Moosehead Lake 



This way lies the game. 



-King Henry VI. 



We left home on a Saturday night in September, 

 by the 6:50 express, with the wilderness of Maine for 

 our destination. The night was hot, close and miser- 

 ably uncomfortable. The sleeping-car felt like an 

 oven and before we reached New York we turned into 

 our berths, as that seemed the coolest thing to do. 

 Sunday in Boston was rainy and cold, and when we ar- 

 rived at Bangor we had to put on heavy flannels and 

 get out overcoats. 



It was election day in Maine ; yet, although it was 

 expected that the Kepublican ticket would be elected 

 by 30,000 majority, we saw no excitement along the 

 railroad in our ride from Bangor to Greenville, at the 

 head of Moosehead lake. No bands, no men with 

 badges on, pottering around polling places. An occa- 

 sional flag floated on the frosty air, but that was all. 

 Yet there was a silent, unseen something foretelling that 

 an enormous Republican vote would be polled — and it 

 was. During our ride in the car a prophetic native 

 sitting behind us broke loose in this fashion : " If it 



weren't for one thing, darned if I wouldn't bet a dol- 



11 



