In the afternoon the party visited some of the burying-grounds of the town, six of which were now in use.  The sight of so many unnamed graves in the Friends’ cemetery, at the head of Main street, saddened Miss Ray; and she was glad to see the neat little slabs which of late years had marked the graves of their departed ones.  They strolled around the Prospect Hill, or Unitarian Cemetery, near by, and wished to go into the Catholic one on the same street; but, as Mrs. Gordon was anxious to see some of the old headstones and epitaphs in the North burying-ground on North Liberty street, and their time was limited, they went there instead.  When Tom saw her delight as she read on the old stones the date of 1770, 1772, and some even earlier, he said that she must go out to the ancient burial-ground on the hill near the water-works and see the grave of John Gardner, Esq., who was buried there in 1706.  As he said this one of the public carriages happened to be within sight, and she proposed that they take it and go immediately to that sacred spot.  When they arrived there her historic imagination knew no bounds; her soliloquy partook of the sentiment—­in kind only, not in degree—­which inspired Mark Twain when he wept over the grave of Adam.  In the mean while, Mr. Gordon had gone to the Wannacomet Waterworks, which supplied the town with pure water from the old Washing-pond.  He there noted in his note-book that this important movement in the town’s welfare was another reason why investment in the island would be desirable.

As they started to go back to town from the burial-ground Tom wished that they could drive to the south-west suburbs, to see the South and also the colored burying-grounds, for he should feel better satisfied if he could sec everything of a kind that there was!  But Mrs. Gordon had seen enough for one day, and so they drove to their boarding-house instead.

The ringing of the sweet-toned church bell the next morning at seven o’clock reminded Miss Ray of her desire to visit the tower which contained it.  She had noticed how it rang out three times during the day, at seven, twelve, and nine o’clock, and, for the quiet Nantucket town, she hoped that the old custom would never be dropped.  And then this bell had a peculiar attraction for her, for it was like the one which was on her own church in Boston, the New Old South.  She had been greatly interested in reading that this “Old Spanish Bell,” as it was called, was brought from Lisbon in 1812; that it was stored in a cellar for three years, when it was bought by subscription for about five hundred dollars, and put in this tower.  She had read, further, in Godfrey’s guide-book, that “some little time after the bell had been in use, the sound of its mellow tones had reached the Hub; and so bewitching were the musical vibrations of this queenly bell (e) of Nantucket to many of the good people of the renowned ‘City of Notions,’ that the agents of the Old South Church negotiated with the agents of