Properly, this chapter, descriptive of the Island of Nantucket, should have been our first; but had that been the case, alas, for the simple tale of Natalie!  How many would have passed it by with but one thought, and that thought invariably,—­Nantucket! pooh! a fish story, strikingly embellished with ignorance.  And you may indeed discover in the feebleness of my unpretending pen, much that is food for critics; yet give not a thought of ridicule to Nantucket’s favored ones, for it is not for me to enlist under her banner of superiority of intellect.  To the many questions which I know you have it in your heart to ask, as touching the civilization, etc., of these islanders, I do not reply, as I might be tempted under other circumstances to do, that it would be advisable to procure a passport before landing on those shores, lest one might stand in danger of being harpooned by the natives; but rather let me, in as correct a light as I may, set forth to those who have heretofore known but little of those who inhabit that triangular bit of land in the wide ocean, which, when we were six year olds, we passed over on our maps with the thought, I wonder if they have Sundays there.

Situated nearly one hundred miles, in a south-easterly course from the city of Boston, and about thirty miles from the nearest point of main land, Nantucket lifts her proud head from out the broad Atlantic, whose waters, even when lashed to madness, have been kind to her.  And now, on this oppressive July morning, let us throw aside our cares, and come out from our daily round of duties, where we have been scaling with our eyes the tall brick barriers which shut out God’s beautiful blue sky and sunshine.  Yes, let us off, anywhere, to get one glimpse of Nature.  On board the good steamer “Island Home,” a two hours’ sail carries us over that distance which separates Cape Cod from Nantucket.  If you have not passed most of your days among the Connecticut hills, you pay little attention to that “green-eyed monster,” who considers it a part of his duty to prepare the uninitiated for the good time coming.  Arrived at the bar, which stretches itself across the entrance to the harbor, our first impressions take to themselves the forms of sundry venerable windmills, church spires and towers, representing various orders of architecture; but that which strikes us most is the scarcity of shipping, not more than a dozen vessels lying at the wharves.  In former times Nantucket numbered as many whaleships belonging to her port, as did any town on our seaboard.  Indeed, she was built up from the produce of the ocean, and carried the palm for years as being first among the American whale fisheries; but her number has dwindled away, till not one-fourth of those homeward-bound ships are destined for the port of Nantucket.