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Since Judge Agnew swept the dust of ages and of mythology from off the romantically historical tales of old Fort McIntosh, Grant Clark has unearthed a relic, about which may cluster as fair a tale as ever dripped from pen. It is a cannon ball, honeycombed with rust, and which was found on the edge of La Belle Riviere, below Beaver.
When Mr. Clark turned his find over to the "STAR'S" female staff, there was heard a muffled scream, as though a mouse had made war against the "Woman's Edition," but made brave by time, the ladies at last consented to examine the ancient messenger of death, and in hushed tones to conjure up some tale of war and blood suited to its age and appearance.
One young lady supposed that it had been discharged at Aaron Burr during his way down the Ohio, another that it was sent with deadly intent against the stealthy birch bark of the red man, and yet another, whose historical knowledge was more specific, said that she knew that it had been fired at the six deserters who fled across the river, were captured up Brodhead Road, and there executed. After all these varied opinions were delivered the sage rose up and said: "Though fancy may weave a web of pleasing fiction around this sphere of iron; though grim visaged war with bloody hand may have caressed its shining sides; yet all we know is, that its secret is well kept beneath its coat of yellow rust, there to sleep the ages through, clothed in the same inscrutable mystery that envelopes those who used it in this fretful life."