he kind of
slumber in which time and tumult do not count.

When I awoke, startled and bewildered, the sounds of screaming children,
roaring, jarring drays, and the clatter of falling iron filled the room.
At first I imagined this to be the business of the morning, but as I
looked out of the window I perceived that it was sunset! "Wake up!" I
called to Franklin. "_It's the next day!_" "We've slept twenty-four
hours!--What will the landlady think of us?"

Frank did not reply. He was still very sleepy, but he dressed, and with
valise in hand dazedly followed me into the sitting room. The woman of
the house was serving supper to her little family. To her I said,
"You've been very kind to let us sleep all this time. We were very
tired."

"All this time?" she exclaimed.

"Isn't it the next day?" I asked.

Then she laughed, and her husband laughed, doubling himself into a knot
of merriment. "Oh, but that's rich!" said he. "You've been asleep
exactly an hour and a quarter," he added. "How long did you _think_
you'd slept--two days?"

Sheepishly confessing that I thought we had, I turned back to bed, and
claimed ten hours more of delicious rest.

All "the next day" we spent in seeing Bunker Hill, Faneuil Hall, the old
North Church, King's Chapel, Longfellow's home, the Washington Elm, and
the Navy Yard.--It was all glorious but a panic seized us as we found
our money slipping away from us, and late in the afternoon we purchased
tickets for Concord, and fled the roaring and turbulent capital.

We had seen the best of it anyway. We had tasted the ocean and found it
really salt, and listened to "the sailors with bearded lips" on the
wharves where the ships rocked idly on the tide,--The tide! Yes, that
most inexplicable wonder of all we had proved. We had watched it come in
at the Charles River Bridge, mysterious as the winds. We knew it was so.

Why Concord, do you ask? Well, because Hawthorne had lived there, and
because the region was redolent of Emerson and Thoreau, and I am glad to
record that upon reaching it of a perfect summer evening, we found the
lovely old village all that it had been pictured by the poets. The wide
and beautiful meadows, the stone walls, the slow stream, the bridge and
the statue of the "Minute Man" guarding the famous battlefield, the gray
old Manse where Hawthorne lived, the cemetery of Sleepy Hollow, the
grave of Emerson--all these historic and charming places enriched and
inspired us. This