"But I'll not anticipate. A man may be a fine looking fellow in spite of his nose. But what do you think of the Falls?" "Well, I have not _quite_ made up my mind about them. I should like to ride down to the edge of the river to look at them from below." "I will order a carriage to-morrow morning, and drive you down." "Thank you; I can do that for myself, if I have a mind to. I should like to ride down on horseback." "The path is too steep; no one ventures down that terrible road on horseback." "But I'm a capital rider." "No matter; they use cows for that purpose here." "Cows!" "They are very safe, sure-footed animals. All the ladies ride down to the Falls on cows." "Are they fools?" "Wise women. Did not you see that fine drove of cows pass the hotel at sunset?" "I did. I thought they were driven into the yard to be milked." "Why, yes; but those cows are making Mr. ---'s fortune. They serve a double purpose, providing delicious butter and cream for his customers, and acting as horses for the ladies. I will pick out the most docile among them for your excursion to-morrow morning, and see it bridled and saddled myself." This was too much for the gravity of any one. My son-in-law ran out of the room, and I laughed aloud. The poor girls began to find out that they were sold, and retreated into the balcony. An hour afterwards, as I was pacing through the long gallery that led to our sleeping apartment, one of the many doors on either side softly opened, and the youngest of these bright-eyed damsels stole out. "I want to ask you a question," she said, laying her very white hand confidingly on my arm; "were those Englishmen quizzing my sister and me?" "Need you ask that question?" said I, not a little amused at her simplicity. "I never suspected it till I saw your son laughing to himself, and then I guessed something was wrong. It was a great shame of those rude fellows to amuse themselves at our expense; but your son is quite a different person--so handsome and gentlemanly. We admire him so much. Is he married?" "His wife is my daughter." I can't tell why my answer struck the fair inquirer dumb; she drew back suddenly into her chamber, and closed the door without bidding me good night, and that was the last time I saw or heard of her and her companion. "A summer spent at the Clifton House would elicit more extraordinary traits of character than could be gathered from the chit-chat of a dozen novels," thought I, as I paced on to No. 50, the last room on the long tier.