The event proved it so, for Col. Oakford, a fine looking man, just past the meridian of life, received him with that easy politeness and frank cordiality of manner which relieved him from all embarrassment. He soon discovered that his guest possessed high literary attainments—and, enjoying those advantages himself, the conversation became interesting, and they parted at the hour of rest, mutually pleased with each other. The next morning arose in clouds and rain. “No _ruins_ to-day,” said the young Briton, as they met in the breakfast room. But, although the weather prevented any outward excursion, a well filled library offered a pleasing substitute. Young hearts soon assimilate, and friendships in early life are quickly formed—hence, when the sun at last broke through the clouds, on the evening of the third day, the two youths felt on terms of intimacy and attachment. On the fourth morning, the lively Frank aroused his friend before sunrise, to view, what he imagined must be to him, a novel and imposing sight. They descended to the open piazza, and young Egerton looked around in vain to discover the woods, the hill, the river; all was enveloped in a thick fog, and had the appearance of a surrounding lake. At this moment the sun rose, and the vapor broke on the bosom of the stream. “See,” said Frank, “the river is throwing off his night robes—observe how gracefully he rolls and folds them.” Huge white sheets of vapor were indeed majestically receding down the current; others floated like snow wreaths on the hills of the opposite shore—the green sides of which, were at intervals visible through the breaking mist, and seemed struggling beneath its might. In gradual succession the forests and dwellings of men appeared, and in a few minutes this atmospheric envelope was lost in the increasing warmth of the sun’s beams. “How singular and beautiful,” said the stranger. “Is it often thus?” “Very frequently; at some seasons each morning renews the scene; but you are not very robust, and must be content to view it seldom, for this recreation is far from healthy. The poets of your native isle may sing of ‘walks at early dawn, through dewy meads,’ but such strolls would make a short life here.” On entering the parlor they met the Colonel. “What think you of the night bath which these lowlands take?” said he, smiling. “That the morning effect is beautiful,” replied Egerton, “but the whole must be injurious to health.”