it is “fifth day,” and if you follow in the wake of the “slick bonnets,” they will pilot you to their nearest light-house; but precious little light you will get unless the spirit move some of them to pick up the wick.  You move on with the rest till you come to their house of worship, which appears as humble as those who enter its doors.  As you contrast the plainness on all sides with the richly decorated edifice in which you have been accustomed to worship, you try to smile a smile of contempt at the scene, but cannot, for you feel that the spirit of Christ is in their midst; and though not a word is spoken during the hour and a half, yet you feel that the silent worship which went up to Heaven, was heard by Him who answers prayer.  As a signal for dispersing, the elders who occupy the “rising seats,” arise and shake hands, and you go your way with those silent ones, feeling that their worship was acceptable to God.  The Quakers of Nantucket are rapidly diminishing in number.  Formerly two-thirds, perhaps, of the population, were of the Society of Friends, but now not one-third are of that denomination.  As their children come up, they are not true to the faith, as were their fathers, and they put off the plain garb for the fashions of the day.  A Quaker in Nantucket will in time come to be a great curiosity.  Their places will, we fear, be filled by none more upright.  Heaven bless them!

Nantucket of the present is not Nantucket of the past.  Her quaint, old-timeness has given place to customs and manners more in accordance with things common-place.  Yet her originality has not entirely forsaken her; she has a character even now, peculiar to herself.  The wild waves come tumbling in, their glad shouts ringing through the midnight stillness with the same zest as of yore; and the same starry skies, which looked down on the fair maiden of a century ago, still bend over her children’s children, as they tread along life’s rugged way.  Occasionally you may meet with one who has long since passed the meridian of life, one, perhaps, who has never been off of the island of his birth; and he will tell you of the Nantucket of the past, before her peaceful shores had been invaded by the stranger; when they might lay them down to sleep, without thought of bolt or bar, save old ocean’s faithful bands.  You will learn of Nantucket from the beginning down to the present time.  Then the island was big with prosperity.  Her sons were not obliged to leave their homes for a five years’ voyage, in search of the monster from which they gained their chief maintenance, for there were then good fishing grounds near the shore, and often the whale might be seen from their little island, spouting off in the distance; and their ships came proudly bearing down to the bar, laden heavily with the good sperm oil, and all hearts were made lighter and each purse heavier, with every new arrival of good fortune; as if they had been one great family, each one smiling on another’s prosperity.  “But now,”—­and