Next morning was moist and grey; the vapour from the cataract rose in vast volumes, and the damp grass along the precipice rendered walking uncomfortable; the sun hid himself till noon, and the lowering air affected the spirits, not however to such a degree as to check travelling, but we kept at home and sat in the front balcony, (the Falls are behind the house,) and, as Mrs. Corbet says, diverted ourselves by looking at the stage-coaches, and the lean and longtailed Yankey oddities that they brought and carried away.

Among other passengers who came to the house was a tall, meagre young man, of a pale, parson-like physiognomy. As he stepped out of the coach, he had a book in the one hand, and a small hair-covered trunk in the other; which, however, was not all his baggage, for the driver brought out at the same time, from the hind boot, another considerable trunk, with a cloak, a pair of boots, and an umbrella strapped upon it. Before he came into the house, he gave the coachman a gratuity, which convinced us he was a newcomer, as it is not the practice in this province, nor in the United States, to give any gift of the kind.

“What can he be?” said my wife; “he must surely be one of the missionary cattle, or a schoolmaster.”

“We shall probably soon learn,” I replied, “for he evidently intends to stop at the hotel for the night.”

“As you are always, Bogle, repining that the undivulged stranger escaped from you, perhaps this dungeon of wit will accept your offer for the boys.”