“What are those enormous whales which are playing at a distance?”

“They are our whale oxen,” answered my host; “we find that they grow to an enormous size.  Our houses are built of their skins.”

“Is that a dead whale on the beach?”

“It is one of our whale boats,” replied he, “but formed, as you supposed, from the skin of a whale, hardened by frequent applications of oil and lime.  We use them to catch the whales when we want them.”

“You do not use the harpoon, then?”

“Only when we kill; in general we noose the tail, and fasten the rope to one of these boats, which are so buoyant, that the whale cannot take it down, and soon tires with his own exertions.  I am now speaking of the males reserved for breeding, or strange whales, who sometimes find their way into our lake during the winter:  our own are so domesticated from their infancy, that we have little trouble with them; but it is time that we return.”

“Here,” observed my host, as we passed a whale-house, “is one of our manufactories; we will step in.  This is the common stuff of the country, which is used for partitions in houses, &c.  This is a finer sort, such as I wear at present.  Here we have the skin of the whale calf, which is usually worn by the women.  This is the most expensive article of our manufactures; it is the belly part of the calf’s skin, which being white, admits of a dye from the murex—­a shell fish, very common on our shores.”

“Have you money?” inquired I.

“None—­we exchange; but the chief article of exchange, and which serves as money, is the whale cheese, which keeps for years, and improves in quality.  That fine cloth is worth eight new cheeses a square yard, which is very dear.”

We arrived at the house, where we found our repast ready; an excellent stew received my commendation.

“It is one of our favourite dishes,” replied my host; “it is made of lizards’ tails.”

“Lizards’ tails!”

“Yes; I am about to procure some for dinner, and you shall see my preserve.”

In the course of the day I walked with my host a short distance up the hill, when we stopped at a large pit, covered with a net work, made of whales’ sinews.  The man who accompanied us, descended, and soon returned with a pail full of lizards, confined by a similar net over them.  He then took them out one by one, and pulled their tails, which were immediately left in his hand.  He then notched the stump, and threw the animal into the pit.

“Of what use is it to return the animals?” observed I.

“Because their tails will grow again, by next year.”

“But why, then, were the stumps notched in the middle?”

“That they might have two tails instead of one, which is invariably the case,” replied my host.