Years have rolled away to the dark and unapproachable past since the transpiring of the events which we have chronicled, and vast mutations have marked the steps of all conquering time.  Our beloved country, which then weak and oppressed was struggling for her independence against the most powerful nation on the globe, has since nobly won a name and place among the mighty ones of earth, and planted her stars and stripes from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and built cities and towns amid dark and mighty forests, where then roved in freedom the wild, untutored aborigines of America.

Kentucky, too, has since become a rich, populous, and powerful state; and her noble sons, by their courage and generosity, have well maintained that name and fame which was won for them by their fathers, and which shall go down to future ages all green and unfading.  Bryan’s Station—­the theatre of many a scene of gay frolic and sanguinary strife—­of festivity and mourning—­has long since sunk to ruin and dust; and on its site now stands the private dwelling of a gentleman of fortune.  But where are they who once inhabited it?  Those hoary headed veterans—­those middle aged men—­or those fiery and impetuous youths ever ready for either love or war?  Where are they now?  Gone!  Passed away like moving shadows that leave no trace behind.  Gone out, one by one, as lights in the late deserted hall of revelry, or stars at the dawn of day.  But very few—­and these mere striplings then—­now remain to tell the tale; of whom it may with truth be said, “The places which know them now shall soon know them no more forever.”

Reader, a word or two more and we have done; and in your hands we leave the decision, as to whether our task has been faithfully fulfilled or not.

Shortly after their marriage, Algernon and Ella bade farewell to their friends in the west, and returned to the east, where a long and happy career awaited them; and where they lived to recount to their children and grand-children, the thrilling narratives of their captivity, and their wild and romantic adventures while pioneers on the borders of Kentucky.

Isaac returned to the farm of his father—­rebuilt the cottage destroyed by the Indians—­and there, with his dear Peggy, lived happily to a green old age, beloved and respected by all who knew him; and there his posterity still continue to multiply the name of Younker.  With him the good dame, his mother, sojourned for several years, as industrious and talkative as ever; and at last passed quietly from among the living, even while in the act of making a sublime quotation on the subject of dying from her favorite, the immortal Preacher Allprayer.

Boone continued a resident of Kentucky, until he fancied it too populous for his comfort; when he removed with his family to Missouri; where he spent much of his time in fishing and hunting, and where he finally died at an advanced age.  From thence his remains were conveyed to Frankfort, the capital of Kentucky, where they now repose; and where a rough slab, with a few half intelligible characters thereon, points out to the curious stranger the last earthly resting place of the noblest, the most daring, and famous hunter and pioneer the world has ever produced.