"Passing along a road with his wagon, Morgan met a gentleman of refined manners and appearance, who, as he approached the wagoner, had his hat struck off by a bough overhead. This stopped him for a moment, and Morgan, thinking that the stranger felt undue pride in sustaining the character of a gentleman, determined to humble him. Alighting from his horse—which he rode, teamster-fashion, instead of driving—he addressed the traveler: "'Well, sir, if you want a fight, I'm ready for you!' "The stranger, in amazement, assured him that he wanted no fight, and had made no signals to such a purpose. But Morgan was not to be thus repulsed, and urged a contest upon him, until the stranger, becoming enraged, in short terms accepted the challenge. The battle commenced. In brief space the well-dressed man planted such a series of rapid and scientific blows upon Morgan's front, that he knocked him down, and inflicted upon him a severe chastisement. Morgan never forgot this reverse; he found that he was not the only man in the world—that 'might did not make right.' He often spoke of it afterward as having had a happy effect upon his character." In after years, he gained more dignity of character, these youthful ebullitions merging into deeds of valor of which his country is proud. Immediately upon the breaking out of the Revolutionary War, he stood ready to aid his country. Congress appointed him a Captain of provincials, and so great was his reputation, that, in a short time after his call for recruits, ninety-six riflemen were enrolled in his company. This was the nucleus of that celebrated rifle corps which rendered so much brilliant service during the war. It was composed of men who had been trained in the forest, and who had each been accustomed to the use of his own rifle with wonderful skill. They were hardy in body and dauntless in heart. From this time on, his career was one of glory, although the hardships which he suffered finally undermined his splendid health, and forced him to retire, with the rank of Major-General, to his estate near Winchester, called "Saratoga," after one of the places where he had distinguished himself. It was here that he died in 1802, in the 67th year of his age. A passer-by would hardly notice the humble slab, of little pretension, which marks his grave in the Presbyterian church-yard, at Winchester; yet on it is inscribed a name which Americans will ever delight to honor: "The hero of Quebec, of Saratoga, and the Cowpens: the bravest among the brave, and the Ney of the West."