Somewhere in the town we found a lovely old minster, through the aisles of which we wandered for a while, happy in having no guide and knowing nothing whatever about it. Outside, in a little park, was a statue of Beethoven, and in a quiet street near the water the musical girls of our party found the house where he was born. In the cool of the day we took another steamer, and went on towards the beckoning hills, at nightfall reaching Rolandseck. There was no town in sight, only a pier and three quiet hotels upon the bank, with a narrow road between their gardens and the water. We chose the one farthest away, and were rowed down to it, dabbling our hands in the water, and saying over and over again, "It is the _Rhine_!" But the hotel was full; so we filled our arms with luggage, and walked back, up the dusty road to the second. A complacent waiter stood in the doorway, with nothing of that hungry, eager air about him which betokens an empty house; cool, comfortable-looking tourists, in enviable, fresh toilets, stared at us from the windows; a pretty German girl upon the balcony overhead was sketching the river and the Seven Mountains just below, uttering little womanly exclamations at times, ending in "_ach_" and "_ich_." After some delay, four single rooms were offered us; our party numbered twelve; we left a portion of our company here; the others went on--to the pier where we had landed, in fact, and with all meekness and humility sued for accommodations of the little hotel here, which we had at first looked upon with disdain. Fortunately, we were not refused. When we came down the next morning, the sole occupant of the piazza opening upon the garden--where our breakfast was spread--was a stout, red-faced gentleman of general sleek appearance, who smiled a courteous "good morning." He proved to be a Dutchman from Rotterdam, who had in charge a couple of Malay youths sent to Holland to be educated--bright-faced boys, with straight, blue-black hair, olive complexions, and eyes like velvet. They were below us, walking in the garden now. "We have but just come from Holland," we said, after some conversation; and, with a desire to be sociable, added that it was a very charming, garden-like _little_ (!) country. (O dreadful American spirit!) He smiled, showing his gums above his short teeth, and with a kind of enraged humility replied,-- "It is nothing." "It is indeed wonderful," we went on, trying to improve upon our former attempt, and quoting a sentiment from the guide-book, "how your people have rescued the land from the clutch of the sea!" But his only reply was the same smile, and the "Yes?" so fatal to sentiment. "We visited your queen's 'House in the Wood,'" we ventured, presently. "Is it true that the domestic relations of the royal family are so unhappy?" "O, the king and the queen are most happy," he replied. "You may always be sure that when _he_ is in town _she_ will be in the country."