From Cologne I traveled by rail to Rotterdam, where I arrived June 9th, and met my old friend, G. P. Ittman, one of the men with whom I formerly had business connections concerning railroad matters in Minnesota. The following day he accompanied me to the Hague to see Baron de Constant Rebeque, one of those European noblemen who would have been a nobleman even if he had been born in a hut. He was then chamberlain of the king, and one of the directors of the Maxwell Land Grant Company, the management of which had been offered to me as already stated. The next day we all met at the office of the vice-president of the company, the banker Mr. W. F. Ziegelar. The board of directors held a meeting, at which I was elected business manager for America, and it was decided that Messrs. Ziegelar and Rebeque should meet me in America a month later, and that all of us should then proceed to New Mexico to inspect the property and investigate the economical standing of the company, after which I could decide whether I would accept the position or not. A few days later Mr. Ziegelar accompanied me to London, where one of the directors and many of the creditors of the Maxwell Company resided. Here I also found some friends from India, and in their company spent a couple of days at the beautiful country residence of an English nobleman, Sir Balfour. Among the prominent and excellent men with whom I formed an acquaintance at that place was Maj. Horace Durrant, formerly of the queen's hussars, who was also largely interested in the Maxwell Company, and one of the men from different countries, nationalities and creeds who will always live in my memory like beaming stars on life's varied journey. Soon afterward I renewed my acquaintance with John Ennis in Liverpool, an Irishman, and a friend of mine for more than twenty years. He is a man who is never happier than when he can do someone a favor, and he has had occasion to do me many. In the evening he took me out to see a sight, as he called it, and truly a wonderful sight it was. In a vacant space among the back streets and alleys of Liverpool, near the shipping, stood erected an enormous tent, containing seats for three thousand people. My friend Ennis led me through the back entrance onto the platform, where a few ladies and gentlemen were already seated. The tent was lighted with gas; the people were crowding into it through half a dozen different entrances. I have never seen such a crowd before or since. There were thieves, pickpockets, beggars, prostitutes, drunkards and ragamuffins of both sexes and of all ages, the very slums and filth of that great seaport, laughing, shouting, cursing, weeping, and noisy in every way. Soon the great tent was filled, and could contain no more.