"Oh yes, to be sure," replied his highness, who sat down and played for an hour, and then there was so much thanking, complimentary acknowledgement of condescension on his part, etcetera, and the ladies appeared so flattered when he spoke to them. The next day it was discovered that a slight mistake had occurred, and that, instead of being a prince, he had only come to Geneva along with a Russian prince, and that the real prince was in his own room upstairs; upon which not only he fell himself at least 200 per cent, but, what was really too bad, his singing fell also; and many who had been most loud in his praises began to discover that he was not even a prince of musicians, which he certainly was. We had a good specimen of the independence and familiarity of Swiss servants on the occasion of this gentleman's singing; they came into the salon, and mixed almost with the company that they might listen to him; and had they been ordered out, would, in all probability, have refused. An American, with whom I was conversing, observed that in _his_ country such conduct on the part of servants, notwithstanding what had been said by English travellers on the subject, would never have been permitted. I have fallen in with some odd characters here. First, what would be considered a curiosity in England--a clergyman of the Church of England with mustachios! What would the Bishop of London say?--and yet I do not see how, if a clergyman choose to wear them, he could be prevented. He has good authority to quote; Calvin wore them, and so, I believe, did Luther. Secondly, with a personage who is very peculiarly disorganised when he drinks too much. His wife, a most amiable quiet lady, is the party whose character is attacked. As soon as Mr -- is in his cups, he immediately fancies that his wife is affected with the liquor, and not himself, and he tells everybody in a loud whisper his important secret. "There now, look at Mrs --, one of the best women in the world; an excellent wife and mother, and at most times as lady-like as you would wish to see: but look at her now--you see she's quite drunk, poor thing; what a pity, isn't it, that she cannot get over her unfortunate propensity; but I am afeard it's no use. I've reasoned with her. It's a sad pity, and a great drawback to my happiness. Well, hang sorrow--it killed a cat. Don't notice what I've told you, and pass the bottle."