Natalie | Page 7

Friends, or Quakers, and as you pass them
you cannot refrain from giving them the inside walk, for their very garb
is of humility; and as you look into the placid face of some matron, you
feel like uncovering yourself, for you can see the innocence looking out
of her eyes. You are curious to know whither so many are wending
their way, and meeting a sailor-boy, he tells you 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 the face of the narrator is less joyous as he turns from then
to now,--"things are not what they were. Our island is becoming like
what they tell me the world at large is." And the old man will re-light
his pipe, and with a sad smile he will give you the names of his
ancestors, from his great "Grand-'ther" down to more modern times,
when his fifth cousin Obed was a large ship-owner. Ah! treat such of
other days with kindness, for the style of that day will never come
again; their great hearts of brotherly love are not of this generation, yet
they have left an impress upon those well-loved shores that can never
be entirely erased. Those foot-prints of long ago, combined with the
peculiarities which will ever dwell with these children of the sea, are
attractions which insure to the stranger on his first visit, visions of
many a happy hour in the future; and he will long for the season to
return which shall liberate so many of the city doomed artificials to a
few weeks' intercourse with nature.
Awakened at early