in a court of chancery, of the information obtained from the deceased.  A little reflection, however, sufficed to get the better of this weakness, and he made a civil inclination of his head, as much as to tell the stranger, notwithstanding his name and place of residence, that he was welcome.  Of course no one but the deacon himself knew of the thoughts that troubled him, and after a very brief delay, the guest proceeded with his explanations of the object of his visit.

“The Daggetts are pretty numerous on the Vineyard,” continued the stranger, “and when you name one of them it is not always easy to tell just what family he belongs to.  One of our coasters came into the Hull (Holmes’ Hole was meant) a few weeks since, and reported that she spoke an inward-bound brig, off New Haven, from which she heard that the people of that craft had put ashore, at Oyster Pond, a seafaring man, who belonged to the Vineyard, and who was bound home, arter an absence of fifty years, and whose name was Thomas Daggett.  The word passed through the island, and a great stir it made among all us Daggetts.  There’s plenty of our Vineyard people wandering about the ’arth, and sometimes one drops in upon the island, just to die.  As most of them that come back bring something with them, it’s gen’rally thought a good sign to hear of their arrival.  After casting about, and talking with all the old folks, it has been concluded that this Thomas Daggett must be a brother of my father’s, who went to sea about fifty years since, and has never been seen or heard of since.  He’s the only person of the name for whom we can’t account, and the family have got me to come across to look him up.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Daggett, that you are so late,” answered the deacon, slowly, as if unwilling to give pain.  “Had you come last week, you might have seen and conversed with your relation; or had you come early this morning, only, you might have attended his funeral.  He came among us a stranger, and we endeavoured to imitate the conduct of the good Samaritan.  I believe he had all the comforts that Oyster Pond can give; and, certainly, he had the best advice.  Dr. Sage, of Sag Harbour, attended him in his last illness—­Dr. Sage, of the Harbour:  doubtless you have heard him mentioned?”

“I know him by reputation, and make no doubt all was done that could be done.  As the sloop I named lay by the brig some time, in a calm, the two captains had a long talk together; and ours had prepared us to hear of our kinsman’s speedy dissolution.  He was in a decline when he landed, and we suppose that no human skill could have saved him.  As he had so skilful a physician, and one who came so far, I suppose my uncle must have left property?”

This was a home-thrust; but, fortunately for the deacon, he had already prepared himself with an answer.

“Sea-faring men, that are landed on points and capes, from inward-bound vessels, are not very apt to be overloaded with worldly goods,” he said, smiling.  “When a man prospers in that calling, he usually comes ashore at a wharf, in some large place, and gets into his coach, to ride up to some grand tavern!  I have remarked, pastor, that sea-faring men love comforts and free-living, unaccountably, when they can fairly get a chance at ’em.”