"Madame, you are just as sweet as you can be. I cottoned to you right off the minute I saw you, just as I did to 'sonny,' over there," pointing to the noble scion of the house. The governess made a note of the word "cotton." The Countess was dumfounded; but our young friend seeming so unconscious of having said or done anything out of the way, she simply, instead of resenting what in another would have been most offensive, looked at him with a lovely, motherly smile, and I am sure she wanted to imprint a kiss on his forehead _à la Russe_. The next morning the Countess mentioned that she had a quantity of old tapestries somewhere about in the house. "Where are they?" we all exclaimed. "Can we not see them?" "Certainly, but I do not know where they are," answered the Countess. "They may be in the stables." We went there, and sure enough we found, after rummaging about in the large attic, a quantity of old tapestries: three complete subjects (biblical and pastoral), all of them more or less spoiled by rats and indiscriminate cutting. It amused me to see in the servants' dining-room some good old pictures, while in ours the walls were covered with modern engravings. We were about thirty at table, and in the servants' hall there were nearly sixty persons. Lenchen, my old-maid maid, puts on her best and only black- silk dress every day and spends hours over her toilette for dinner. Mr. Tweed, the English trainer, says that the stables here are among the finest in Germany, and that the Count owns the best race-horses in the land, and is a connoisseur of everything connected with horses. Our Colorado friend did not seem at all overwhelmed with the splendor of the stables, but with a knowing eye, examining the horses (feet, fetlocks, and all), and without further preliminaries, said, "This one is not worth much, and that one I would not give two cents for, but this fellow," pointing to the Count's best racer, "is a beauty." Mr. Tweed's amazement at this amateur (as he supposed him to be) was turned into admiration when Mr. Brent walked into the paddock, asked for a rope, and proceeded to show us how they lasso horses in America. Every one was delighted at this exhibition. Then Mr. Tweed brought out the most unruly horse he had, which none of the English or German grooms could mount. Mr. Brent advanced cautiously, and with a few coaxing words got the horse to stand quiet long enough for him to pass his hand caressingly over his neck. But putting the saddle on him was another matter; the horse absolutely refused to be saddled. So what did our American friend do but give one mighty spring and land on the horse's bare back. He dug his strong legs into the sides of the horse, and though the horse kicked and plunged for a while, it succumbed finally and was brought in tame and meek. Nothing could have pleased the Count more than this, and the rest of us were lost in admiration.