the excitement, the fends and controversies which lasted for
years. From Batavia to Canandaigua the name of Morgan calls forth
a flood of reminiscences. A man whose father or grandfather had
anything to do with the affair is a character in the community;
now and then a man is found who knew a man who caught a glimpse of
Morgan during that mysterious midnight ride from the Canandaigua
jail over the Rochester road, and on to the end in the magazine of
the old fort at Lewiston. One cannot spend twenty-four hours in
this country without being drawn into the vortex of this absorbing
mystery; it hangs over the entire section, lingers along the
road-sides, finds outward sign and habitation in old buildings,
monuments, and ruins; it echoes from the past in musty books,
papers, and pamphlets; it once was politics, now is history; the
years have not solved it; time is helpless.

At Le Roy we sought shelter under the friendly roof of an old, old
house. How it did storm; the Rochester papers next day said that
no such storm had ever been known in that part of the State. The
rain fell in torrents; the main street was a stream of water
emptying into the river; the flashes of lightning were followed so
quickly by crashes of thunder that we knew trees and buildings
were struck near by, as in fact they were. It seemed as if the
heavens were laying siege to the little village and bringing to
bear all nature's great guns.

The house was filled with old books and mementoes of the past;
every nook and corner was interesting. In an old secretary in an
upper room was found a complete history of Morgan's disappearance,
together with the affidavits taken at the time and records of such
court proceedings as were had.