Islands, and all the crew, with a single exception, were murdered and probably eaten.

The world's whaling industry long ago began to decline, partly because of the decrease in the number of whales, partly because of the discovery of petroleum

and its use for lighting purposes, and very few American vessels now make voyages after whales.

In the heyday of its prosperity as a whaling port Nantucket had ten thousand inhabitants. The island's present permanent population is less than three thousand. But there is a great inflow of summer visitors. It claims that it is one of the best of the nation's health resorts. To be on Nantucket is like being on

a ship anchored in the ocean. It is twenty-four miles from the nearest mainland, and the air cannot help being pure.

One custom which still survives in the old port is that of the curfew. Each evening the bell in the ancient church tolls its warning for everybody to get off the streets, and for all house lights to be put out, and for people to go to bed. There is also a "rising bell," as it is called, rung at seven o'clock, and a twelve o'clock bell at noon.

Two watchmen used to go on duty at the church after the curfew rang. They took hourly turns in watching from the tower. If a fire was seen, they ran shouting and blowing horns through the streets.

There were other watchmen who served as a sort of night police force. It was a part of their job to keep the boys quiet. If they found them in mischief, there would be a chase. Each watchman carried a hook. It had a handle three feet long, and the hook was just right to catch a boy round the neck or slip round his leg. If a boy was caught, the watchman would give him a few raps with the wooden end of his hook and let him go. These watchmen would go through the streets at midnight calling out, "Twelve o'clock, and all is well!"

Until a few years ago Nantucket had a town crier. He went about the place crying out the news and whatever any one wanted to advertise. This is something the way he would run on: "Oh, yes! oh, yes! there's

been a fearful flood out West. Mississippi River all under water! Big murder in Chicago! Awful news in the papers to-day! Steamer will leave at two P.M. Here's a sample of Jones's Soap! Does any one want to buy watermelons? Worth ten cents this week!"

In the whaling days he spent a good deal of time in the tower of the old church watching for returning vessels. He had keen eyes, and it was said that he could see farther than two ordinary men put together. When he sighted a whaler coming he would blow a horn and hurry to tell the captain's wife, and she would give him fifty cents or so. Then she would take a spy-glass and go up to the roof. The old houses had platforms perched on their peaks enclosed by strong railings. These were reached through a trap door, and served as lookouts from which to watch the harbor and the incoming and outgoing vessels.

On one of the sandhills back of the town is an old windmill. It was built in 1746 and was used till 1892. Now it is taken care of as a relic of the past. The tips of the arms come almost to the ground, and the mill has two doors so that if the sails happened to be whirling across one of them the other could be used.

There is a sharp contrast between the summer liveliness and winter quiet of the island. At times, in the cold months, the field ice blows into the harbor, and the steamer may stop running for several days. Once the island was thus cut off for three weeks. On such

occasions supplies of kerosene and butter and some other things perhaps get low, but there is no suffering.

A large and interesting neighboring island is Marthas Vineyard. This, of all the coast resorts, is said to be the favorite summering place of school teachers. It used to be famous for the knitting of stockings. In the years that followed the Revolution the island women knitted fifteen thousand pairs annually, and the statement is made that the people on vessels approaching its harbors could hear the click of the knitting needles before the town lights hove in sight.

There were stirring times on the island when we were at war with Great Britain, and the British shipsof-war were prowling about its shores. One of the

heroes of those days was a Mr. Cousins, who lived where Cottage City now is. He would have liked to be fighting in the patriot ranks, but his health was too delicate. An enemy war vessel one day dropped anchor off shore halfway over to Cape Cod, and Mr. Cousins got out his old flint-lock, proceeded to the beach, and began to blaze away at the vessel in right good earnest. He knew his gun could not possibly carry a bullet so far, and he did not in the least disturb

the enemy, yet all day long he continued loading and firing as rapidly as possible. When he was asked why he was wasting so much good powder, he responded that it was to "show his colors."