The bad spirits were in him.
The mark worn by Mr. R's "cheviots" in his descent can still be
distinctly seen.
About half way up is a shining object which is generally believed to be
a suspender button.
This, however, is merely conjectural.
The clerk of the boat, of whom I have spoken before, tells me that until
within a few years back, the hole in the water where ROGERS struck could
be seen.
"But it is all gone now," he said, shaking his head sadly. "Nothing can
escape the Vandal horde of tourists and relic hunters. Piece by piece
they have carried the hole away, and there is no trace of it left now."
And he "wept at my tranquillity."
At the north end of the Lake we took stages for Fort Ticonderoga. These
vehicles were run by a man who was pointed out as a "character," which
means a sort of licensed nuisance.
The monomania of this individual was speech making, and much reflection
inclines me to the belief that he is some unappreciated politician who
has invented a way of "taking it out" on the unhappy public as follows:
He waits until his five immense stages arrive at some remote and
solitary part of the road, then draws them up in a semi-circle, mounts a
stump, and--on pretence of exhibiting the beauties of nature--proceeds
to harangue the helpless fares to the top of his very high bent, or
until one of the slumbering "outsides" creates a welcome diversion by
falling off and breaking his neck.
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