iolently down the rocks, into a dark wooded valley, and from thence
runs into the Merrimac, about a mile to the southeast. A wild sight it
was, the water swollen by the rains of the season, foaming and dashing
among the rocks and the trees, which latter were wellnigh stripped of
their leaves. Leaving this place, we went on towards Haverhill. Just
before we entered that town, we overtook an Indian, with a fresh wolf's
skin hanging over his shoulder. As soon as he saw us, he tried to hide
himself in the bushes; but Mr. Saltonstall, riding up to him, asked him
if he did expect Haverhill folks to pay him forty shillings for killing
that Amesbury wolf? "How you know Amesbury wolf?" asked the Indian.
"Oh," said Mr. Saltonstall, "you can't cheat us again, Simon. You must
be honest, and tell no more lies, or we will have you whipped for your
tricks." The Indian thereupon looked sullen enough, but at length he
begged Mr. Saltonstall not to tell where the wolf was killed, as the
Amesbury folks did now refuse to pay for any killed in their town; and,
as he was a poor Indian, and his squaw much sick, and could do no work,
he did need the money. Mr. Saltonstall told him he would send his wife
some cornmeal and bacon, when he got home, if he would come for them,
which he promised to do.

When we had ridden off, and left him, Mr. Saltonstall told us that this
Simon was a bad Indian, who, when in drink, was apt to be saucy and
quarrelsome; but that his wife was quite a decent body for a savage,
having long maintained herself and children and her lazy, cross husband,
by hard labor in the cornfields and at the fisheries.

Haverhill lieth very pleasantly on the river-side; the land about hilly
and broken, but of good quality. Mr. Saltonstall liveth in a stately
house for these parts, not far from that of his father-in-law, the
learned Mr. Ward. Madam, his wife, is a fair, pleasing young woman,
not unused to society, their house being frequented by many of the first
people hereabout, as well as by strangers of distinction from other
parts of the country. We had hardly got well through our dinner (which
was abundant and savory, being greatly relished by our hunger), when two
gentlemen came riding up to the door; and on their coming in, we found
them to be the young Doctor Clark, of Boston, a son of the old Newbury
physician, and a Doctor Benjamin Thompson, of Roxbury, who I hear is not
a little famous for his ingenious poetry and