She should certainly see it the first thing,
if she ever were in Nantucket again; for she considered the man, who,
unaided, could make such a clock, the greatest mechanical genius that
ever lived. She felt this still more when she was told that the clock
could not be mended until there could be found a mechanic who was also
an astronomer.
At seven o'clock the next morning they were all on board the steamer, as
she left the old town of Nantucket in the distance. Mrs. Gordon looked
longingly back at Brant Point, which she still felt was the best spot on
the island; while Bessie eagerly watched for the little flag which a
certain young gentleman was yet waving from the wharf.
At half-past one they were in Boston, and an hour later at their
suburban home, all delighted with their short stay in Nantucket. They
felt that they had seen about all that there was to be seen there, and
they were glad to have visited the island before it should be clothed
with more modern garments.
[Footnote 2: Copyright 1885, by Elizabeth Porter Gould.]
* * * * *
A BIRTHDAY SONNET.
By George W. Bungay.
Our days are like swift shuttles in the loom,
In which time weaves the warp and woof of fate;
Its varied threads that interpenetrate
The pattern woven, picture bride and groom,
A life-like scene in their own happy home.
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