THE ROAD TO WILLIAMSBURGH April had gone out in rain, and though the sun now shone brightly from a cloudless sky, the streams were swollen and the road was heavy.

The ponderous coach and the four black horses made slow progress.

The creeping pace, the languid warmth of the afternoon, the scent of flowering trees, the ceaseless singing of redbird, catbird, robin, and thrush, made it drowsy in the forest.

In the midst of an agreeable dissertation upon May Day sports of more ancient times the Colonel paused to smother a yawn; and when he had done with the clown, the piper, and the hobby-horse, he yawned again, this time outright.
"What with Ludwell's Burgundy, piquet, and the French peace, we sat late last night.

My eyes are as heavy as the road.