A VOYAGE TO HEARD'S ISLAND. 



THE Old Manse was sound asleep. The ring- 

 ing of bells in Concord town, the rippling laugh- 

 ter of a purple finch in the apple-tree, the sharp 

 " chebec " of a least flycatcher by the barn, even 

 the noise we made in taking our canoes and 

 small traps off the express wagon, and carrying 

 them down through the orchard to the river, 

 failed to wake the old house from its slumbers. 

 Song sparrows sang in the vista of lilacs at the 

 western door, robins ran back and forth on the 

 lawn like mechanical toys on a nursery floor, 

 and redwing blackbirds and their naughty, im- 

 provident cousins the cow buntings creaked, 

 squeaked, and whistled on the willows by the 

 Minute-Man. He, at least, was awake. His eager, 

 resolute face was watching down that eastern path- 

 way for the coming of new perils or new bless- 

 ings to the children of Freedom. We left the 

 Manse to its slumbers and the statue to its eter- 

 nal vigil, and pushed our frail canoes out upon the 

 glittering surface of the stream. It was five 

 o'clock in the afternoon of Friday, April 24th. 



