This apartment was a most delightful summer room. It was very spacious, occupying the whole first floor of one of those irregular wings of the house. The ceiling was lofty, the walls were covered with pearl white paper, and the floor of white oak was waxed and polished to an ivory smoothness. On three sides were tall windows, reaching to the floor, and opening out upon the piazza or the lawn, and draped with snowy, flowing curtains. On the fourth side was the open fire-place, whitened inside, and having on its marble hearth an alabaster vase of lilies, whose fragrance filled the air. The walls were adorned with tall mirrors, and with choice paintings, all of a cool, refrigerating character, such as: An Alpine Scene, A Green Forest Glade, with Deer Reposing, A Mountain Lake, A Shaded Pond, with Cows, A Farm Yard in a Snow Storm, etc. A piano stood at the farthest end of the room. A harp reclined near it. A few marble-topped stands and tables, scattered over with rare prints, books, _virtu_, _bijouterie_, etc., stood at convenient distances. A lady’s elegant work-table, with its costly trifles, was a pleasing feature in the room. Sofas, ottomans, divans, and lounging chairs, “fitted to a wish for study or repose,” were everywhere at hand. Through the open windows came the evening wind, laden with the fragrance of flowers, the murmur of falling waters, the whisper of leaves, and the cheery chirp of insects—those night songsters who begin when the birds go to sleep—nature’s vesper choir. While _from_ the open windows could be darkly seen the tall shadowy trees, the towering white cliffs, and, in the distance, a bend of that great river which took its rise here, and which there sleeping among the dark green hills, with the moon shining full upon it, seemed a resplendent mountain lake, flashing back the moonbeams from its bosom in rays of dazzling light. The whole effect of the room and the scene was delightfully cooling and refreshing. When Mr. Clifton conducted his guests into this saloon, it was occupied by three young ladies, who, immediately on their entrance, arose to receive them; and whom, in presenting his visitors, Mr. Clifton severally named as, my wife, Mrs. Clifton,—my daughter, Miss Clifton, and my second daughter, Zuleime. Captain Clifton, in turn, saluted his aunt and cousins. Miss Clifton, his betrothed, received him with cold hauteur. So, these were the beauties—and beautiful, passing beautiful, they were indeed, though differing from each other in beauty, as “one star differs from another in glory.” But let me describe them.