Well, the next place the boat stopped at is called “Sabbath Day Point,” in consequence of ABERCROMBIE having landed there on a Wednesday morning.

Its name will therefore be considered a joke by such as see the Point.

A gentleman on board informed me that the water was so clear at this place that one could “see objects when thirty feet from the bottom.”

I have thought and thought over this remark, but am unable to see what one’s distance from the bottom has to do with his “seeing objects.”

I give it up.

On the opposite side of the Lake is a hill called “Sugar Loaf
Mountain”—­because it is a sweet place for loafers, I suppose.

Finally we passed “Rogers’ Slide,” which is a rocky precipice three hundred feet high, sloping nearly perpendicularly into the water.  A decidedly unpleasant-looking place for cellar-door practice.

There are a great many romantic traditions about this same ROGERS, who is regarded by the simple natives as having been an altogether high-minded and gorgeous character—­the fact being that he was one of those unmitigated old scamps who owe to the accident of having lived in Revolutionary times, the distinction of being held up to the emulation of primary schools as a “Patriot Hero.”  Literally he was simply an “unmixed evil,” fighting only to steal something, and devoting what time and talent he could spare from his legitimate profession—­which was seven-up—­to generally bedevilling and encroaching upon the neighboring Indians.

As an enchroachist he was immense.

The noble red-skins alluded to finally concluded that enough was enough, and appointed a Special Commission to put a permanent end to the delicate attentions of the “Marked Back.”

This sobriquet they conferred upon him partly on account of the fact that he usually received his wounds while leaving their immediate vicinity, and partly because of a peculiar characteristic of the kind of cards he used.

The Commissioners caught ROGERS out hunting, and chased him until he came to this precipice, down which he slid into the Lake below, and, unfortunately, escaped unharmed.

The Indians, who were pursuing him by the imprints of his snow-shoes, soon arrived at the brink.  Seeing what had occurred, they concluded to “let him slide.”

Hence the name.

Evidently they thought, from the trail, that he must have gone over.  Though he was by no means a missionary, the Tracks he had left produced a profound impression on their untutored minds.

They at once concluded that he was drowned, or had got “in with” some bad spirits.

It is obvious, however, to the most casual observer of the place, that the reverse must have been the case.  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.