y against Nature. We might use Peter's words to them,--"Thou
hast not lied unto men, but unto God." Ananias and Sapphira were slain
for less. But they think, I suppose, that the age of miracles has
passed, or survives only in their miraculous cures, and so coolly defy
the lightnings of Heaven. I was so much excited on this subject that
Thompson suggested to me to give up my situation, turn Peter the Hermit,
and carry a fiery scrubbing-brush through the country, preaching to all
lovers of Nature to join in a crusade to wash the Holy Places clean of
these unbelieving quacks.

It is pleasant to see that the Nantucket people are all healthy, or, if
ailing, have no idea of being treated as they treat bluefish,--offered a
red rag or a white bone, some taking sham to bite upon, and so be hauled
in and die. As regards the salubrity of the climate, I think there can
be no doubt. The faces of the inhabitants speak for themselves on that
point. I heard an old lady, not very well preserved, who had been a
fortnight on the island, say to a sympathizing friend, into whose ear
she was pouring her complaints, "I sleeps better, and my stomach is
sweeter." She might have expressed herself more elegantly, but she had
touched the two grand secrets of life,--sound sleep and good digestion.

Another comfort on this island is, that there are few shops, no
temptation to part with one's pelf, and no beggars, barelegged or
barefaced, to ask for it. I do not believe that there are any cases of
the _cacoethes subscribendi_. The natives have got out of the habit of
making money, and appear to want nothing in particular, except to go
a-fishing.

They have plenty of time to answer questions good-humoredly and
_gratis_, and do not look upon a stranger as they do upon a stranded
blackfish,--to be stripped of his oil and bone for their benefit. "I
feel like a man among Christians," I declaimed,--"not, as I have often
felt in my wanderings on shore, like Mungo Park or Burton, a traveller
among savages, who are watching for an opportunity to rob me. I catch a
glimpse again of the golden age when money was money. The blessed old
prices of my youth, which have long since been driven from the continent
by

'paper credit, last and best supply,
That lends corruption lighter wings to fly,'

have taken refuge here before leaving this wicked world forever. The
_cordon sanitaire_ of the Atlantic has kept off the pestilence of
inflation."

O