s fathers.
Among the men who were at the village, I found one who for magnanimity
and undaunted courage merits a wreath which should hang high in the
temple of fame, and yet like hundreds of others, he has passed away
unhonored, unsung. His name was Ralph Watts, a sturdy Virginian, with a
heart surpassing all which has been said of Virginia's sons, in those
qualities, which ennoble the man; and possessing a courage indomitable,
and a frame calculated in every way to fulfil whatever his daring spirit
suggested. Such was Ralph Watts. I had only been in the town a few days,
when Ralph and I contracted an intimacy which ended only with his death.
I was passing the small inn of the town, when a tall man, with a hunting
shirt and leggins on stepped out and laying his hand on my shoulder
said: "Stranger, they say you have just come among us, and that you are
poor; come along. I have got just five dollars, no man shall ever say
that Ralph Watts passed a moneyless man, without sharing with him the
contents of his pocket--come along." Ralph and I soon became inseparable
friends. His joys as well as his sorrows were mine; in a word, we shared
each others sympathies; and this leads me to the scene of the log
cabin. We often hunted together, and while on our last expedition, took
an oath of friendship which should end only with death--and how soon was
it to end. We left the infant Cincinnati one summer morning at the
rising of the sun, and with our guns on our shoulders, and our pouches
well supplied with ammunition, we struck into the deep wilderness,
trusting to our own stout hearts, and woodscraft for our food and
safety. We journeyed merrily along, whiling away the hours in recounting
to each other those trivial incidents of our lives which might be
interesting, or in singing snatches of song and listening to its solemn
echo as it reverberated among the tall trees of the forest. Towards
evening we reached our first camping ground--a spot near where the town
of Sharon now stands. Here we pitched our tent, built our fire, cooked
our suppers, and prepared to pass away the evening as comfortably as two
hunters possibly could. All at once the deep stillness which reigned
around us was broken by a low cry similar to that of a panther. We both
ceased speaking and listened attentively, when the cry was repeated
still nearer, as if the arrival was rapidly advancing upon us; and thus
the cry was repeated, again and again, till its shrillnes