It was one of Peggy's inherited treasures, and she reverenced it next to her Bible.

The glass had been broken and mended with putty, which formed a dark, diagonal line across the venerable crystal.

This antique chronometer occupied the central place on the mantel-piece, its gliding sands, though voiceless, for ever whispering of ebbing time and everlasting peace.

"Passing away, passing away," seemed continually issuing from each meeting cone.

I have no doubt the contemplation of this ancient, solemn instrument, which old Father Time is always represented as grasping in one unclenching hand, while he brandishes in the other the merciless scythe, had a lasting influence on my character.
That night, it was long before I fell asleep.