which joins it to the main-land is not above half a mile across.
But though the town thus stands out into the sea, it is not exposed
and bleak. The harbor, again, is surrounded by land, or so guarded
and locked by islands as to form a series of salt-water lakes
running round the town. Of those islands there are, of course,
three hundred and sixty-five. Travelers who write their travels
are constantly called upon to record that number, so that it may
now be considered as a superlative in local phraseology, signifying
a very great many indeed. The town stands between two hills, the
suburbs or outskirts running up on to each of them. The one
looking out toward the sea is called Mountjoy, though the obstinate
Americans will write it Munjoy on their maps. From thence the view
out to the harbor and beyond the harbor to the islands is, I may
not say unequaled, or I shall be guilty of running into
superlatives myself, but it is in its way equal to anything I have
seen. Perhaps it is more like Cork harbor, as seen from certain
heights over Passage, than anything else I can remember; but
Portland harbor, though equally landlocked, is larger; and then
from Portland harbor there is, as it were, a river outlet running
through delicious islands, most unalluring to the navigator, but
delicious to the eyes of an uncommercial traveler. There are in
all four outlets to the sea, one of which appears to have been made
expressly for the Great Eastern. Then there is the hill looking
inward. If it has a name, I forget it. The view from this hill is
also over the water on each side, and, though not so extensive, is
perhaps as pleasing as the other.

The ways of the people seemed to be quiet, smooth, orderly, and
republican. There is nothing to drink in Portland, of course; for,
thanks to Mr. Neal Dow, the Father Matthew of the State of Maine,
the Maine liquor law is still in force in that State. There is
nothing to drink, I should say, in such orderly houses as that I
selected. "People do drink some in the town, they say," said my
hostess to me, "and liquor is to be got. But I never venture to
sell any. An ill-natured person might turn on me; and where should
I be then?" I did not press her, and she was good enough to put a
bottle of porter at my right hand at dinner, for which I observed
she made no charge. "But they advertise beer in the shop windows,"
I said to a man who was driving me--"Scotch ale and bitter beer. A
man can get drunk on them." "Waal, yes. If he goes to work hard,
and drinks a bucketful," said the driver, "perhaps he may." From
which and other things I gathered that the men of Maine drank
pottle deep before Mr. Neal Dow brought his exertions to a
successful termination.

The Maine liquor law still stands in Maine, and is the law of the
land throughout New England; but it is not actually put in force in
the other States. By this law no man may retail wine, spirits, or,
in truth, beer, except with a special license, which is given only
to those who are presumed to sell them as medicines. A man may
have what he likes in his own cellar for his own use--such, at
least, is the actual working of the law--but may not obtain it at
hotels and public houses. This law, like all sumptuary laws, must
fail. And it is fast failing even in Maine. But it did appear to
me, from such information as I could collect, that the passing of
it had done much to hinder and repress a habit of hard drinking
which was becoming terribly common, not only in the towns of Maine,
but among the farmers and hired laborers in the country.

But, if the men and women of Portland may not drink, they may eat;
and it is a place, I should say, in which good living on that side
of the question is very rife. It has an air of supreme plenty, as
though the agonies of an empty stomach were never known there. The
faces of the people tell of three regular meals of meat a day, and
of digestive powers in proportion. O happy Portlanders, if they
only knew their own good fortune! They get up early, and go to bed
early. The women are comely and sturdy, able to take care of
themselves, without any fal-lal of chivalry, and the men are
sedate, obliging, and industrious. I saw the young girls in the
streets coming home from their tea parties at nine o'clock, many of
them alone, and all with some basket in their hands, which
betokened an evening not passed absolutely in idleness. No fear
there of unruly questions on the way, or of insolence from the ill-
conducted of the other sex. All was, or seemed to be, orderly,
sleek, and unobtrusive. Probably, of all modes of life that are
allotted to man by his Creator, life such as this is the most
happy. One hint, however, for improvement, I must give even to
Portland: It would be well if they could make their streets of some
material harder than sand.

I must not leave the town without desiring those who may visit it
to mount the observatory. They will from thence get the best view
of the harbor and of the surrounding land; and, if they chance to
do so under the reign of the present keeper of the signals, they
will find a man there able and willing to tell them everything
needful about the State of Maine in general and the harbor in
particular. He will come out in his shirt sleeves, and, like a
true American, will not at first be very smooth in his courtesy;
but he will wax brighter in conversation, and, if not stroked the
wrong way, will turn out to be an uncommonly pleasant fellow. Such
I believe to be the case with most of them.

From Portland we made our way up to the White Mountains, which lay
on our route to Canada. Now, I would ask any of my readers who are
candid enough to expose their own ignorance whether they ever
heard, or at any rate whether they know anything, of the White
Mountains? As regards myself, I confess that the name had reached
my ears; that I had an indefinite idea that they formed an
intermediate stage between the Rocky Mountains and the Alleghanies;
and that they were inhabited either by Mormons, Indians, or simply


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