Let us now speed to breakfast; for folk are early in the New World, and do not lie a-bed all the forenoon, thinking how to waste the afternoon, and then, when the afternoon comes, try and relieve the tedium thereof by cooking up some project to get over the ennui of the evening.  Whatever else you may deny the American, this one virtue you must allow him.  He is, emphatically, an early riser; as much so as our own most gracious Sovereign, whose example, if followed by her subjects—­especially some in the metropolis—­would do more to destroy London hells, and improve London health, than the Legislature, or Sir B. Hall, and all the College of Surgeons, can ever hope to effect among the post-meridian drones.

Breakfast was speedily despatched, and Senor Cabanos y Carvajal followed as a matter of course.  While reducing him to ashes, and luxuriating in the clouds which proclaim his certain though lingering death, we went out upon the terrace before the house to wish good speed to my two companions who were just starting, and to enjoy a view of the far-famed vale of Genesee.  Far as the eye could see, with no bounds save the power of its vision, was one wide expanse of varied beauty.  The dark forest hues were relieved by the rich tints of the waving corn; neat little cottages peeped out in every direction.  Here and there, a village, with its taper steeples, recalled the bounteous Hand “that giveth us all things richly to enjoy.”  Below my feet was beautifully undulating park ground, magnificently timbered, through which peeped the river, bright as silver beneath the rays of an unclouded sun, whose beams, streaming at the same time on a field of the rich-coloured pumpkin, burnished each like a ball of molten gold.  All around was richness, beauty, and abundance.

The descendant of a Wellington or a Washington, while contemplating the glorious deeds of an illustrious ancestor, and recalling the adoration of a grateful country, may justly feel his breast swelling with pride and emulation; but while I was enjoying this scene, there stood one at my side within whom also such emotions might be as fully and justly stirred—­for there are great men to be found in less conspicuous, though not less useful spheres of life.  A son who knew its history enjoyed with me this goodly scene.  His father was the first bold pioneer.  The rut made by the wheel of his rude cart, drawn by two oxen, was the first impress made by civilization in the whole of this rich and far-famed valley.  A brother shared with him his early toils and privations; their own hands raised the log-hut—­their new home in the wilderness.  Ere they broke ground, the boundless forest howled around a stray party of Indians, come to hunt, or to pasture their flocks on the few open plots skirting the river:  all else was waste and solitude.  One brother died comparatively early; but the father of mine host lived long to enjoy the fruit of his labours.  He lived to see industry