tely came across this sketch in an old Magazine, bearing the
date of 1842, and, thinking others might be as much interested by it as
I was myself, I transcribe it in an abridged form to the pages of this
volume.

It was a dreary day in autumn. Like the fate which attends us all, the
foliage had assumed the paleness of death; and the winds, cold and damp,
were sighing among the branches of the trees; and causing every other
feeling rather than that of comfort. Four others and myself had been out
hunting during the day, and we returned at nightfall tired and hungry to
our camp. The shades of night were fast gathering around us; but, being
protected by our camp, with a blazing fire in front, we soon succeeded
in cooking some of the game we had shot during the day; and as we ate,
the old hunters, who were my companions grew garrulous, and in turn
related their numerous adventures. "You have lived in Dayton for some
time," said an old hunter, addressing one of his companions. "Have you
ever seen during your rambles the remains of a log cabin about two miles
down the Miami Canal?" "I recollect it well, but there is a mystery
attached to those ruins which no one living can solve. The oldest
settlers found that cabin there; and it _then_ appeared in such a
dilapidated state as to justify the belief that it had been built many
years previous." "Do you know any thing about it?" I eagerly asked. "I
know all about it," replied the old hunter; "for I assisted in building
it, and occupied it for several years, during the trapping season. That
cabin," he continued, as a shade passed over his features, "has been the
scene of carnage and bloodshed. But why wake up old feelings--let them
sleep, let them sleep;" and the veteran drew his brawny hand over his
eyes. All the curiosity of my nature was roused; and the old men seated
by his side gazed upon him enquiringly, and put themselves in a
listening attitude. The speaker, observing this, sat silent for a few
moments, as if collecting his thoughts, and then related the following
tale:

"There has come a mighty change over the face of this
country since the time when I first emigrated here. The spot where now
stand your prettiest towns and villages was then a howling wilderness.
Instead of the tinkling of the cow-bells and the merry whistle of the
farmer-boy as he calls his herd to the fold, might be heard the wild cry
of the panther, the howl of the wolf, and the equally appalling yell