retired amid a crowd, calm amid distraction, and wise amid folly." This habit of meditation was not, in Mr. Hardin's case, for indulgence of the vagaries and figments of fancy. While thus absorbed, his mind was engaged in summing up, from his well-stored memory, all the facts pertaining to a subject; sifting and weighing them; analyzing and drawing deductions from facts or principles, or constructing some well-knit argument to be hurled with convincing force in the forum at the understanding of court or jury, or from the stump at the American citizen at large. Allusion is elsewhere made to Mr. Hardin's fondness for church singing and religious songs. He enjoyed instrumental music and found especial entertainment in the stirring notes of the violin. He could neither sing nor perform on any instrument, nor had he such insight as qualified him for discriminating criticism of musical performances. Yet, he could distinguish that particular song or air that pleased him from the one that did not, and this was his sole and single test of musical excellence. * Page 177. cumstances. He was social in habits, fond of his friends, and of excellent colloquial powers. No one had greater adaptability to surrounding cir. With rich or poor, the rude or refined, the ignorant or the learned-with every class he was able to find common ground for contact or communion in thought or sentiment. In the most refined and intelligent circles he could make himself the center of attraction, while his jokes on proper occasion were such as to suit the rudest. demands. "When I was quite a boy," says Hon. B. H. Bristow (who confesses to an abiding interest in everything pertaining to his native State), "I saw Mr. Hardin at Elizabethtown, and was greatly impressed by his kindly interest in me, and his accurate knowledge of all my ancestors and their relations and connections. Perhaps, one of his most remarkable characteristics was his minute knowledge of men and families in Kentucky, with all their ramifications." The charge has sometimes been made that Mr. Hardin was a coarse and unfeeling man—coarse in manners and disregardful of the feelings of others. That a man who did not habitually cloak his feelings and sentiments by observing the hollow precepts of Chesterfield, but, on the contrary, acted as he felt, should now and then have appeared rude or uncouth, was, perhaps, not unnatural. But when he chose to be complaisant and conciliatory, no one could do so more consummately. "In 1825," says H. D. Taylor, Esq., of Hartford, "I was quite a young man, had studied law and been examined by Judge McLean, and had gone to Litchfield to obtain Judge Booker's signature to my license. There was at Hartford at that time a lawyer, with more reputation as a land-jobber than anything else, who entrusted me with a letter to Mr. Hardin. After my arrival, he was pointed out to me, as he lay reclining on a bench on the hotel-porch, his feet in slippers, and his hose tops fallen down, leaving an uncovered space of ankle. He was not asleep, but seemed in revery. I had often heard of him, but saw him then for the first time. I approached him, and told him I had a letter for him, delivering it at the same time. He rose up, opened it, glanced at the signature, tore it in two, threw it down, and again resumed his reclining position, not having uttered a single word. For the writer of the letter I had no respect, and he was a character for whom Mr. Hardin had no toleration, yet I felt affronted at the reception of his epistle. I was outraged and indignant, but said nothing. Shortly afterward, other lawyers arrived in the town, among them my friend Mr. McHenry, between whom and Mr. Hardin hearty greetings were exchanged. Although reluctant, I suffered myself to be introduced by Mr. McHenry to Mr. Hardin. He was not only cordial, but seemed to make an effort to entertain me, in which I confess he entirely succeeded. He abounded with reminiscences of his school-days at Hartford, which he related in a charming way, and, before we parted, I esteemed him more than I deemed possible at our first encounter." His literary acquisitions were extensive, and always at command. Without giving any just ground to be suspected of pedantry, yet, he constantly, and in a most interesting way, made allusions to matters of learning. Aside from its divine teachings, he greatly admired the Bible for its beauties, as well as its wisdom. He was a student of the Scriptures, and a fairly-versed theologian. Said James Barbour, Esq., of Maysville: "My mother was a daughter of John Green; my father a brother of Mrs. Hardin. When I was a boy, Mr. Hardin came to Danville (where we lived) to attend court-being engaged as counsel in an important case. He was invited by my father to be our guest during his stay. He accepted the invitation, and remained a week or so. My mother and sister had heard a great deal of his roughness of manner, and were not a little surprised when they came to know him. He was witty, humorous, and interesting in conversation. My mother and sister were much engrossed with the missionary cause, and were delighted to hear Mr. Hardin talk of it familiarly and in a most instructive way. His knowledge of the details of the subject far exceeded their own, and he grew enthusiastic in discussing it. 'Missionaries,' said he, have been the great geographers of all ages. The ordinary explorer went around the coasts and marked its indentations, but the missionaries had gone through the country, and thus disclosed its interior conformation to the enlightened world.' He said: 'Solomon was a great merchant prince, who had extended commerce and knowledge among surrounding nations.' He pronounced him the first great missionary. This style of conversation quite won my mother and sister, both of whom concluded that Mr. Hardin was not only the most entertaining of men, but in his views was especially orthodox. They were, however, not a little shocked the last morning of his stay, when he again referred to Solomon, the great missionary. He spoke of his enterprise and wisdom, 'but,' said he, I have never discovered in the records of all history-sacred or profane -a d-der rascal than this same Solomon.'' 'I have heard him say," He seldom drank intoxicating liquors. observed one who was present, "when asked to drink: 'Boys, I will fight chickens with you, play marbles, or play cards, but one thing I |