anything to go wrong, or any relaxation in this
constant spooning out of the ocean to take
place, the whole country would be under water.

The quay at Rotterdam is the most prim,
formal-looking promenade possible; nothing is
unpainted or out of its place. The very trees,
I believe, all come in and go out of leaf
together. I suspect that if one contumacious
poplar were to take upon itself to wither or
remain green, otherwise than at the discreet
period at which its brethren undergo these
changes, it would be rooted up or be painted
the required colour, so as not to make a gap.

Painting is a great business in Holland.
Everything is painted and repainted continually
throughout its existence. Some cows shuffle
off their mortal coil with their horns painted
all manner of tasteful colours. "Neat" is the
one word which expresses the condition of
everything in Holland and Brabant. Everything is
neat; houses are neat, streets are neat, people
are neat, wines are neat. Most things, too,
are made convenient. Everything fits everything
else. The ships of the merchant come
up to his door, and from his bedroom window,
if so disposed, he may take an airing on
the foreyard. The barges are painted all sorts
of brilliant colours, and occupy the most
singular positions in the heart of the largest Dutch
cities. When you think yourself close to some
public building, a great merchantman preparing
to set sail appears right before you, within a
few feet of your nose. A Dutch friend, with
whom you have been conversing in his
counting-house, opens a door, like a press, and you
find yourself suddenly on board ship upon the
canal. Little mirrors projecting from the
windows, whereby all that goes on in the street
may be revealed to the fair occupants of the
houses, are universal as in Belgium; as also are
little feet-warmers, or "voor stoofen," not
unlike what the old women carry in Italy. This
fire-stove is put under the skirts in the house,
and carried in the hands in the street.

The distances are so very short in Holland,
that one fancies a traveller might make the
giro, as the Italians say, of the whole kingdom
between breakfast and dinner, stopping to see
the sights at each town en route. Such a rapid
tour, however, though it might satisfy the
prevalent British idea of "doing" Holland, would
convey an inadequate notion of the real objects
of interest in that most interesting country.

Going north from Rotterdam, the first station
on the railway is renowned Schiedam, which
enjoys a reputation similar to Glenlivet in
Scotland, or Bushinells in Ireland, being the
great distillery of Holland. The next place is
Delft, the birthplace of eathenware. Delft
received a death-blow from Mr. Wedgwood, who,
by his superior taste, demolished the long-prevailing
fashion in cups made upon the model of
martello towers, with saucers, deep and straight as
the sides of a fosse, to match. Close to this is
Ryswick, the scene of the famous congress and
general peace, so graphically described in the
charming pages of Macaulay. A few miles
further on, a large and handsome station, bearing
the very uncouth-looking name of S.
Gravenhage, greets the eye. It is in reality
the Hague. Omnibuses and cabs from the
principal hotels are in waiting here. The
rapidity with which they drive in the streets
of Holland is surprising when one looks at the
heavy horses and heavier drivers, and, more
than all, at the narrow streets, quite
unprotected from the canals, and the sharp turns.
In passing the corner of a bridge, the carriage
often makes a sudden swoop and whirl which
causes the occupant to feel doubtful whether
it is the driver's fixed determination to cast him
headforemost against the houses on the one
side, or into the canal on the other.

The park at the Hague is, in fact, a forest,
and a great resort for all classes in fine weather.
Many of the trees are fine, and the planting is
so close as to suggest even greater extent than
the reality. The roads winding through it are,
in hot weather, delightfully cool and shady, and
on Sundays the whole presents a very gay and
animated appearance. Crowds of people, old
and young, rich and poor, high and low, repair
thither from Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and Leyden.
A band is stationed on a little island in
the middle of a small lake, towards the centre
of the forest; and near it is a pavilion,
surrounded with innumerable little tables, where
ice, coffee, lemonade, or wine may be had.
Everybody smokes, talks, laughs, and is amused.
At four o'clock the band takes its departure, but
a great deal of laughter and merry-making goes
on here on summer evenings; hide-and-seek and
other primitive diversions being in great favour.

Scheveningen is a great resort of all classes
for amusement, on Sundays and fête-days. It is
a village on the sea-coast, about three miles
from the Hague; thither, if you wish to study
character, you go in an omnibus, in company
with as many other people as that conveyance
can possibly carry. The correct thing is to go
upon the roof, for the purpose of seeing the
flat country around, and also of being hit
occasionally in the face by the branches of the trees
which grow along the road. Many of the roads
in Holland, this among the number, are paved
with little bricks, set on edge and packed
closely together. The bricks are small and
thin, like those seen in the ancient ruins at
Rome, and form an excellent roadway, as quiet
as macadam without the dust, and as hard as
pavement without the noise. How a trial of
this contrivance happens to have been omitted
in all our metropolitan experiments with nearly
every sort of pavement, it is not easy to understand.
Scheveningen itself is a little village,
chiefly composed of inns, cafés, and other places
of public resort; chairs and tables are placed in
the street, and surrounded by large groups of
people, all dressed in their gayest attire. The
women wear grand caps, quilled and frilled in a
style that would do honour to a French milliner.
Round the back of the head, underneath the
cap, are worn large gold or silver plates, not
unlike small helmets, which terminate either in