150 
THE MAINE WOODS. 
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 Pace! 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 graveyard, 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 Gov¬ 
ernor 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 particu¬ 
lars 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 handker¬ 
chief 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 
