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SATURDAY.

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At length, on Saturday, the last day of August, 1839, we two,
brothers, and natives of Concord, weighed anchor in this river
port; for Concord, too, lies under the sun, a port of entry and
departure for the bodies as well as the souls of men; one shore
at least exempted from all duties but such as an honest man will
gladly discharge. A warm drizzling rain had obscured the
morning, and threatened to delay our voyage, but at length the
leaves and grass were dried, and it came out a mild afternoon, as
serene and fresh as if Nature were maturing some greater scheme
of her own. After this long dripping and oozing from every pore,
she began to respire again more healthily than ever. So with a
vigorous shove we launched our boat from the bank, while the
flags and bulrushes courtesied a God-speed, and dropped silently
down the stream.

Our boat, which had cost us a week's labor in the spring, was in
form like a fisherman's dory, fifteen feet long by three and a
half in breadth at the widest part, painted green below, with a
border of blue, with reference to the two elements in which it