Windsor, the royal residence, twenty-five miles from London, attracts of course many American visitors, its features of interest including, besides the castle and park, the celebrated stables. But as for stables, the Queen’s Mews, near the centre of London, offer a much more brilliant show. Admission is gained with little difficulty or formality—by Americans. You simply call at the American Legation in Victoria street, two or three blocks (as we’d say in New York), from the Victoria railway station—a “penny ’bus” from Charing Cross passes the door. It is not necessary to ask for Minister Lincoln; your card sent to Mr. White, the secretary of the legation, or, in his absence, to Mr. McCormick, the courteous assistant secretary, will secure you in return the necessary pasteboard for yourself and party to visit the Queen’s Mews in Buckingham Palace road—a very short walk from the legation and a stone’s throw, so to speak, from Victoria station.

The stables cover a few acres of ground. They contain the royal harness, the carriage of state and other carriages, and have stalls for about one hundred horses, in the care of all of which about thirty or forty men are employed, those longest in the service being privileged to live on the premises. There is nothing very remarkable about the horses’ quarters; the stalls are not more luxurious nor are they kept in better condition than many private gentlemen’s stables in New York and Newport, nor are the horses particularly worthy of note, excepting the ten large black stallions and eight cream-colored stallions, used in drawing the state carriage on state occasions, as, for instance, when the Queen opens parliament. The tails of these stallions, the blacks and cream-colored, all reach to and almost sweep the ground, with the exception of one big black animal, whose brevity of appendage is made up on state occasions by the addition of a false tail.

The harness for ordinary use is of black leather with elaborate bright brass trimmings, that for state occasions is also of black leather, the crowns and coats-of-arms, in solid metal, being heavily and richly gilded. The harness is kept in perfect condition, and kept on show, protected by glass doors and windows. You may see and admire the royal reins, but they are not to be handled by common fingers.

Among the carriages there is one kept for its past history and glory, not for present use—a gaudy, gilded, theatrical-looking vehicle, the weight of which is four tons, the great, heavily-tired wheels of which measure six feet in diameter, the whole being of the respectable age of one hundred and thirty years. The most beautiful feature of this curious relic of by-gone days is the eight pictures set in as many panels, painted by Cipriani, an Italian artist famous in his day.

But the carriages for Her Majesty’s ordinary use and the carriage which is reserved for state occasions, which is drawn by the eight cream horses, are models of comfort, luxury and beauty. They are upholstered with dark blue cloth, the only interior ornaments being of worsted fringe matching the cloth in color. The wheels and body are dark blue, the panels being painted in a lighter shade, the centre of each door panel relieved by the royal crest of arms painted in rich colors, but not larger in size than a silver dollar. The carriages are hung on C springs and yield from any point to the slightest touch.

I ventured the remark to one of the footmen in charge that when Her Majesty places her foot on the step her weight must make quite a depression of the springs. “Does it,” said the royal flunky; “you should stand ’ere when the Duchess of Teck gets in. The Queen’s cousin is a werry heavy woman, God bless her. If you was to see her get in you would see a depression, or whatever you call it.”

You will make a mistake if on leaving the Mews you do not drop a shilling into the ready palm of both coachman and footman.