little land cultivated, but an abundance of weeds, indigenous and naturalized; more introduced weeds than useful vegetables, as the Indian is said to cultivate the vices rather than the virtues of the white man.  Yet this village was cleaner than I expected, far cleaner than such Irish villages as I have seen.  The children were not particularly ragged nor dirty.  The little boys met us with bow in hand and arrow on string, and cried, “Put up a cent.”  Verily, the Indian has but a feeble hold on his bow now; but the curiosity of the white man is insatiable, and from the first he has been eager to witness this forest accomplishment.  That elastic piece of wood with its feathered dart, so sure to be unstrung by contact with civilization, will serve for the type, the coat-of-arms of the savage.  Alas for the Hunter Race! the white man has driven off their game, and substituted a cent in its place.  I saw an Indian woman washing at the water’s edge.  She stood on a rock, and, after dipping the clothes in the stream, laid them on the rock, and beat them with a short club.  In the grave-yard, which was crowded with graves, and overrun with weeds, I noticed an inscription in Indian, painted on a wooden grave-board.  There was a large wooden cross on the island.

Since my companion knew him, we called on Governor Neptune, who lived in a little “ten-footer,” one of the humblest of them all.  Personalities are allowable in speaking of public men, therefore I will give the particulars of our visit.  He was a-bed.  When we entered the room, which was one half of the house, he was sitting on the side of the bed.  There was a clock hanging in one corner.  He had on a black frock-coat, and black pants, much worn, white cotton shirt, socks, a red silk handkerchief about his neck, and a straw hat.  His black hair was only slightly grayed.  He had very broad cheeks, and his features were decidedly and refreshingly different from those of any of the upstart Native American party whom I have seen.  He was no darker than many old white men.  He told me that he was eighty-nine; but he was going a-moose-hunting that fall, as he had been the previous one.  Probably his companions did the hunting.  We saw various squaws dodging about.  One sat on the bed by his side and helped him out with his stories.  They were remarkably corpulent, with smooth, round faces, apparently full of good-humor.  Certainly our much-abused climate had not dried up their adipose substance.  While we were there,—­for we stayed a good while,—­one went over to Oldtown, returned and cut out a dress, which she had bought, on another bed in the room.  The Governor said, that “he could remember when the moose were much larger; that they did not use to be in the woods, but came out of the water, as all deer did.  Moose was whale once.  Away down Merrimack way, a whale came ashore in a shallow bay.  Sea went out and left him, and he came up on land a moose.  What made them know he was a whale was, that at first, before he began to run in bushes, he had no bowels inside, but”——­and then the squaw who sat on the bed by his side, as the Governor’s aid, and had been putting in a word now and then and confirming the story, asked me what we called that soft thing we find along the sea-shore.  “Jelly-fish,” I suggested.  “Yes,” said he, “no bowels, but jelly-fish.”