on between the mist and the rising sun. The sun had taken the hill-tops, but the mist still kept possession of the valley and the town. The steeple of the great church rose through a dense mass of snow-white clouds; and on the hills the dim vapors were rolling across the windows of the ruined castle, like the fiery smoke of a fierce conflagration. It seemed to him an image of the rising of the sun of Truth on a benighted world; its light streamed through the ruins of centuries; and, down in the Valley of Time, the cross on the Christian church caught its rays, though the priests were singing in mist and darkness below.
In the warm breakfast-room he found the Baron waiting for him. He was lying upon a sofa, in morning gown and purple-velvet slippers, both with flowers upon them. He had a guitar in his hand, and a pipe in his mouth, at the same time smoking, playing, and humming his favorite song from Goethe:—
A fisher sat thereby."
Flemming could hardly refrain from laughing at the sight of his friend; and told him it reminded him of a street-musician he once
