Goss waited patiently. He heard a robin singing in an apple tree among the rustling leaves. He watched a hairy woodpecker run up the side of a tree, using his bill as a pick-axe and scaling off bits of bark sideways as he ran, disturbing a squirrel who sprang nimbly from limb to limb. A meadow-lark dipped across the sky over level fields of delicious beans, maize and squashes; a partridge called from the distance and fleecy clouds floated across the now full-risen sun casting long shadows on the lake, like the spirit of Hiawatha’s white canoe--to the southward grim Regiohne, gloomy sentinel of rock, kept guard. Around all the fine frame of mountains ranged. In the golden morning sunshine Nature glowed with happiness. Then all at once a low sound came to Goss’s pricking ears, the sound of a woman weeping, and a shadow fell across the doorway, as of an angel’s wing. * * * * * The Goss horse played his part, too, in many fine affairs. The following year at the inauguration of the Preacher-Governor, Jonas Galusha, he had the honor of carrying the newly-elected Chief Magistrate in the grand parade. Crowds shouted and cheered as they passed, drums were beaten and guns fired. Goss was almost as much noticed as the Governor himself! The Executive spoke in the town hall, outside which the horse waited. Goss could hear the applause now and then, and when the speech was finished a wag cried out: “Now let’s sing ‘Mear’!” Every one knew that “Mear” was the Governor’s favorite hymn, but instead of singing, as Goss hoped they would, an outburst of laughter greeted the suggestion, and the crowd poured noisily out into the street once more. Goss had a good time that day prancing to the music and showing off. His enjoyment of such gay doings always made him popular with the men, yet so gentle was he that women constantly borrowed him to ride to meetings, quiltings, bees, or funerals. At Burlington in this same year, 1809, the launching of the steamboat “Vermont” (of which they had talked so long) took place. The “Vermont” had been built _second_ to the “Clermont” (launched on the Hudson, about two years before), but an unavoidable delay made her the _fifth_ steamboat to be launched. At great expense this passenger steamer had been built and was to run from White Hall to St. Johns in twenty-four hours! It was almost too much to ask the people to believe, said the newspapers! One and all they predicted failure. Steamboats in those days occupied much the same place in the estimation of the people as airships did a hundred years later. Many called it a foolish waste of money, and dangerous withal, but John Winans, who made the boat, was confident it would mark an epoch in history. Larger and finer than the “Clermont,” the success of the “Vermont” on Lake Champlain does not concern our hero.