About a century ago an Indian named Peter, said to have been connected by relationship and in business with the noted Indian Tom, after whom some, we think erroneously, considered Toms River to be named, resided at Toms River, but owing to an unfortunate habit of mixing too much whisky with his water, he became unfortunate, and about the time of the war removed with his family to the vicinity of Imlaystown, where he built a wigwam by a pond not far from the village.

Shortly after he located here his wife sickened and died. Peter dearly loved his squaw, and was almost heart-broken on account of the unlucky event. He could not bear the idea of parting with his wife, of putting her under ground out of sight. For a day or two he was inconsolable and knew not what to do; at length a lucky idea occurred to him; instead of burying her where he never more could see her, he would put a rope about her neck and place her in the pond and daily visit her. This idea he at once put into execution, and as he daily visited her, it somewhat assuaged his poignant grief. On one of his melancholy visits to the departed partner of his bosom, lis noticed in the water around her a large number of eels. To turn these eels to account was a matter of importance to Peter, for though he loved his wife, yet he loved money, too. So he caught the eels daily, and for a week or so visited the village regularly and found a ready sale for them among the villagers.

But at length the supply failed— his novel eel trap gave out. A few days thereafter he was in the village and numerous were the inquiries why he did not bring any more of those good eels.

"Ah," said Peter very innocently, drawing a long sigh, "me catch no more eels— me squaw all gone— boo— hoo!"

His grief and singular reply called for an explanation, and he, thinking nothing wrong, gave it.

The result was a general casting up of accounts among the villagers, terrible anathemas upon the Indian, and a holy horror of eels among that generation of Imlaystown citizens, and even to this day it is said some of their descendants would as soon eat a snake as an eel.

(The above tradition we have no doubt is substantially correct; we derived it from Hon. Charles Parker, for many years State Treasurer, father of Gov. Parker, who some sixty years ago, while at Toms River, met with some of the disgusted purchasers of Indian Peter's eels.)

The last remnant of the Indians who frequented the lower part of old Monmouth, had their principal settlement at a place called Edgepelick or Edge Pillock, about three miles from Atsion in Burlington county, from whence they removed to Oneida Lake, New York, 1802. Before their removal, members of this tribe with their families would visit the shore once a year and spend some time fishing, oystering, making baskets, &c. The most noted among the last Indians who regularly visited the shore were Charles Moluss, his wife, and wife's sister, who bore the euphonious names of Bash and Suke, among the ancient residents of old Stafford township, but in Little Egg Harbor, Burlington county, where they also were frequent visitors, Moluss' wife was known as Bathsheba, and considered as a kind of Indian Queen, on account of the great respect shown to her by her people and by the Quakers of Burlington, because of her possessing more intelligence, and having a more prepossessing personal appearance than the rest of her tribe. At Tuckerton, when her company visited there and put up their tents, Bathsheba was generally invited to make her home with some one of the principal inhabitants of the place. At Barnegat, her company generally camped on the place lately owned by Captain Timothy Falkinburgh. where they were on friendly terms with the whites and quite disposed to be hospitable, but Bathsheba, Indian Queen though she may have been, occasionally prepared Indian delicacies for the table which the whites seldom appreciated. Some thirty years ago Eli Collins, a well remembered aged citizen of Barnegat, told the writer of this, that when he was a young man, one time he had been out from home all day, and on his way back, stopped at the hut of Moluss. His wife Bash, or Bathsheba, was boiling something in a pot which sent forth a most delightful odor to a hungry man, and he was cordially invited to dine. As he had been without anything to eat all day he willingly accepted the invitation; but he soon changed his determination when he found the savory smelling dish was hop toad soup.