The count answered very nicely, only he is rather shy, and that gives him a somewhat pedantic manner. About nine o’clock it began to get decidedly tame, when, to my surprise and delight, Fred unexpectedly appeared with his brother and the two Hockhaus. They were on their way to the military steeple chase at Raigern, and came to beg quarters for the night. I at once got up a circus entertainment, sent for a four-in-hand driving whip, and trotted Fred out first as the thoroughbred mare Arabi. It sent us into fits to see how he sprang over chairs, and backed, and reared, and finally picked up my handkerchief from the floor with his teeth. Then we made Nagel sit down to the piano and play a set of quadrilles for the four to dance. They did it splendidly; they are such dear boys. The youngest Hockhaus is so good-natured, and he really has a face like a horse. At last Fred, jumping upon his brother’s back, introduced himself as Mlle. Pimpernelle upon her splendidly trained horse Rob Roy. If only you could have seen him--the coquettish glances he gave, his mincing airs, and the farewell kisses of the hand he sent back in all directions as he was gayly trotted off. I never saw anything so funny. We were immensely amused, papa and mamma as much, as any of us. But the count looked on stiff as buckram, until I thought to myself, “My good sir, if you happened to be stolen. I’d not be the one to send the crier after you.” The best thing of all in our circus was when the noble steed, having had more than enough of Mlle. Pimpernelle’s riding whip, suddenly took to rearing and plunging, and rolled over with his fair rider. We were so overheated from laughing that, to cool down, I proposed a _jeu d’esprit_ of my own invention. The whole company sat round a table, a saucer of pounded sugar was brought in, and each one in turn had to dip his nose in it. Then, when all were ready, I gave the word--one, two, three--and everyone had to try to lick away the sugar from the tip of his nose. The one who did it first was the winner. Oh, to see the grimaces and contortions we made, and how indignant my dear old Nagel was, and yet had to join in it! description fails me. Papa was the first winner, then Kuni Hockhaus, then I; and Fred only, with his dear little _retroussé_ nose, could not accomplish it; he was thoroughly beaten, poor fellow! He is such a dear old boy. Your MUSCHI. SEBENBERG CASTLE, November 19, 1882. With all due respect be it said, my love, you are as pedantic as any old bluestocking. Only go on in like manner and you will soon be eligible for a writer of penny dreadfuls.