LETTER XXVI. TO THE HONOURABLE MRS. B.

I DO not think we can enter on the SECOND SHFAF of our GLEANINGS better, than attending to what a traveller is moſt embar⯑raſſed about on his firſt landing—the beſt and cheapeſt mode of proceeding on his journey: ſince it is but too certain, that all the informa⯑tion which he can get from books, on this ſub⯑ject, is very inſufficient.—The tour-makers, indeed, have hurried on, as deeming the firſt port too trifling to merit their notice: and, either diſguſted with, what they have called, impoſitions, fatigued with their voyage, or wiſhing to "ruſh into the midſt of things" all at once, they have made a ſort of running ſight, from whom they conceive to be enemies of their purſes, and ſit down "in the ſick ſit," to give ſplenetic accounts of their ſkirmiſhes [2]with boatmen, porters, and waggoners, currente calamo.

In all this, there happens nothing but what muſt be expected from ſo much haſte, namely, folly and ignorance. The direct reverſe of ſuch conduct would be knowledge and truth: the effects would alter with the cauſes.

So far from the place of landing, in any coun⯑try, being unimportant, it ſhould be looked upon as the key to every other, by whoſe aid alone we can open the cabinet of its curioſi⯑ties, and become acquainted with its ſecrets. A general may as well affect to ſlight a frontier town, as a traveller his port of arrival; the poſſeſſion of which, in both caſes, is of the firſt conſequence.

Under this aſſurance, I ſhall take it for granted, neither you, nor any perſon, into whoſe hands theſe papers may fall, will deem the time miſuſed which is to be occupied in giving full inſtructions on this neceſſary ſub⯑ject; and you ſhall judge, from what follows, whether travellers have not left more Gleanings than they ought to have done at the port of Helveotſluice.

[3]For the ſake of a thorough intelligence, let us ſtoop a little to take up the ſubject in the outſet. On your ſide of the water, a common London Directory will inſtruct thoſe, who can⯑not pleaſantly afford the luxury of a chaiſe, that the coach goes to Harwich every mail⯑day, at ſeven in the morning, from the Spread Eagle in Gracechurch-ſtreet, and arrives in time to give the paſſengers refreſhment before the packet ſails, as well as to get the paſs from the king's agent in that town. This paſſport coſts twelve ſhillings and ſix-pence, on pay⯑ment of which there is uſually a demur on the part of my countrymen, to aſk what it is paid for? when this anſwer as uſually enſues—for the King! Hereupon follow, commonly, the whys and wherefores, by the reverberation and multiplication of which, ſomething, even more valuable than money, is loſt—time and tem⯑per; and after they are gone, the ſaid twelve ſhillings and ſix-pence muſt nevertheleſs ac⯑tually be paid. A man about to be decapi⯑tated, may as well reaſon with the axe, while his head is laid upon the block by the ſtrong hand of the law, as diſpute with an agent of government about the payment of a tax; and yet, I fear, ſcarcely one traveller, out of one hundred, but comes away growling at the [4]ſhameful impoſition of the legiſlature, at this ſine for quitting the country.—Thus, my poor, dear, argumentative countrymen are put out of humour, even on the edges of England.— I wiſh, therefore, to prepare them for this grand event; and, moreover, to aſſure them, that, if they are in wrath with the Miniſter, who impoſes the tax, they ought to be ſo with the agent who receives it, only in the propor⯑tionate ratio of eleven ſhillings to eighteen-pence, as the latter pittance is, truly, the whole of the ſum, on each paſſport, that finds its way into the ſaid agent's pocket—But, that my an⯑gry friends may know the whole of their mis⯑fortunes at once, (which is always ſomething) I will be generous enough to apprize them, that they will have the ſame taxation to pay for returning to their native country—ſo that, upon the whole, unleſs each perſon, can, well and duly, make up his mind to the entire loſs of five-and-twenty-ſhillings, LAWFUL money of Great Britain, (principal and intereſt for ever) I really think he, ſhe, or they, had better ſtay at home, by which, not only this, but a number of other difficulties travel "is heir to," will be avoided. But, I give warning, there is no other alternative.—A very long acquaintance with the curious debates which I have heard on [5]this topic, on both ſides of the water, has made me deem it worth gleaning thus circumſtantially.

So now to the reſt of inevitable expences. A guinea muſt be given alſo to the captain of the packet-boat for the accommodation of a very good bed, and generally, as good behaviour, and one may certainly add, for the comfort of knowing you are under the protection of good ſailors, it being no leſs remarkable, than true, that, ſince the eſtabliſhment of theſe veſſels, the courſe of which is environed with diffi⯑culties, there has never been a ſingle wreck, or accident that threatened it, although their neceſſity of braving all weathers, with the mail, has expoſed them to every violence of winds and of waves. They are about ninety tons burthen, have a complement of ſixteen able⯑bodied ſeamen, and are conſtructed to anſwer the double purpoſes of ſpeed and ſecurity.

In moderate weather, the paſſage is about ſixteen hours, with a fair wind; if contrary, forty-eight.—I have, however, many times known it performed from port to port in thir⯑teen or fourteen. The pacquets can accom⯑modate twenty-five perſons in the cabin, and ſtate-rooms; and ſhould a female wiſh, what [6]delicacy often ſuggeſts, a place to herſelf, the Captain reſigns his own room, where ſhe is as much ſecluded, from the reſt of the company, as if ſhe was in her own apartment. If any perſon chuſes to appropriate the whole cabin, he pays the captain ten guineas, and a ſine for every carriage.

Each paſſenger takes his own proviſions, with plenty of which the inns, on both ſides, are furniſhed, and have little baſkets ready to pack them up. But, as the ſea uſually takes away the appetite of freſh-water ſailors, in the degree that it renders men ſeaſoned to that element voracious, ten ſicken at the ſight of that, which the experienced mariner delights to bebold; and it is a ſettled cuſtom, which cannot well be diſpenſed with, to leave the baſkets (full or empty) as a little perquiſite to the ſhip's ſteward, who (if a paſſenger can make uſe of them) will provide plates, diſhes, glaſſes, knives, forks, &c. &c. dreſs the meat, warm up ſoup or broth; and if none of theſe are wanted, he ſupplies you with all the little aids that this miſerable ſickneſs ſtands in need of; on all which ſcores, he muſt be a churliſh paſſenger who refuſes to leave that recompence which can be of no ſervice to [7]himſelf; for who can drag a baſket of ſtale victuals to an inn? or carry it on the road? and yet I have not ſeldom heard honeſt John Bull quarrel with this cuſtom, as ‘"More honour'd in the breach, than the obſervance."’ but, as it is only adding the acid of ill-nature to avarice, and after all, as the thing muſt be done, I hope this condeſcenſion, on my part, to enter into the uſeful minutiae will be graci⯑ouſly received.

If you arrive on the Tueſday or Friday at Harwich, which is generally the wiſeſt way, there is time for all theſe little preliminaries; but if you do not—that is, if you get there on the Wedneſday or Saturday, be careful you are not too late. The pacquet ſails as ſoon after the arrival of the mail as poſſible, and it is frequently out at ſea early in the afternoon of thoſe days.

There are porters who take your baggage to the Cuſtom-houſe, to paſs the ceremony of be⯑ing inſpected; and as one good turn always deſerves another, it is at a paſſenger's option, whether he chooſes to have his things diſplaced [8]or not. The ſtipulated ſee for the examination is very triſling—the compliment for indulgence is no object of conteſt. One point is certain; the caviller and niggard is ſure, in all caſes, to diſ⯑appoint his own intentions.

The pacquet lies a little off in the ſtream, for being rowed to which, including property and perſon, you pay one ſhilling yourſelf, and ſix-pence for each trunk, box, or parcel—a charge ſo abſolutely pre-ſettled by the com⯑miſſioner, that, though at the water's edge you were to begin thoſe adjurations which continue to your reaching the ſide of your veſſel (as is often enough the caſe) all you will get for it is, that on board that veſſel you can⯑not be put till the uttermoſt farthing is paid.

Thus then ſtands your account:

N. B. Calculate 3l. 3s. including coachmen, &c.

[9]Luggage and living at Harwich cannot, of courſe, be aſcertained, but the whole buſineſs, independently of thoſe contingencies, may be thus calculated.

And now, having put you ſafe; and, if you are diſpoſed to take advice, in good humour, on board your pacquet, I can only wiſh you a pleaſant voyage, and in my next letter ſhall be ready to offer you my welcome, and my ſervices, like a courteous Gleaner, on your ar⯑rival in Holland. In the mean time,

LETTER XXVII. TO THE SAME.

FOR my own eaſe, as well as your's, I chooſe to ſuppoſe

and that, on your gaining this town, however you may find yourſelf ſick, you cannot com⯑pleat the proverb by being ſorry.

Should it be high water, the pacquet will convey you into the center of the town, ſo that you ſtep on the quay, and from thence into either of the inns, of which there are ſeveral, but none better, either for treatment or accom⯑modation, than that of the Prince of Orange, the landlord of which is a ſon to a captain of one of the packets, which bears the ſame name, and which is certainly a very noble veſ⯑ſel, as indeed they are all—only, if you will ſuffer me, for this once, to pun on the com⯑mander's ^* name, which is "obnoxious to pun⯑ning," I ſhould obſerve, that having made [11]myſelf ſome proſperous voyages in this Prince of Orange packet, it is but grateful to ſpeak well of the BRIDGE THAT HAS CARRIED ONE WELL OVER, at the ſame time it were unjuſt not to obſerve the reſt of the packets are ex⯑cellent. Remember I diſarm your criticiſm by pleading guilty to this pun; but it lay in my path, and I could not help gleaning it. If you find it chaff, winnow it from the wheat, and let us go on.

Inſtantly on your getting on ſhore, the porters of the place apply to take your baggage to the inn. For each parcel, ſup⯑poſing your own ſervant does not carry them, you pay, according to the ſize, a price ſtipu⯑lated by the commiſſary, whoſe printed or ſigned order they produce in caſe of a diſpute. A large trunk is ſettled at four ^* ſtivers, a ſmall one, or portmanteau, at three.

Should you wiſh to proceed immediately, without taking any repoſe or refreſhment; though, by the bye, the environs of this town are very well worth ſurveying, it will be beſt to order your baggage to the com⯑miſſary's at once, where it will be perfectly [12]ſafe, otherwiſe you have to pay porterage a ſecond time, as it muſt go to the Commiſſary's prior to your ſetting off; the carriage in which you are conveyed being obliged to ſet off from that officer's door.

There are a few other ceremonies to be at⯑tended to, before you are in actual progreſs. You muſt, if in an hurry to be gone, ſend to have the bell rung for a waggon; as it is a bu⯑ſineſs of a long half hour, as they call it here, to aſſemble the drivers, who caſt lots for the ho⯑nour of conducting you. The ringing the bell is ſix ſtivers; the charge of the waggon is a commiſſary regulation; the compliment to the driver, ſomething, or nothing, at your option; but, uſually, a ſkelling, (ſixpence) or ſeſthalf (ſivepence halfpenny.)

Should the packet arrive after ſunſet, there is an additional charge for paſſing the gates, till ten o'clock in Summer, each perſon pays a ſtiver; after which, three guilders, a perqui⯑ſite to the ſoldiers on guard. As the differ⯑ence is great you ought to be prepared.

From a perfect knowledge of my good countrymen, who have, for the moſt part, [13]a ſufficient portion of national prejudice, to laſt them ſome thouſands of miles good tra⯑velling, I feel it here neceſſary, to enter a caveat againſt their taking offence, at many ſtrange matters they will now meet with. I would, if poſſible, glean the way before them, by clearing it of all impediments, which may actually lie in it, or which are only the work of their own unreaſonable fancies.

And firſt, as to the ringing for this waggon. A waggon it literally is, though bepainted and be [...]igured all over, ſo as to "ſeem the thing it is not." Helveotſluice, however, affords no other conveyance either in wet or dry, winter or ſummer; and in this conveyance, if you do not walk—you really muſt go in all weathers, ſome ſix or ſeven miles, generally, at a very flow pace; becauſe the roads, except in a very dry ſeaſon of the year, levy ſuch a heavy tax on your wheels, that neither man or beaſt can turn them round faſter.

To be ſure, a finer opportunity never offered itſelf, to try the patience of a mere Engliſh⯑man, who comes from the fineſt public roads, and carriages, perhaps, in the whole world, to— as it will by compariſon to him appear—an [10] [...] [11] [...] [12] [...] [13] [...] [14]immenſe bog interſected by ſtagnam ditches— and if any thing is wanting to the climax of filling up the meaſure of his chagrin, it would, doubtleſs, be the inveterate patience of the conductors of theſe waggons: they ſit, amidſt the wreck, almoſt, of wheels, and in all the "majeſty of mud," (while the poor ſhivering paſſenger is trembling behind,) with a com⯑poſure ſo provoking, whiffing their piper, that demonſtrates they are totally exempt from all thoſe fine feelings, which render ſo many of their ſuperiors elegantly wretched. One piece of ad⯑vice ſhould be particularly noticed, viz. what⯑ever is your fear of being overſet, (which by the bye you will not be) or your hope of diſ⯑patch, not to attempt exciting their feelings, or animating their ſpeed; ſince to touch them with a ſenſe of your ſituation, or to put them out of their pace, is, among impoſſible things the moſt impoſſible. There is a time limited for their given ſtage, that time they will keep; but were your neck to diſlocate, or your nerves to ſhatter, they will only ſmoke and jog on; ‘"Laugh at the whirlwind, and enjoy the ſtorm."’

This will not ſuit the expectations of men, about, perhaps, to make the grand tour, and in the habit of running, perhaps, at the rate of [15]from ten to ſixteen miles in the hour. Whereas, in Holland, either by land or water, your movement is pre-ſettled at three; inſomuch, that the diſtance from place to place, is mea⯑ſured by ſo many hours; each hour implying a league.

Tireſome enough you will ſay!—unleſs you happen to be a deliberate traveller, which is, always, ten to one, that a traveller is not. Yes, to what end does a perſon travel at all: but to ſue the DEFFERENCE of manners and cuſtoms? Now it is the cuſtom in Holland to go ſlow; and, for a tolerably good reaſon; becauſe they cannot go faſt. Why ſwear at them, and their country for this? Were all things ordered as they are in England, you would have no object of travel. At any rate, now you are told theſe matters are to be expected; (and you are told the truth); you muſt either take a country as you do wedlock, for better and for worſe, or re⯑main contented where you are, and, like the Virtuoſo in the comedy, only "travel in your books."

Amongſt the pains of a reſidentiary Britiſh traveller, are to be reckoned thoſe which he derives from being a ſpectator of the prejudices [16]of his countrymen; ſome of which are ſhewn off almoſt immediately on his ſetting his foot on a foreign ſhore. Nor are theſe, by any means, confined to people of low educations, and of courſe low ideas; but inſinuate them⯑ſelves into the moſt enlightened minds, and underſtandings, when trained up at home. That impoſitions are always, and every where prac⯑tiſed by natives on foreigners, cannot be doubted; that when detected they are more inſulting to one's good ſenſe, than injurious to our fortunes, muſt, alſo, be admitted; and that, in the provinces of Holland, ſuch things are, I am ſo far from denying, that I mean, in their due times and places, to point them out. But is not England, dear England, under the ſame impeachment?—Does ſhe not over-reach, and play upon both the property and perſon of a new-imported ſtranger in the ſame manner? and, as many little circumſtances are leſs cog⯑niſable by magiſtracy—are not ſome of her impoſitions even greater in degree? Does ſhe not add ſcorn and ridicule to thoſe impoſitions? Can any ſingularity in dreſs, air, manner, or language, eſcape her criticiſm? and, though, happily, theſe outrages on national urbanity are practiſed only by the mob, or the giddy and worthleſs part of the wealthy, they cer⯑tainly [17]ſhould induce all orders of Engliſhmen to allow for a little retaliation, as well as laying their account to find ſome of that chicane and vulgarity abroad, of which they have ſo plen⯑tiful a ſtock at home.

As a very little candour, and fellow feeling, will rather lighten your baggage than make it heavier; as it will even be a ſort of letter of credit, through all the countries you mean to traverſe, I ſtrongly adviſe you to take a little of it with you; becauſe, the omitting to do which, will be attended with two of the worſt conſequences, viz. render you diſſatisfied with every body, and every body diſſatisfied with you. Be ſure, therefore, you find room for it, as one of your neceſſary articles: with which piece of good council, I bid thoſe farewell, for whoſe uſe it is intended.

To you, my friend, ſuch a caution would be unneceſſary. Were I to give you warning of any thing, it would be to guard you againſt the exceſſes of Philanthropy. May you meet with objects to deſerve them!

LETTER XXVIII. TO THE SAME.

SINCE I have got thus far into the ſtyle of compagnon de voyage, (albeit the office of guide along the dykes, is not a bad tranſlation for this country) I will e'en go humbly on, till I have, like an honeſt Gleaner, enabled you to pick your way, till you have got a firm footing: for (as a ſtranger) I muſt conſider you at pre⯑ſent as going over trembling ground.

If, after what has been ſaid, you are neither reconciled to the bad roads, nor worſe vehicles that go over them, your only alternative is walking; which, in Summer, is really plea⯑ſant; and, in all ſeaſons, is preferable to an healthy perſon; as you have a little village at which you can pauſe midway, betwixt this town and the Brielle, and go upon a path of powdered cockle-ſhells, all the way; for the moſt part as firm and well bound, as if it was of Engliſh gravel. Should your baggage con⯑ſift of a ſmall trunk, portmanteau, or travelling [19]bag, a man may be hired to take it, unleſs there be ſeveral in company; in which caſe, the better way will be to have one waggon for the baggage—clubbing the expence; and all pro⯑ceed on foot to the Brielle, which is preciſely ſeven Engliſh miles.

That the better—fairer, at leaſt, part of your⯑ſelves, (ſhould you travel with ladies,) may not exclaim at this diſtance (though in a party of pleaſure, where a woman enters into the true ſpirit of a ramble, ſhe makes, perhaps, ſewer difficulties than men)—I muſt not forget to tell them, there is a ſort of thing, faſhioned coach-wiſe, covered, at leaſt, in which they may go dry, and as Apollo ſays in Midas, will have "no bones broke, though ſorely peppered." When the roads are at their beſt, (which is, indeed, the only times theſe ſlight machines are to be truſted; ſo that when moſt wanted they are uſeleſs,) the novelty, &c. &c. &c. renders an experiment in them not unpleaſant. They have curtains of leather, but no glaſſes; are wholly open before, and far from being well ſhut behind.

Having now got you through the very worſt part of your journey, and gleaned off the diſ⯑agreeables [20]of it, as much as I could; you are to be informed, that there are two ways of your going from the Brielle to any part of the provinces.

There are public boats called ſchuyts, go every Monday and Wedneſday, from the Brielle to Rotterdam. If in a hurry, you may leave your luggage to follow you by thoſe veſſels.

And here, let me recommend it to all thoſe, who propoſe to make a viſit of curioſity, (ſim⯑ply to perform the tour of the Provinces and return) to bring over as little luggage as poſſible; as every trunk, not only coſts nearly as much as a paſſenger, but, on account of the almoſt conſtant tranſitions, by land and water, makes it exceſſively troubleſome; and the porters are allowed as much for carrying half a ſcore yards as a mile. I will not take upon me to ſay, how for Yorick's ſix ſhirts, and proviſion⯑ary pair of breeches, may anſwer to other tra⯑vellers; but, as I am ſure, a perſon who does not ſquander his time, may ſatisfy GENERAL curioſity very ſpeedily; ſo far as relates to theſe Provinces, I ſhould think a ſack or bag made of pluſh or carpetting, and lined with leather, known in France by the name of a ſac de nuit, [21]and very much in uſage here, becauſe it pays nothing, being conſidered as an abſolutely neceſ⯑ſary part of the paſſenger, might do extremely well. In Summer, thoſe who are deſirous to get to Rotterdam the moſt expeditiouſly, may hire a waggon, or a waggon-chaiſe, and go to a place oppoſite Rotterdam, where they croſs the ferry, and are there in a ſhort time: the price is ſixteen guilders (from Helvoetſluys.)

But, ſhould they wiſh to go at their eaſe, and as cheap as poſſible, they muſt go in the man⯑ner before mentioned; firſt to the Brielle. and from thence, at low water, in one of the ſchuyts, which goes every Monday and Friday; each paſſenger only paying thirty ſtivers, (two ſhillings and ſixpence Engliſh,) and a propor⯑tionate price for their baggage.

Or, ſhould they not arrive at the Brielle, in time for the public ſailing days, a private boat may be always hired for ſix guilders, and ſome ſtivers, and ten people may go in it; but when the ſchuyt is ordered, always have the precau⯑tion to take it as for ten; becauſe, if you ſay two or three, and ſhould afterwards wiſh to admit a fourth, he muſt pay ſix florins. The [22]Dutch, you ſee, are very exact dealers; you muſt, therefore, ‘"Speak by the card, or equivocation will undo you."’ With a fair wind, you are at Rotterdam in leſs than three hours; otherwiſe, in about five. But, as there are, in different parts of the year, obſtructions to this mode, ſuch as high ſeas, (waters at leaſt) ice, &c. &c. and you are ſtill preſſed to proceed; you deſire the landlord of the inn at the Brielle, to take your baggage to the heads, from whence you croſs to the ferry⯑houſe in the iſland. When you are half over the water in your way to this ferry-houſe, if you do not mean to walk acroſs the iſland; (the ſpace exactly of a league) and if your ſervant cannot carry your baggage; you requeſt the boatman to call a waggon, which is generally got ready by the time you arrive, and for your conveyance in which, if only one perſon, you are charged eight ſtivers; more in proportion to the numbers. Luggage is always in this country a ſeparate article remember.

You will be ſtruck with two awkward no⯑velties in this buſineſs of croſſing the water. —The firſt is, that when you direct the boat⯑man to order, while on the water, a waggon to [23]go over the iſland, he holds up a mop as a ſig⯑nal to the waggoner. If two waggons are wanted, two mops are hoiſted, and ſo on to any number of perſons in the boat, which will carry over fifty perſons; and all the time he is elevating theſe ſigns, he bawls to the extent of his voice till his breath inſiſts upon quarter. I once ventured to ſuggeſt, that a trumpet, or French-horn, giving as many diſtinct vollies as might be neceſſary to aſcertain the number of waggons wanted, would be a great relief to his own lungs, and to the ears of the company; but this hint was thrown out too much in the ſpirit of an impatient traveller, and before I had thoroughly gleaned the Dutch character, which is in all things uncompliant, ‘"Stubborn in wrong, inflexible in right."’

The ſecond Gaucherie is, that when the boat has arrived on the other ſide, and a freſh freight waits its return, an ugly old hamper is drawn up to a long pole to give notice. I could not help thinking, but did not hazard a remark, that a flag, or any other ſimple article that could be diſtinguiſhed, would have a better look—but adherence to a cuſtom is ſo inve⯑terate here, that I am perſuaded theſe mops and baſkets would not have been yielded for [24]the fineſt French-horn in the Prince's band, nor the beſt pair of colours in his armies.

Having croſſed the iſland, you paſs a ſecond ferry to Maeſlandſluice; I ought previouſly to have told you—as no circumſtance which is conciliatory in this part of your tour (which is certainly the moſt diſagreeable) ſhould be forgotten, that there is a very good poſt-coach to be had, which will take four perſons at the ferry-houſe—if you prefer it to walking, or waggoning it over the iſland. At Maeſland⯑ſluice, (which is a very large, but pretty fiſh⯑ing town,) you will find good accommoda⯑tions, en paſſant, at the Moreain, or Black⯑moor's Head, from whence you can take your route in ſchuyt, or land carriages, to any part of the provinces.

You may depend upon the following being the exact order for the boats to Delft, which is your firſt ſtage, whether you go to the Hague, Rotterdam, or any other place; and as water⯑travelling is by far the moſt agreeable and rea⯑ſonable mode of making your excurſion, you will probably adopt it. The ſtatement of this order, therefore, will be very generally uſeful.

[25]In Summer, at half paſt five in the morn⯑ing—again at eight—at half paſt eleven—at two in the afternoon—at four, and at ſix.

In the Winter, at eight, and at twelve—in the evening, at one, three, and five. The price to each paſſenger in the roof, as it is called, eight ſtivers, excluſive of luggage.

Although I have more to ſay of theſe Trecht⯑ſchuyts hereafter, being indebted to them for ſome pictureſque and characteriſtick Gleanings, I will here obſerve, generally, that they are large paſſage boats, drawn by one horſe, like our coal, and other common traffick barges.— They are divided into two compartments, the largeſt of which, of inferior price, as of infe⯑rior accommodation, is for all ſorts of paſſen⯑gers, of which each boat will hold from 50 to 70 perſons, allowing even for the tremendous trowzers of the men, and the prepoſterous pet⯑ticoats of the women. The ſecond diviſion is appropriate to whoever chooſes to pay accord⯑ingly. It will hold from ſix to eight people with eaſe—but as the admiſſion of a ſingle Dutchman would fill it with ſmoke (a pipe be⯑ing always ſuppoſed welcome, inſomuch that Love me love my pipe is a Dutch proverb, an⯑ſwering [26]to Love me love my dog in our country) it will be always the ſafeſt way to hire the roof, that is the whole cabin—for which you apply to the Commiſſary, who lets it to you, if not taken, for an expence well worth incurring, till you are thoroughly ſmoke-dried—which, if you become, as I am, a reſidentiary traveller, you will ſoon be, and no more regard a whiff of tobacco ſhot at you than a ſea-breeze. The force of habit is omnipotent; and it was from a thorough know⯑ledge of its power that Shakſpeare made Othello ſay,

You remember, I dare ſay, the ſtory men⯑tioned by Dr. Plot, and retailed by the Specta⯑tor, of an ideot, who chancing to live within ſound of a clock, and always amuſing himſelf with counting the hour of the day, whenever the clock ſtruck; but this inſtrument of his en⯑tertainment being ſpoiled by ſome accident, the ideot continued to ſtrike, and count the hour, without the help of it, in the ſame man⯑ner he had done when it was entire. And Bacon obſerves, in his Natural Philoſophy, that our taſte is never better pleaſed than with thoſe [27]things, which at firſt created our diſguſt—a re⯑mark which Mr. Addiſon illuſtrates by inform⯑ing us, that one of the greateſt geniuſes this age has produced, (and who had been trained up in all the polite ſtudies of antiquity), upon his being obliged to ſearch into ſeveral rolls and records, confeſſed, notwithſtanding ſuch an employment was at firſt very dry and irkſome to him, he at laſt took an incredible pleaſure in it, and preferred it even to the reading of Virgil and Cicero.

Now, though I cannot ſuppoſe this mecha⯑nical effect can render the violent fumes of to⯑bacco half ſo agreeable as a diſh of tea or coffee, taken in unobſtructed air, were you even to ſit enveloped in a Dutch boat till you were black⯑ened and ſeaſoned like a ham upon a hook in a kitchen chimney, I have not a doubt, but a lit⯑tle time will reconcile you to bear, and ſcarcely to notice, this really univerſal practice in Hol⯑land, and in Germany. Brats of eight or nine years old will take out their pipes with as much formality, and whiff it out in a few minutes. In the great department of the boat, fifty are ſitting on oppoſite benches, their pipes al⯑moſt touching each other, and puffing vollies of ſmoke from their mouths and noſtrils, as if [28]they were in the midſt of an engagement at cloſe quarters. In the coffee-houſes of Rotter⯑dam, Amſterdam, and the other great towns, or cities, where it is cuſtomary for the mer⯑chants to meet before and after change, there are ſometimes five hundred ſmokers at once; amidſt the cloudy atmoſphere of whom, I, who found it almoſt ſuffocating, aſſimilated to it ſo tolerably by the force of habit, that, though I believe I could go through a ſtreet on fire ſooner than ſmoke a ſingle pipe, I wrote out ſome of my pleaſanteſt gleanings in the midſt of the ſmokers.

Not, however, to run the riſk of being over⯑whelmed all at once, make yourſelf maſter of the roof, if poſſible—and, if not poſſible, peradventure a pipe or two ſhould be levelled at you, think of the ideot and his clock, and the philoſopher with his rolls and records.

In ſhort, think of any thing but ſuppoſing (whatever be your rank and ſtation, character, or ſex—a great man, or even a beautiful wo⯑man) think not, I ſay, a true Dutchman—un⯑travelled—will ceaſe levelling at your eyes and noſe till he has ſhot the contents of his mouth⯑gun full at you. And then—thank God!—yes, [29]thank God that you are, (by the way your boat has made, ſince that firſt pipe was ſmoking) ſo much nearer the end of your ſtage—for every ſmoker is ſupplied with a ſtove and generally an enormous box of ammunition, and fills and empties with almoſt as much dexterity, and more perſeverance, than a ſoldier charges and fires.

Not that a Dutchman wants good manners or civility, but that his whole family, and all his connexions, male and female, are ſo entirely in the habit of this practice, that it never enters into his imagination it can be offenſive to any body elſe. Indeed the offer of a pipe is as common a mark of courteſy in this country, as the offer of a chair in our's; and, in abſence of the maſter, the miſtreſs of the houſe preſents it as an in⯑troduction to hoſpitality. You are not, how⯑ever, to judge from hence, that in the polite houſes this cuſtom equally prevails: there are no ſet of people who conduct an entertainment with more good breeding, if you allow for a few pomps and ceremonies, ſuch as I ſhall have occaſion to mention as we paſs on.

At preſent we muſt return to our Trechtſchuyt, out of the cabin of which, if you are a rapid [30]traveller, you will, perhaps, think I have de⯑tained you with matter irrelevant to neceſſary ſubjects, unſeaſonably long. Yet this will be a little ungrateful in you too, becauſe I have been at ſome pains to fortify you againſt fire and ſmoke, and arm you, cap-a-pee, for the day of battle; and have, moreover, been a mere matter of fact gleaner, intent only in bring⯑ing you forward, at the leaſt charge and incon⯑venience—not to lay any ſtreſs on my exam⯑ples from the Spectator. And to fall out with me by the way, for interweaving a few remarks on cuſtoms and ideas, that if you do not ſtay long enough with the natives, you may never know, would be churliſh indeed to a guide ſo friendly.

I have prepared you againſt the worſt, but I will rather ſuppoſe you are lucky enough to meet the beſt, by hire of the roof, and that you are ſole monarch, for the time being, of that ſnug little apartment, which moves upon the face of the waters, without your being ſenſible of the motion, permitting you to feel yourſelf as if in one of your ſmall parlours, or cabinets, at home: and giving equal freedom to think, read, talk, write, or work, or even repair your dreſs, if it is deranged; for this gliding room [31]which is extremely clean, well faſhed, and cuſhioned, is provided with a table, looking⯑glaſs, and every other convenience:—if you wiſh to take wine, you are ſupplied with gob⯑lets and glaſſes—if tea or coffee, the cups, ſau⯑cers, and warm water, like Edwy's Fairy Banquet,

This, without all doubt, is, in Summer, the moſt agreeable method of making the tour of the Provinces, as it not only affords you an op⯑portunity of ſurveying the moſt beautiful villas, gardens, and pleaſure-grounds, (moſt of theſe being near the banks of the canals) as, like⯑wiſe of the voluptuous paſtures, and of the fine herds that graze on them; but of ſtaying any number of hours, or days, you chooſe in the towns, cities, or villages, that moſt pleaſe you, with the advantage of quitting one reſting-ſpot for another almoſt every hour of the day.

At entering each town of deſtination, your luggage is committed to the care of one of the porter men or women, for the inn, if you deſire to ſtop—to the Commiſſary, ſhould it be your [32]deſire to proceed—and the boat-maſters have contrived that ſoon after your arrival at one place, a ſchuyt is ready to ſet off for another; ſo that you are never detained by any wheedling landlord, unleſs at your own option. In a word, the paſſage boats here form a chain, of which each ſchuyt is a link, by whoſe connexion with the reſt, you make, with as little trouble as poſſible, the circuit of the Provinces.

At Delft, for inſtance, where I will now ſup⯑poſe you landed, there are ſchuyts, which carry you to Rotterdam, by one canal; to the Hague, by another. That to Rotterdam ſets off every hour in the Summer, nearly from ſumriſe, till long after ſunſetting; and in Win⯑ter from eight in the morning to ſeven o'clock at night; in the roof, the price is eight ſtivers; in the other part five;—boxes and trunks, nearly as much as yourſelf. If your deſtination be the Hague, there is a barque goes every half hour in the Summer, and its ſtarting is an⯑nounced here, as elſewhere, by the tingling of a bell.

Should your route be Amſterdam, and you prefer going, at once, by water, you will find at Delft, a barque that goes every day at three [33]in the afternoon, during the Summer; and ar⯑rives at half paſt ſix the next morning. In winter—January and February, at leaſt—they ſet off only three times in the week, Mondays, Wedneſdays, and Fridays; returning alſo, on the ſame days from Amſterdam. Theſe barques are very commodious; take large freights of goods for the tradeſmen; have an excellent cabin, in which are good beds, where you ſleep as in your own chamber; and the expence is only three guilders three ſtivers each per⯑ſon. If you take the whole roof, which ac⯑commodates ſix perſons and ſix beds, fifteen guilders muſt be paid, and fifteen ſtivers; but, if the captain is not excluded, the price is only twelve guilders twelve ſtivers; ſome⯑thing more than the uſual charge of a guinea.

Taking with you a baſket of proviſion, and a bottle or two of wine, this is an excellent way of getting to the capital of Holland, if you can reconcile yourſelf to paſſing by night, ſome of the intermediate ornaments and labours of the country. You ſave, however, the trouble of paſſing from ſchuyt to ſchuyt, and ſhifting luggage, as by Leyden, Haerlem, &c. but then again, you miſs the ſurvey of thoſe beautiful towns, unleſs you take them on your return.

[34]Thus, gentle traveller, having conducted you to Delft, which is a centrical point in the ſeven Provinces, I might conſider the dues of urbanity and compatriotiſm fairly performed, and leave you to yourſelf, wiſhing, that what⯑ever be your tract, ſatisfaction may be the reſult. But before we part, I have other ſervices to render you:—the firſt of which ſhall be to ſet you right, with reſpect to the money of the country; a taſk which has not yet been ac⯑curately performed.

This, however, muſt be the object of another letter. The preſent has carried you over ſo many difficulties, I think you will readily allow me a reſpite; and, poſſibly, if you really happen to have encountered them on the day you peruſe this advice, you may be glad of a little repoſe yourſelf: for of all kinds of fatigue, that which is attendant on the eager purſuit of pleaſure, wearies us the moſt.

LETTER XXIX. TO THE SAME.

IN the deſcription of the different mo⯑nies uſed in the United States, I propoſe as nearly as poſſible, to give you an eſtimate of their value in Engliſh currency.

LETTER XXX. TO THE SAME.

I WILL employ this letter on a ſubject which can ſcarcely be comprehended under the article Gleanings, becauſe I do not remember to have ſeen a ſyllable ſaid upon it by any touriſt, trippiſt, or traveller, whatſoever; though, from experience, I am convinced, as muſt every one who has been on this part of the continent, it is one of the moſt neceſſary to be diſcuſſed, and for every ſtranger to be prepared in. I allude to the ſimilarity of the Engliſh and Dutch languages, and the uſe of being ſupplied with a few queſtions and an⯑ſwers in the latter for daily exerciſe, which, in ſome parts of Germany, and even of Hol⯑land, is as neceſſary to a ſtranger as his daily bread. It is impoſſible not to perceive, almoſt immediately, not even to feel the general re⯑ſemblance of the Low Dutch and the Engliſh.

The words, in any language, which a tra⯑veller picks up, and tries to get a knowledge of, are, of courſe, thoſe which enable him to [42]aſk for the neceſſaries of life, and amongſt theſe he will find, when his ear is a little ac⯑cuſtomed to the difference of accent, ſo great a ſimilitude betwixt the words which are uſed at home and abroad (I include Germany in this remark) that he will ſoon underſtand the general ſubject of converſation amongſt the na⯑tives; and if he mixes with them in their or⯑dinary ſocieties a ſhort time, will be able to take his ſhare in them. There is, indeed, ſcarce a ſentence in which the manufacturers of language, whether Dutch or Engliſh, have not borrowed from one another. The rights of etymology it is not my place to ſettle. Suffice it to obſerve to you, that in taking the circuit of Holland or Germany, an Engliſhman muſt return ſatisfied that there exiſts a very great degree of verbal reſemblance.—Certain words indeed, ſo approximate, even in pronoun⯑ciation, eſpecially in Freezland, that they have a proverb in that country, which purports,

of which truth, though told in rhyme, I ſhall, in its place, preſent you with a pleaſant ex⯑ample.

[43]The reſult of a great deal of obſervation then is, that ſuch of my countrymen as poſſeſs a vagrant ſpirit, and who meditate the tour of Northern Europe, would do well to equip themſelves with a few queſtion and anſwer phrazes, peculiar to the country or province they intend to traverſe or to reſide in: for, although a common knowledge of the French language is certainly a very uſeful and general paſſport through all parts of cultivated Europe; and is ſpoken much more amongſt all ranks of people in other countries, than in our's, it is, as I have found, by no means univerſal enough to guard you againſt very uncouth accidents; ſince there are very many ſmall, and even great, towns, both in Holland, Pruſſia, and other parts of Germany, well worth being viſited, where, if a ſtranger had not leiſure to go in ſearch of ſomebody who could ſpeak French, or ſhould not be fortunate enough to take up his lodging at a public table, (table d'hote) he would experience great inconvenience.

In one of the largeſt and beſt inns, for ex⯑ample, in the circle of Weſtphalia, even in its capital (Cleves, concerning which, I ſhall, in due time, expatiate) had I not, during my firſt reſidence in Holland, picked up a little of [44]ſomething like Dutch, I might as well have been thrown upon Robinſon Cruſoe's iſland, after it was evacuated. Not a creature in the houſe, filled as it was with ſervants, could ſpeak either French or Engliſh, and for the firſt day or two after my arrival, notwithſtand⯑ing the little mongrel Dutch with which I was fortified, as neither the maſter nor his ſervants were ingenious enough to make two or three ill pronounced words into an intelli⯑gible ſentence (although a Frenchman would have interpreted the worſt French I could have made uſe of, and accommodated me at half a word) my entertainment was in pantomime, and was amuſing enough, after a few rehearſals.

This little extemporaneous drama was ſup⯑ported, indeed, by a very few characters, the principal of which were myſelf and an honeſt Swiſs boy, appointed to attend me, and who, really, had all the good-humoured foolery, and whimſical trick of a ſcaramouch. When I wiſhed for breakfaſt, dinner, or ſupper, I open⯑ed my mouth, then ſhut it, then opened it again, putting my finger backward and for⯑ward, to imitate the action of eating. When I wiſhed for drink, I held up my head, and ſeemed (glaſs in hand) to be pouring its con⯑tents [45]down my throat. The Swiſs boy incon⯑tinently did the ſame, nodded his head, and went laughing down ſtairs; very ſoon ſhewing he underſtood me. Every thing elſe that I wanted was expreſſed in dumb ſhew, which ſo amuſed the Swiſs, that I ſuſpect he was much diſappointed when this mode of communi⯑cating broke off. Thus, as I could not "ſuit the word to the action," I ſubſtituted the ac⯑tion for the word. We certainly might have gone on in this manner for a twelvemonth, and I ſhould have been well ſerved; illuſtrating all the time the Roman's aſſertion, that the three grand principles and powers of oratory conſiſt in action; but, as Gay's monkey, who was alſo a traveller, and had made the grand tour, and was as eloquent on ſuch occaſions, doubtleſs, as either me or my young Swiſs, I muſt own I felt myſelf rather ambitious to make uſe again of that faculty, of which, with all his ingenuity, the moſt accompliſhed pug is a poor imitator; and, moreover, I muſt re⯑peat, that my ſcaramouch would not un⯑derſtand many expreſſions, on purpoſe that he might prolong the pantomime.

Some days after, changing my abode to an hotel, where I found a good table d'hote, I [46]amuſed the company with this ſcene, and an Engliſh gentleman preſent informed me, that in North Holland he was put very often to the like difficulty, ſmoothed only by the like means: to prevent which, in future, he had thought of an expedient, which was; on his return to Amſterdam, to form ſuch queſtions and anſwers, as were hourly occurring, rela⯑tive to culinary, chamber, and other domeſtic matters, and to get them put not only into good, but to bad Dutch; that is to ſay, firſt, as properly ſpelled; ſecondly, as pro⯑nounced without any attention to the ſpelling; thereby preparing himſelf as well for thoſe who could NOT read, as for thoſe who could. He added, that his buſineſs calling him into ſe⯑veral of the ſame towns about a fortnight af⯑ter, he took no guide but his new-made tablets, reſolved to try their uſe, and went through the very places at which he had be⯑fore been embarraſſed, perfectly at his eaſe, creating, by the way, a great deal of harmleſs merriment amongſt the people with whom he communicated, particularly in one family (the maſter of whom had been churliſh in the gentleman's firſt viſit): It was a ſmall inn, kept by a ſurly purſe-proud Dutchman, who had ſaid (rudely, but not without point) if he was [47]to find language, as well as other things, he muſt charge it in the bill.

The gentleman had not forgot this rapid ſtroke of Dutch traffic, and by way of retalia⯑tion, determined to go to the man's houſe again, prepared, however, with this firſt queſ⯑tion and remark—"Will you anſwer me now?" I ſhall point to what I want of you, without deigning to ſpeak to you, marking the article deſired by very good Dutch. If you do not anſwer it immediately, I ſhall diſcover you are as ignorant as you were inſolent.

‘Now it really happened, (ſaid the gentle⯑man) that this fellow could neither write or read, upon which I burſt out into a laugh of triumph; and after expoſing him to a good deal of company, who happened to be aſ⯑ſembled, I left his houſe, and was very well underſtood in another. I uſually ſported my bad Dutch, which was generally com⯑prehended, and where it was not, I pointed to my tablets, in which might be read the good; and am convinced, that by adop⯑tion of the ſame plan, (accommodating my queſtions to different languages) I could [48]make my way through Europe with no actual ſkill in any language but my own.’

I was much taken with this deviſe, and, al⯑though I had predetermined to poſſeſs myſelf with enough of the language of every country through which I meaned to paſs, to expreſs my wants and wiſhes, and to ſtop long enough at a place to render this practicable, (a plan which included a ſufficient reſidence to glean, not only a little of language, but a great deal of the manners, and of the cuſtoms of thoſe to whom ſuch language was natal—) I deter⯑mined, likewiſe, to follow up this gentleman's plan, by way of immediate ſupply. Accordingly, I put together a number of ſuch queſtions as I muſt aſk, the replies to which required, in general, nothing more than obedience to the orders they implied, and I found it of ſuch infinite uſe, that I ſtrongly recommend others to do the ſame, merely as a ſuccedaneum, till they can make ſome progreſs.

Indeed, I conſider ſome knowledge of this kind ſo eſſential to common comfort and ac⯑commodation, that a traveller ſhould acquire it, ſe defendendo. He will, otherwiſe, find himſelf, like a man unarmed in the field of battle, ob⯑noxious [49]to every diſguiſed and every open at⯑tack of impoſition, againſt an enemy, too, ac⯑couter'd at all points againſt his pocket. The countleſs number of guides, tours, journeys, &c. &c. collected, would form (fill at leaſt) a library, with which a man cannot poſſibly emigrate; and I am really aſtoniſhed, that amongſt all ſuch of theſe, as have fallen under my inſpection, there has not been one traveller who has thought it worth his while to give a ſingle dialogue, in common interrogatory and reply, on ſubjects that are as neceſſary to be aſked, and anſwered, as it is to do thoſe offices to which they lead, viz. eat, drink, and ſleep. Dialogues of this kind (or rather the queſtions and anſwers that form a part of them) may, it is true, be found ſcattered up and down the different grammars, but beſides that the things wanted lie too widely diſperſed, it im⯑plies a neceſſity of taking a library with you, and, after that is done, hunting about from page to page for the thing wanted, inſtead of having them brought together, cloſe under your eye, and within compaſs. To have done this, might poſſibly deduct from the dignity of a travel writer, but would add importantly to his uſe. It ſeems, however, to be a taſk very [50]proper for a Gleaner who is reſerved ‘"to pick up the refuſe of thoſe harveſt fields,"’ the lofty-minded travellers have gone over with nobler views: namely, to conduct their readers to pictures, palaces, temples, turrets, mountains, and other pieces of magnificence; which, after all, a common valet de place, a ſixpenny catalogue, or the perſons appointed to ſhew theſe fine ſights—theſe ſuperb national lions, would deſcribe full as well, aſſiſted by your own ocular evidence at the ſame time. But even theſe auguſt Journaliſts muſt confeſs the uſe of that information they have diſdained to beſtow.

Conformably, therefore, to the unaſpiring humility of the character I have adopted in this work, I ſhall, by way of Appendix in the laſt volume, before I bring my Gleanings to a final cloſe, offer a couple of colloquial let⯑ters, conſiſting of Dutch, German, (that is, Low Dutch, High Dutch) and Engliſh, con⯑taining, neither more nor leſs than a ſet (ſeries) of thoſe orders, queſtions, and commands, which every traveller, who is not immortal, and I have never heard of any preternatural ones, ſince the excurſion of Jupiter and Mercury to [51]old Baucis and Philemon) muſt give, aſk, and receive, every day, and almoſt every hour of his life: and I will take care to place them, as nearly as poſſible, in ſuch diurnal arrange⯑ment, beginning with the riſing, and finiſhing with the repoſing hour, that it muſt be a ſtranger's own fault if he ſtands in need of the ordinary comforts or conveniencies: becauſe, if there is a being in the houſe where he ſo⯑journs, who can read, he has but to point to the object deſired, and, if attainable, to get it; or, if he ſhould meet with a whole family of ignorants, he may follow the accented rule of properly pronounced, but badly ſpelled, order, queſtion, command, &c. which will be put immediately below the ſame queſtion in its proper orthography, and his own ear muſt be very defective if he cannot ſo expreſs himſelf, as to be ſufficiently underſtood, which is the ſole aim of this very humble endeavour and experiment, the good effect of which I have tried myſelf before I recommend it to others. Neither let the erudite critic frown on it. Should it ever be his fortune, to come into thoſe parts of the Continent, armed as he may be with all the ſacred knowledge of the ancient world, and the more refined graces of the modern one (by which, I would be underſtood to mean [52]the polite languages of France and Italy) I am well convinced, even he would relax of his lettered gravity, and not only ſmile upon, but derive great benefit from this, certainly doggrel and whimſical, mode of making himſelf in⯑telligible; ſince all the wiſdom of the fathers could not effect it half ſo well. Without, therefore, making any apologies (what has been hitherto ſaid I conſider as neceſſary explana⯑tions) for a good-natured intention, certainly not very amuſing to the writer; I here pro⯑miſe to execute it (in the beſt manner I am able) in its due time and place.

One thing, while it is in my memory, let me warn you about. The common Dutch inn⯑keepers, porters, boatmen, and that claſs of people, are as great goſſips and babillards as any in France, in our own country, or in any other upon the earth, and will talk "about it god⯑deſs, and about it," on the moſt inſignificant occaſions, for an hour together, while minutes might ſettle all they can have to ſay to, or to do for, you. Never therefore ſeem to liſten. Fix to your point—point to your order, or your queſtion, or elſe pronounce it, and ſtick there—hold him to it, as to the one thing needful; and if he flies off into irrelevancies, [53]bring him back to the point by the aid of the remark I will put into your mouth. This will ſave you the hearing "an infinite deal of nothing," and ſave time, as well as patience, for much better uſes.

I will at preſent put an end to this very ne⯑ceſſary ſubject, with one general remark on the Dutch language, viz. when a perſon ſpeaks very bad, broad, and coarſe Engliſh, it will, for the moſt part, (ſeven words out of ten) be good, pure Dutch. But, of this, the pronunciations I mean to ſet down for you will ſufficiently con⯑vince you. And were the natives to ſpeak ſlow, (every language to a perſon ignorant of it ſeems to be ſpoken faſt) an Engliſhman, though he might be at fault as to particular words, would be au fait as to the general topic, and the turn it was taking; which reminds me that you will derive a double advantage from my little vocabulary:—while you are trying to make out meanings by falſe orthography, you will inſenſibly get into the true; and thus accom⯑modate the wants of the preſent and future: with which encouraging hint we will releaſe one another from this ſchool-boy's exerciſe, and get to ſomething more entertaining to us both: for you cannot ſuppoſe theſe ſchool⯑maſter [54]leſſons have been very delightful to their author. What I promiſe in an appendix ſhall ſerve as a pocket companion reſpecting ſome points neceſſary to be immediately known to the traveller: it may be all-ſufficient to ſuch purpoſe—which aſſuredly has not been effected by any guide, trip, or four hitherto made pub⯑lic. I propoſe to annex it to my Gleanings.

And now, courteous ſtranger, the Seven Provinces are, ‘all before you which to chooſe.’ In theſe primary pages you will find the needful for your ſafe guidance. Sup⯑poſing this and the two promiſed, queſtion and anſwer, dialogues to become a ſeparate ſheaf from my general Gleanings, I am here to bid you farewell. On the contrary, if you deſire to ſee objects, and read of circumſtances, as they ſtruck me, in a ſurvey of them at different times and ſeaſons, (amongſt which, I truſt, many will be not unpleaſant, and, not a few, uſeful, particularly if you paſs beyond the li⯑mits of the republick, into other countries) we ſhall ſtill, in a manner, be converſing together, and the whole of my Gleanings will be a part of your company. In this caſe, I repeat, we ſhall ſtill travel together.

[55]But, at all events, from YOU, my friend, and your dear circle, whom I more particularly addreſs, and from whom, if I ſeem to deviate a little to admoniſh others, it is but in imita⯑tion and adoption of that bounty, which has in⯑duced you ſo often of late to tell me our cor⯑reſpondence, by being occaſionally broadened in its application, may become more extenſively uſeful and amuſing. From you and your's, I ſay, I am ſure of finding a hearty good will, let me wander about with you where I liſt, and ſhift the ſcene upon you as irregularly, and rapidly, (taking you backwards and forwards) as I think proper. Under ſuch encourage⯑ments, we will now take a trip to the Hague, which, indeed, I have already thrice viſited, ſince my quitting that fire-ſide, where I have always found "a ready chair," and, ſo long as circumſtances permitted, a delightful home. "May eternal bleſſings crown" the owners of it!—a prayer of ſuch "earneſt heart," that I will not ſuffer it to be "mixed with baſer matter."—Adieu!

LETTER XXXI. TO THE SAME.

AT the firſt bluſh, the following fact, my dear loved friend, may ſeem ſtrange. There is far more diligence of attention required of a Gleaner, to pick up any thing worth carrying to his ſheaf in great and populous towns and cities, than in the undiſtinguiſhed villages, and "ſtill ſmall" receſſes, where the broad and common highway, thoroughfare, traveller ſeldom goes; and where, though the violet perfumes the air, and the freſh graſs ſprings up in the beautiful paths, thoſe "gariſh beauties of the world" are wanting, that are alone gratifying to a heart devoted to the publick. For al⯑though, in this latter ſcene, every thing is in motion before you, or ſtanding fixed, in proud but mute magnificence, for your inſpection— as if almoſt to inſiſt on your paſſing homage; they have yielded up their charms to ſo many ſtrangers, that, like one of our fair drudges of faſhion, whoſe face has been ſo long in pub⯑lick [57]exhibition, it is become "familiar as one's garter;" and to give another deſcription of it would be to force on you what memory would perhaps turn from with diſguſt.

Ah! my friend, what honours—what mines of wealth would roll into the coffers of the man, who, when the objects of this variable life have loſt their wonted power of giving pleaſure, but, by change of circumſtances, have acquired, unexpectedly, the power of giving pain—what, of riches and fame, I ſay, would he deſerve, who could command our once-dear, but now ſlighted, objects, to quit thoſe cells in the brain, where they have not only, ‘"A local habitation, and a name,"’ but a fixed lodging—and—(bitterly againſt our will) are become tenants for life therein? We ſee, we admire, we love, we poſſeſs: our fe⯑licity ſeems entire. Alas! an idea, an opi⯑nion, a diſpute, the ſatisfying power of poſ⯑ſeſſion itſelf, the frequency of ſeeing, of en⯑joying, a new fancy, a new object, firſt dimi⯑niſhes, and, at laſt, deſtroys, the eager delight with which we beheld our fineſt parks, gardens, pictures, and all our earthly paradiſes, as ima⯑gination, [58]in her fineſt ardours, is wont to call them.

Theſe, nevertheleſs, remain the ſame; the verdure is as refreſhing, the flowers as ſweet; the hand of time, mellowing the tints, has even thrown new graces on the canvaſs—and yet we are weary of them. What fault can they have committed? "What committed?" The greateſt. They are our own, and they have "outlived our liking."

Shall I aſcend from inanimate objects, to ſuch as have life? to ſuch as bound themſelves even like a charm round our necks—round our hearts—but which now (perhaps more truly filled with enchantment to all the world be⯑ſides) are nothing to us, or worſe than nothing, a mill-ſtone round our necks—a galling chain round our feet? He who could make us, at the word of command, forget even theſe, or rather the keen rebuke with which conſcience employs memory, over whom ſhe has control, to puniſh our frivolous and inſatiable incon⯑ſtancy—what would we not offer him?

But I am broadening this beyond my inten⯑tion. I bleſs God, this latter is not an uni⯑verſal [59]fact. I bleſs God, too, that, individually, it applies not to you, or to me, my friend. Ah! I never poſſeſſed any good, that I (who could alone be the proper judge of it) found ſo to be, but I cheriſhed it with my whole heart, and, ſo far from indifference growing out of poſſeſſion, I loved it but the more, for having given me happineſs! Gratitude became a new motive of attachment; and the thought of its having made me often bleſt, inſtead of dimi⯑niſhing, augmented my affection. Nor have I a friend on earth, who is not the more dear to me on this very principle. Ah! carry this aſ⯑ſertion towards yourſelf, my friend, and read in it the increaſe of my love for you.

But I have loſt myſelf.—The thread is broken, but eaſily repaired.—To thoſe who wiſh to forget whatever is become inſipid to them—has been too often ſeen, heard, or poſ⯑ſeſſed; you will agree that a perſon, a magi⯑cian, endowed with the powers of granting to us that wiſh, would, indeed, merit recompence. Streets, villages—nay whole cities, are eaſily ejected from the memory; but how ſhall we pluck out that thorn in the mind, which is left to feſter, after our once faireſt roſes of imagi⯑nation and of the heart, ‘"Fade in our eye, and pall upon our ſenſe!"’ [60]And which remain, ſometimes, for years, per⯑haps, for life, to ſcourge us in all the tyranny of recollection?

O Fortunatus! how poor were thy vaunted powers, (even had they been realized,) in compariſon of his, who could thus teach us to forget our once fondeſt wiſhes, and with them, the ſharp reproof of our weak infidelity and fooliſh, baſe, ingratitude!

But, leſt even you, my friend, ſhould have ſomething to loſe; and be trying at ‘"That hardeſt ſcience, to forget;"’ this digreſſion will but bring it back on your remembrance; ſince, it is certain, the diſ⯑courſing ſtrongly on any one object, forces on an idea of its oppoſite. To return, there⯑fore, to the firſt occaſion of theſe reflections, which was, that, as I am convinced you know already, that I am now writing from one of the nobleſt towns (in proud humility and affecta⯑tion, called the fineſt ^* village) in Europe, I [61]ſhall neither carry you into any one of its famous churches, nor to the Jewiſh ſynagogue; but ſimply remind you, that, whenever you are diſpoſed to thank your God for your ſafe arrival, you may do ſo in your own way, man⯑ner, and language, at ten o'clock every Sunday morning, in the Engliſh church, which is at the entrance of the ſtreet, called Noord-Einde, (North-End,) near the Plàce. Neither ſhall I aſk your company to any of the public edi⯑fices; [62]nor take you to the celebrated Maiſon de Correction; nor to the Palace of Prince Maurice; nor to that of the Stadtholder; nor to any of the very numerous hoſpitals, or alms-houſes; nor even to the Prince's muſeum; nor to the Princeſs's houſe in the wood; nor to any other fine ſights; becauſe, I am well convinced, all theſe Dutch lions have ſtared you in the face, in various prints, books, diſ⯑ſertations, &c. &c. &c. till you are as well ac⯑quainted with their diameter, circumference, ſituation, diſtance from each other, riſe, fall, ruins, and repairs; and, that you are as inti⯑mate with the far famed cabinet of curioſities; its moderns, and its antiques, its birds, beaſts, and fiſhes, urns, buſts, medals, and minerals, pictures and paintings, ſculptures, engravings, and other rarities of art and nature; as are the ſtudents of Leyden, with the wonders of that town; the tree—adorned foſſe, Eſplanade, Tumulus, the trophied caſtle of the Saxon Hengiſt, (memorial of his victory over our own country); the 186 magnificent ſtreets; the 145 ſtone bridges; and all the curioſities of their academy; from the fire-conquering Aſbeſtos to the egg of the crocodile; as well as all that is to be ſeen of thoſe greateſt of all [63]curioſities, the ſkeletons of human nature, in the ſchool of anatomy.

No, my friend, you are a woman of too much reading and converſation, not to conſider theſe things, as old ſtories, and inſtead of being put again in mind of them, would, perhaps, be glad to throw a public building, or a few royal palaces, out of your head, where, amidſt ſo much bet⯑ter furniture, you may juſtly look on them as uſeleſs lumber. But, were it even poſſible that you know nothing of them, you would, on your coming over, have reaſon to exclaim, e'er you had been here eight and forty hours— "ſomewhat too much of this!"—For guides, companions, hiſtories, deſcriptions of the Hague, ſtare at you through almoſt every book⯑ſeller's window, in all languages, though prin⯑cipally in Dutch. Jacob de Riemer, for in⯑ſtance, juſt to begin with, has publiſhed a ſhort ſuccinct deſcription of the Hague, in three volumes folio. Another Dutchman, by way of rendering it more commodious, has given an abridgement of it in two volumes quarto, one of which, indeed, might be ſqueezed into each breeches pocket of a true Dutchman; his to⯑bàcco box, being much ſuch another pocket companion. Then, again, you have your [64]Valet de Place, who, on your arrival at the inn, the beſt, and moſt reaſonable of which is the Mareſchal de Turenne, kept by Mr. Baume:—offers himſelf to your ſervice, in⯑tellectual and temporal; and will, for thirty ſtivers a-day, (half a crown,) retail all his knowledge and experience of men and things, places and people; and, for ought I know, give you more real, (certainly more various) infor⯑mation, than Jacob de Riemer. So that, every way, I take it for granted, you have had, or will have, more than enough of intelligence touching theſe oſtenſible objects.

My intention is, and has all along been, to mention, to you, from every place thoſe, things, which it is moſt likely, neither your fixture, nor your walking guides, will ever think of ſhewing you; or if ſome of them are ſet down in the books, you muſt loſe a greater propor⯑tion of time in hunting them up, through the hiding places of ſeveral hundred pages, about le plus beau, et la plus belle (the nauſea of every panegyric. ‘"Where pure deſcription holds the place of ſenſe.")’ before you can get at them; like a ſquirrel running through a wilderneſs for a kernel, when [65]there is ſcarcely a nut tree in an acre of ground. Now having done all this myſelf, I am willing to ſpare you the trouble; for which courteſy I have only to deſire, that in imitation of the abovenamed ingenious and pleaſant little ani⯑mal, when I lay before you any literary nut, which has not anſwered to you the pains of cracking, throw it aſide, and depend on the next; or peradventure, the next after that, be⯑ing more to your taſte; and remember, too, that even that which diſpleaſed you, and which you condemned as inſipid, may exactly ſuit the palate of whoever picks it up after you, and think it even a bonne bouche gleaning.

I have one general remark to make upon all the books, in the way of guides, which have ever fallen under my examination; and I have had the fortitude, in all countries, to ſtruggle through all ſorts and ſizes. You will note, that I ſpeak only of ſuch as are written by the na⯑tives, or foreigners reſident, or rather eſta⯑bliſhed; till they are, as it were, naturalized— to the place they deſcribe.—Their accounts of kings, queens, palaces, theatres, churches, charity houſes, &c. &c. walks, and public entertainments are, doubtleſs, for the moſt part, juſt; as may be thoſe of laws, govern⯑ment, [66]police, &c. &c.—As far as it goes, this intelligence is ſatisfactory; and the leſs it is clogged with remark, or encumbered with ſentiment, the better; but a very great num⯑ber of thoſe objects moſt intereſting to a ſtranger, they totally paſs over; and aſſuredly for a good, and (to them) ſufficient, reaſon; becauſe, they cannot ſuppoſe the manners, cuſtoms, and peculiarities which ſtrike travel⯑lers, can be intereſting; ſince, being amongſt the moſt ordinary occurrences; in the midſt of which they were born, they cannot even imagine them to be ſingular.

And as ſuch authors ſeldom leave their own country; the very articles which diſcriminate that from every other, they muſt be in total ignorance of.—This reflection is ſo extenſively true, that I will venture to ſay, there is ſcarcely a book written by a native hiſtorian of the Hague, or of other towns, who has noticed any one of thoſe peculiarities, that would faſten principally on an Engliſh traveller's obſervation; ſuppoſing him not to be inveterately attached to brick and mortar. For inſtance, a Dutch author would—all commercial as is his coun⯑try—never think of telling you that the very [67] dogs of Holland, are conſtrained to promote the trade of the Republic; inſomuch, that ſave the Great Dogs of faſhion and ſtate, which run before or after their lords and ladies equipages; and, in imitation often of their betters, are above being of any uſe; there is not an idle dog of any ſize in the ſeven Provinces. You ſee them in harneſs, at all parts of the Hague, and ſome other towns, tugging at barrows, and little carts, with their tongues almoſt ſweeping the ground, and their poor hearts almoſt ready to beat through their ſides. Frequently three, four, five, and ſometimes ſix abreaſt, carrying men and merchandiſe, with the ſpeed of little horſes. And in your walk from the Hague Gate to Scheveling, (where we will preſently make an excurſion,) you encounter, at all hours of the day, an incredible number loaded with fiſh and men, under the burden of which, they run off at a long trot, and ſometimes (when driven by young men, or boys) at full gallop, the whole mile and an half, which is the diſtance from gate to gate; nor, on their return, are they ſuffered to come empty, being filled not only with the aforeſaid men or boys, (for almoſt every Dutchman hates walking when he can ride, though half a mile); but with ſuch commodities as cannot be had at the [68]village.—I have ſeen theſe poor brutes, in the middle of ſummer, urged beyond their force, 'till they have dropped on the road to gather ſtrength; which is ſeldom the caſe, however, except when they have the misfor⯑tune to fall under the management of boys; for the Dutch are the fartheſt from being cruel to their domeſtic, dumb animals, of any peo⯑ple in the world; on the contrary, an Hol⯑lander, of whatever rank, is ſo merciful unto his beaſt; whether horſe, dog, cow, &c. that they are the objects of his marked attention, as ſleek ſkins, happy faces, and plump ſides, ſufficiently demonſtrate. The cows, and oxen for draft, they rub down; curry, and clean till they are as gloſſy as the moſt pampered ſteed in England. Nay, you frequently ſee them with a light fancy dreſs, to guard them from the flies, and other annoying animalcula, in the meadows, which are the fineſt in the world, and in a warmer ſuit of cloaths during the winter; even theſe canine ſlaves look hale and well, as to condition, and being habituated to labour, feel little hardſhip in it. Happy, however, thrice happy, is the dog, who has the luck to be born of humbler and lowly parents, and is ſacred, by his inſignificance, from labour. Like many a man, who, having nei⯑ther [69]talents nor ſize for a hero, derives many a ſnug enjoyment from his unfitneſs to take an active part in the toils of ambition. But dogs of this deſcription, have yet greater privileges in Holland, than you may imagine. Like other little things, they are held precious, and ſo fondled and patted, that either a lapdog, or a lover in England, where thoſe animals, you know, are ſometimes neglected, as, indeed, in that country, are all favourites, might envy them; for if you think a Dutch woman, and a beautiful woman, are incompatible, you are miſtaken, as I ſhall take occaſion to ſhew.

In my firſt viſit (a winter one) to the Hague, I entered into the intereſts of theſe poor day-labouring dogs ſo truly, that I wondered they did not go mad, or that I did not hear of the canine diſtraction more in this country, than in ours; and on being told there were certain times (the dog days) when a heavy fine was to be paid upon any dog being ſeen in the ſtreet, I ſuppoſed this was the caſe, till the ſummer following, being at this delightful ſea⯑ſide village of Scheveling, I obſerved, ſeveral times in the day, theſe draft dogs, brought down to the beach, and bathed; a practice; [70]which no doubt equally prevented them from this dreadful diſorder before-mentioned, and gave them ſtrength to go through their work.

It is fortunate, alſo, that Holland is a country ſomewhat prone to be ſtrict in the ceremonies of religion, by obſervance of which the dogs, like their maſters, find the ſeventh a day of unbroken reſt: for "Sunday ſhines a Sabbath day to them." The firſt impreſſion (which is allowed a grand point, you know) being much in favour of theſe induſtrious creatures, I had an eye on them, as well in the hours of their repoſe, as toil; and felt my heart warm to ſee ſeveral, whom I had obſerved very heavily laden on the Saturday, taking a ſound nap, out ſtretched and happy at their maſters doors, on the day in which their leiſure is even an al⯑lotment and bounty of heaven. All the morn⯑ing and afternoon, they have remained, baſking in the ſun, or in the ſhade, in profound tran⯑quillity, while a number of unthinking whelps, and lazy puppies, who had been paſſing their time in idleneſs all the week, were playing their gambols in the ſtreet, not without a vain at⯑tempt to wake the ſeniors, and make them join in their amuſement. Towards evening, I have, [71]in my ſunſetting rounds, been much pleaſed to notice the honeſt creatures, ſit at their re⯑ſpective threſholds, looking quite refreſhed, giving occaſionally into a momentary frolic, and the next morning returning to the labours of the week abſolutely renewed.

Reader—Stranger—art thou too proud of heart—or too full of the dignity of human nature—to enter into theſe brute concerns? Paſs on then, and pity my weakneſs, but not without remembering that

If therefore thou haſt no feeling for their ſufferings, reſpect at leaſt their virtues:

Since I have adopted your ſo frequent hint, my lov'd friend, of making theſe papers public, (after they have ſerved the once ſole deſigned end of your private amuſement,) I, of courſe, [72]yield frequently to addreſſes, as from an author to his very different claſſes of readers; many, in⯑deed, moſt of which, can apply neither to you or yours. For example, could I have thought of entering a caveat againſt the rigour of your heart, or the lofty vanity of your feelings, in conſecrating a few pages to theſe dumb ſer⯑vants? It would have inſulted that tender⯑neſs, which is the moſt grateful mark of a female temper. Adieu.

LETTER XXXII. TO THE SAME.

AS I have thus haſtily, and almoſt im⯑perceptibly, run with you out of the Hague, and got into the environs, indeed, into one of the moſt juſtly celebrated parts of them, (the Scheveling-Road)—let us e'en take our way to that village before we return.

I have already called this walk beautiful. It is ſo in a very high degree, indeed: and has not, by the moſt laviſh deſcribers, been over-praiſed. The plan of this walk, is ſaid to have been laid by Conſtantine Huygens, in 1653. Its length from the Banicre, to the entrance of Scheveling, is computed at 590 fathom; from the bridge at the Hague, to the Scheveling beach it is 916.—Its breadth is 18 fathom. It is divided into three obvious paths, and two concealed:—Of the former, a ſpacious one in the middle is for carriages; one on the right ſide for horſes of pleaſure; and one on the left for foot paſſengers. The whole are in a ſtraight line; ſo that the center path ſhews you, on entrance of the avenue, at exactly half a league's diſtance, the ſpire of Scheveling [74]church; forming a viſta; and the extreme end, on either ſide, forms an opening, Gothic-faſhion, not unlike the entrance of an hermitage, the effect of which (aſſiſted by the frequent gloom of the ſurrounding trees, which form a canopy all the way) is very ſtriking.

Of this ſoliage, as, indeed, of all other in Holland, the Republic is with good reaſon, extremely jealous. Conſider, but the time and labour neceſſary to procure it, in the firſt in⯑ſtance, and you will not be ſurpriſed, when I tell you that, as you paſs along their "allies green," you will obſerve idle boys, and others, corrected in effigie, or in paintings, and ſtuck up in terrorem, to warn them of the penalties attendant on the leaſt depredation of this con⯑ſecrated verdure.

You are told, with great truth, by the guides, that every body comes to ſee this walk.—It is pleaſant at all times of the year; becauſe it is a defence equally from the ſummer's ſun, and the winter's ſtorm. You pay a farthing for en⯑tering, and a farthing for returning, and un⯑leſs you have a ſettled antipathy to ſcenes of this kind, would think your money advantage⯑ouſly laid out, had it been ten times the ſum. On the working days, it is little frequented ex⯑cept [75]by the fiſhwomen, who run through it in ſhoals, with turbot, cod, ſoles, and ſhrimps, all the morning, ſome hundreds together; their heads loaded enough to break their necks; and returning after market hours, loaded with other things—wood, groceries, hardware, vegeta⯑bles, and other little neceſſaries, which they have taken in barter, or purchaſed out of their profits; not unfrequently hand in hand, or arm in arm, half a dozen at a time, ſinging out of tune, but perfectly in temper, with fiſh-looking forms, and ſea-bright countenances. "It is a recreation to be by," and hear their artleſs merriment, ſpeaking to every body they encounter, which is a very general faſhion in Holland; a good-morrow, a good-night, and a bow, or a curtſey, you get from every body; ſometimes, even to tediouſneſs, of which here⯑after. The paſſing of theſe people along the different allies, aſſiſts the beauty of the per⯑ſpective; blended too, as it is, towards the evenings, with the gentry and burghers of the Hague; and on a fine Sunday, it is truly a Dutch Jubilee. The throng is prodigious.— The pictureſque ſingularity of the dreſſes, the huge hats of the peaſant women, projecting li⯑terally more than a yard from their heads; their enormous earings dropping on their ſhoulders; [76]fiſhermen loaded with ſilver buttons, each larger than a crown piece; a felt bonnet on his head, a pipe in every mouth—the people of faſhion in carriages, three or four deep, to the extent of the walk; the carts and waggons of the country people, full almoſt to overflowing, all in motion at once, under the umbrage of the fineſt oaks, limes, and beech trees I ever ſaw; all this cannot be an unintereſting picture to the moſt ill-tempered perſon breathing.— To a good natured one—to you, my friend, it would be— ‘"A feaſt of reaſon, and a flow of ſoul."’

You would ſee, though in a ſtranger's land, the beauty of vegetation: you would ſee human felicity pourtrayed in a thouſand, good, round, unthinking faces, and to uſe the words of poor, dear, Goldſmith, you would ‘"Gather bliſs to ſee your fellows bleſt."’

I have mentioned ſinging—It is almoſt the conſtant practice of the lower ſort of people in Holland. They ſing in their boats—they ſing at their barrows—they ſing in their churches almoſt inceſſantly—they ſing at pleaſure—they ſing at work; and always in ſongs, that either [77]require (or are inſiſted upon allowing) ſeveral voices—ſometimes fifty or ſixty people in a ſtring of pleaſure-waggons, keeping the bur⯑then at full trot, and for hours together, ge⯑nerally making the ſame tune do the buſineſs of the journey, long or ſhort; ſo that when travellers chooſe to amuſe you with the ſatur⯑nine phlegm, and inveterate ſilence of the Dutch, you are bona fide to read for ſaturnine and ſilent, a very ^* ſinging ſort of people.

[78]Solemn and auſtere, I am ſure, they would conſider the ſame claſs of people in our coun⯑try, [79]where, except on particular occaſions, as at a wake, a harveſt home, a houſe warm⯑ing, [80]or a Chriſtmas meeting, you do not meet one-tenth part of the like merriment. The [81]ſongs are a little monotonous to be ſure, and the inſtruments, through which they paſs, are not attuned to the moſt delicate touches of harmony. Moreover, the whole figure of the groupe is ſomewhat unweildy, and the fiſher⯑men in their boat-dreſſes, and in glee, like bears rampant; and though I have ſeen them paſs fifty times in full chorus along the delicious avenues aforeſaid, I muſt own, I ne⯑ver beheld any Orphean miracle likely to reſult from the utmoſt exertion of their vocal powers. Not a tree walked after them; not even a ſhrub bowed its head towards them, except when moved by the magic of the wind. But I ſaw, as obſerved already, what you would like much better to ſee—a great number of [82]hard-working human beings, extremely charm⯑ed with themſelves, and with each other. Ah! are there not in the higher walks of life, many refined and elegant aſſemblies of men and women, the equals of theſe humble child⯑ren of nature—perhaps the ſuperiors, in point of number, but miſerably their inferiors in health, inoffenſiveneſs, and joy?

The waggons, in which they go thoſe excur⯑ſions, are the ſame as thoſe in which their ge⯑neral buſineſs is carried on, and uſually have ſome quaint devices painted behind, on a board that faſtens them, at the bottom of which is frequently a line, couplet, or ſtanza, "ſpelled by the unlettered muſe," ſacred to Toil and Pleaſure. But the burghers and ſervants of the Hague, a little town-ſtruck, commonly club for a ſort of chaiſe, which will hold about a dozen on three ſeats, and thus they come ſing⯑ing down to Scheveling "as merry as the day is long!"

But you are prepared to take a view of all theſe different ſorts of people on the beach. There, however, you would not ſee them, were you to be fixed in front of it, like one of the houſes, ſuppoſing that houſe animated, and [83]every window of it an eye, which by the bye would make it an Argus; for the Dutch, not paying (upon earth for the light of heaven) any ſuch tax as our's, the houſe is bewindowed from top to bottom.

Strange as it may ſeem, it is the Dutch cuſ⯑tom to drive from the Hague, and other parts of Holland to the Beach Head, there ſtop a little, and drive back again. Nay, thoſe va⯑letudinarians (Dutch I mean) who take an airing to the ſea-ſide for health, do juſt the ſame, with the additional ſingularity of re⯑maining in the carriages, the glaſſes drawn down, then cloſed; then half opened, for about an hour—but I do aſſure you, out of more than a thouſand different vehicles, which I have ſeen, from the apartment I occupied, paſs to the Beach Head, I never obſerved a ſingle carriage, but the Engliſh ambaſſador's go upon the ſands, though they extend a league at low water to right and left, as firmly bound as a gravel walk in a garden, and as level as a bowling green.

It was impoſſible to let ſuch a phenomenon of ſingularity, as it appeared to me, eſcape ungleaned. On enquiry, I was told, and on [84]the beſt authority, that of three different me⯑dical gentlemen, that one of the favourite and almoſt univerſal opinions of Great Britain, is totally ſcouted in Holland, viz. the ſalubrity of the ſea air, or water.—The Dutch, almoſt to a man, nay to a Doctor, contend, that it is the moſt "peſtilent congregation of vapours" a man can poſſibly breathe, that it is ſit only for a mad dog. And one of their guide⯑writers very ſeriouſly tells you, in a book of 340 pages, about the Hague only, that ‘very fortunately the ſouthern aſpect is ſkreened by a chain of ſandy mountains, and inter⯑mediate meadows, which protects the beauti⯑ful Hague from the malign exhalations of the ſea’ And in another place he aſſures his readers, that ‘the air of the Hague is pure and wholeſome—malgré la proximité de la Mer.’

Now, without pretending to enter the liſts of medical controverſy with theſe learned gentlemen, if it could poſſibly have been done, without getting into a diſquiſition (which on all ſubjects is my dread, becauſe it uſually tends only to "words, words, words," as Ham⯑let ſays) I ſhould have been glad to aſk them, to what the ſuperior health of the inhabitants [85]of the Hague, the Brielle, and other Dutch towns in the neighbourhood of the ſea, is to be attributed, but to this very circumſtance? Yet the whole nation have ſet their faces againſt it, in my opinion, very ungratefully; ſo I ſhall not attempt vindicating what they are ſo ſtur⯑dily bent upon conſidering as an enemy— though conſidering both their trade and their ſituation, the ocean is ſcarcely more a friend to one of its own fiſhes, than to a Dutchman: ‘"Who ſhall decide when doctors diſagree?"’

On my firſt tour to the Hague, two things ſtruck me, as pre-eminently abſurd; and not then knowing their pique againſt ſalt-water, and the vital ſpirit of that reſtoring breeze, which I had ſo often felt blow from, or fly around it, I argued upon them thus:—Suppoſe me, if you pleaſe, in one of my ſoliloquizing ſolitudes, in deep converſation with myſelf, and walking, faſt or ſlow, in correſpondence to the temperature of the ſubject, as was actually the caſe, and in returning from the very vil⯑lage which has afforded us theſe gleanings.— But I will give you a reſpite. You have had a long walk.

LETTER XXXII. TO THE SAME.

YOU are now to imagine yourſelf an inviſible ſpy, upon your ſelf-amuſing friend.

—What a ſtrange contradictory race, after all, are the Dutch! Here, at the ſeat of po⯑liteneſs, at their court, the reſidence of the repreſentatives of Emperors and Kings—the reſidence of a Prince from the Houſe of Orange, and of a Princeſs of the Houſe of Pruſſia— even while the town is in full faſhion, at this ſeaſon of its chief gaiety and ſplendour, the windows, ſave the ordinary ſitting-rooms, are all barred and bolted at mid-day from the air, even of the nobleſt houſes, and are not again be uncloſed, till a formal day of com⯑pany. Pray what may this be for? They conſider air, as well as water, unwholeſome, and the ſun, forſooth, is unfriendly to furni⯑ture. Thus, two of heaven's richeſt diſpenſa⯑tions they abſolutely exclude.—Can there be ſuch perverſity? What! ſhut out the air and the ſun in Holland! where the breath of the [87]one, and the genial warmth of the other, ought to be prayed for as a beatitude! (very long ſtrides towards the cloſe of this apoſtrophe) Then they appear to me to aggravate the offence by their indifference about the ſea water, the bleſſing of which flows into their very arms. Such an ocean waſting health over ſuch a town! Yet at this Scheveling, how vainly have I at⯑tempted accommodation? What, no lodgings? No bathing machines? no—no bathers? a few common people, and a ſtraggling Engliſh⯑man or two, who daſh, ſtark naked, into the open ſea!

What! inſenſible alike to air, fire, and wa⯑ter! Surely no people upon earth have greater occaſion for each of theſe bleſſings—a cold ſitu⯑ation—a cold temperature—fogs over their heads—ſtagnant water on each ſide of them; the ocean viſiting them but at few points, and thoſe few not attended to!—(violent walking, and the tones riſing, a little chaffed by the ſubject.)

None of our Britiſh watering places, even on our ſea-beat ſhore, can ſhew a fairer beach than that of Scheveling; and yet the inhabi⯑tants of the Hague, amounting to many thou⯑ſands, [88](living within two miles, cut through the moſt delicious walk or ride, ſhaded alike from heat and cold) juſt beſtow an inſenſible look, and leave it to fiſhermen and fiſhes!—(al⯑moſt a run).

I perceive you might as ſoon expect to ſee the Thames take fire, as a Dutchman, except in the way of his trade, take to the water. Not even the having a number of leper-houſes can indicate to them the neceſſity of ablu⯑tions—a ſet of people, too, who waſh every thing but themſelves almoſt to pieces! How prepoſterous! and then how provoking to ſee them, as I did laſt night, ſit by hundreds in the damps of the evening at their doors, with their inſenſible noſes hung over a thick "mantling pool," a ſtinking canal—inſtead of inhaling the breeze, freſhened by the waves at only a mile and an half's diſtance! Good heaven! that I and the ſea-gulls ſhould have had the whole ocean to ourſelves ſuch a day as this has been!—(vehement action, and tones that made many paſſengers ſtare, more laugh at, and one or two pity me).—No wonder, then, that the villagers, ſo far from affording me a chamber, occaſioned a general apprehen⯑ſion [89]amongſt the inhabitants, either that I muſt be bit by a mad dog, or have evil de⯑ſigns upon myſelf, in either caſe, no ſafe in⯑mate. ‘What, ſir, (ſaid an inn-keeper to me) would you leave the Hague to come and lodge at ſuch a place as this? We never had any people of your appearance come to ſleep here, but a rheumatic old lady, that uſed to tuck herſelf, neck and heels, into a great tub, in which ſhe uſed to parboil two or three times a week; but ſhe died of it for all that; and we ſuppoſe ſhe was boiled to death. Nobody lets lodgings here: you may eat and drink, and paſs the day, but muſt ſleep at home.’

This provoking fellow talked Engliſh too, juſt as I have given his remarks. By this time my enquiries after a room, and running from houſe to houſe, had gathered people, and I found myſelf in a mob, from which I turned away, and ran off at full ſpeed, juſtifying every ſuſpicion that had been raiſed againſt me, touching my inſanity.

But to eſcape from theſe Dutch wags, and converſe with you my friend—

[90] ^* The village of Scheveling conſiſts of one very long, pretty ſtreet, and two or three ſmal⯑ler [91]ones, branching from it, each of which, like the parent one, goes directly to as fine a beach as ever was waſhed by ſalt water. A town of much leſs ſize in any part of Great Britain, ſo auſpiciouſly placed, would be fitted out into apartments to receive ſome hundreds of ſtrangers, who would, in turn, contribute very materially to the ſubſiſtence and comfort of the native inhabitants, as in Haſtings, Ly⯑mington, Wivenhoe, Eaſt Bourne, &c. &c.

But, precious as gain is to a Hollander, there is one thing yet more dear—his prejudices. He deteſts, dreads, ſhrinks from innovation; and [92]if he is tempted into it, he revenges himſelf on you by enormous retaliation, As for ex⯑ample—invited by the ſea-gale, which reno⯑vated me after a couple of torrid viſits to the Hague, in the very centre of the canals, which in the hot weather are, literally, in a putrid fever, I was ſo ſtruck by the ſeducing power of contraſt—I felt the exchange ſo forcibly,— a ſtagnant ditch for a flowing wave of living water, that I could not but hazard a ſecond tryal to get into ſomething like a ſleeping room, though it ſhould be in one of the fiſhing-boats. An Engliſh gentleman, who, at that time, ac⯑companied me, and who ſpoke Dutch fluently, took me to an inn-keeper, whom he informed me had many chambers unoccupied; "cham⯑bers, ſaid he, that never feel ſunſhine or air, but on ſabbath days." With much difficulty he was brought into my plan, but to preclude the poſſibility of my acceding to his, he de⯑ſired my interpreting friend to inform me, that for once, and entirely to oblige me, he would accommodate me with a bed-room for twenty-four florins (more than two guineas) per week, and if I made it up thirty, he would give me a bit of fiſh for my dinner. Before I had time to expreſs my aſtoniſhment at this demand, (which more than doubles the beſt apartments [93]for ſingle men at the Hague) he conducted us to a cat-hole of a place, where the cat would have panted for breath, without any hope of getting it; and in this curious cabinet, in the darkeſt corner, was crowded a ſomething by way of bed, ten times more diſordered than that which held the unfortunate Villers Duke of Buckingham. "Will it do?" aſked the Dutch⯑man, with a gravity provokingly inflexible. "Do! (ſaid I) DO?" ‘What you do not ap⯑prove of it then? There's no harm done,’ quoth the Dutchman, ſhutting it up, and walk⯑ing off; ‘an old friend of mine, however, and who once ſaved my life, has ſlept on it ſome years; and, if it was good enough for him, it might ſerve your turn, I ſhould think, who are a ſtranger I never ſaw before.’

I really was indignant beyond ſpeaking. We had now gained the ſtreet-door; a huge Po⯑meranian dog lay at it: "O, here he is," ex⯑claimed the Dutchman; ‘what do you think, my poor old Pomm? this heer (gentleman) though a perfect ſtranger, aſked me for a bed, and I was juſt going to let him have your's; but luckily he did not accept it; and I am glad on it, for I ſhould have been an ungrateful fellow, to have turned you out of [94]your bed, for a man I never ſaw before in my life.—Poor old Pomm! do you remember what you did for me off the Doggerbank, when I was waſhed over-board? Do you re⯑member how you pulled me, and held me by the nape of the neck, till my meſſmates got me out of the water. You left your marks on me. Look here Pomm; and while this is in my fleſh, ſhall I turn thee out of thy bed? No, d—n me, Pomm—not for all the heers (gentlemen) of Chriſtendom!’

My companion aſſured me this was as nearly a literal tranſlation as poſſible: and from my knowledge of the Dutch language ſince, and of the impreſſion made of the ſounds on my me⯑mory at the time, I find it was ſo. But there were other ſigns of the fidelity of the tranſlation, but the action which accompanied the words, the careſſes which the Dutchman laviſhed on his dog, the rebuke with which he loaded himſelf, and the tears which fell from his eyes—not uſed to weep—when he ſhewed to the preſerver of his life, the marks in his neck, were ante⯑cedent, and ſuperior to all the language yet ſpoken by human beings.

[95]I was diſarmed. I ſaw very plainly, that the Dutchman, yielding to my importunities, which were very earneſt, had no way of putting an end to them, but by a ſtroke of waggery, and apparent extortion, which he was ſatisfied I could not give into, and his ſtratagem ſuc⯑ceeded. I conſidered poor old Pomm as a be⯑nefactor, and the Dutchman as a grateful fel⯑low—though I ſtill think old Pomm might have been better lodged.

Touch my affections, and do what you will with me; but excite my diſguſt, by cold, de⯑ſigned impoſition, neither enlivened by fro⯑lick, nor recompenſed by humanity—I revolt at, and whenever I am able, puniſh it.

Of this kind is the behaviour of a fellow in the village, which has yielded theſe little ad⯑ventures. His houſe is ſituated ſo commo⯑diouſly to the ſea, of which it has the entire command, as it has of every thing, within many leagues, moving on the face of the wa⯑ters, that it would juſtify a moderate ſhare of impoſition, and I am ſorry to be under the neceſſity of letting you know this man indulges in ſuch an unreaſonable extortion, that neither [96]you, or any of my countrymen, ſhall become his victims, if I can help it.

Wearied with ſauntering along the beach, I ſat myſelf down at this man's houſe to repoſe; after which I followed the example of a Dutch gentleman, then in the ſame room, and whom I had juſt obſerved pay four ſtivers (four pence) for a glaſs of milk and geneva, and a plate of ſhrimps—a common refreſhment here, and to be had in great perfection.

Having regaled and reſted, I demanded my reckoning—which is, ſaid the

Eighteen ſtivers.

Eighteen ſtivers! For what?

For my houſe; for the windows; for the fiſh; for the geneva; for the milk; for the bread; for the SEA!

A great many articles, certainly, when ſo in⯑geniouſly ſpread out! But the gentleman, who has recently left this very houſe, theſe windows, [97]this ſea, and taking a like proportion of your bread, milk, fiſh, and Hollands, along with him, paid only four ſtivers.

What is that to you?—he is a cuſtomer; he often comes to my houſe; he is a Dutchman! Do you think I can afford to treat ſtrangers as I do my own countrymen?—a man, from God knows where, like a gentleman who lives at the Hague—and who is a magiſtrate?

I only wiſh I was a magiſtrate for half an hour, and lived at the Hague too, for your ſake, my friend.

Eighteen ſtivers, I demand—eighteen ſtivers I will have—or my goods back again.

Hereupon he ſlapped the door upon me, and as I did not know well how to manage the curi⯑ous alternative—the goods, as he called them, though dearly bought, ſitting perfectly eaſy on my ſtomach—I paid eighteen pence for a ſmall tumbler of milk, into which I infuſed about a tea-ſpoonful of Hollands, bread in propor⯑tion, and about forty ſhrimps. The original [93]coſt to the publican might (a little over-rated) ſtand thus, Engliſh money:

On getting down ſtairs, he deſired to ſee no more of me. O were all commands as eaſy to be obeyed! On enquiry, and repreſentation of this fact at the table d'hote, where I that day dined, I found ſeveral gentlemen had met the ſame extravagance, accompanied by the ſame inſolence. As well, therefore, in juſt reſent⯑ment, as in patriot good will to the Engliſh publick in general, and to you, my friend, in particular, I have marked this man, and his houſe ^*; and farther inform you that the name [99]of the former is Grevers, and the ſign of the latter, the Heeren Logement.

Beware; it is a duty we owe ourſelves, and ſociety, not to be the dupe of an impoſition in any country. I ſhould not have even known to what a degree this was one, had I not been preſent at the Dutch gentleman's payment for preciſely the ſame articles; though common experience muſt have conſidered it as inſuffera⯑ble, being within two ſtivers (two pence) ex⯑actly what you give at the table d'hote of the Mareſchal de Turenne, for as good a dinner conſiſting of two excellent courſes, and a libe⯑ral deſert) as you can have in any part of Lon⯑don, for half a crown a-head. As the firſt part of this adventure then, ſerves as a warn⯑ing for the Schevelin inn, let this concluſion of it operate as a recommendation to the hotel at the Hague.

[100]But judge not, from theſe individual in⯑ſtances, either way, or at either place, that all is fair dealing at the Hague, or all extortion at Schevelin. I have very pointed inſtances in reſerve, where you will ſee an exact inverſion of the exceptions, viz. abominable extortion at the Hague, and excellent behaviour, com⯑bined with a reaſonable charge, at Schevelin.

And, as I am ſure I ſhall do a more eſſential ſervice to the Britiſh traveller, by occaſionally (as they occur in my path) gleaning for him theſe remarks for the government of his purſe, and perſon, than if I were to preſent him with the name of every painter, and the hiſtory of every painting, with the natural hiſtory of every butterfly, and bug, in the Prince's muſeum; I ſhall, in the proper times and places, remem⯑ber to hold out to him, hints of both theſe examples.

At the preſent moment, if you pleaſe, we will amuſe ourſelves on the beach, where you will ſee upwards of 100 large fiſhing boats, Dutch-built of courſe, drawn up in array, equi⯑diſtant from each other, their nets ſpread for drying to the ſun, the colours of their pro⯑vinces flying; their ſails, yellow and deep brown, drying alſo; and making, thus aſſo⯑ciated, [101]and arranged, a very agreeable ap⯑pearance.

During the ſhort vacation which the tide al⯑lows, it is curious to obſerve the employments, and paſtimes, carried on by theſe ſons and daughters of induſtry, who not only live by, but almoſt on, that various element, with which they are encompaſſed. Football, cricket, quoits, races, by men, women, and children, the aged and the young; dances on the ſand, the fiſh-carriers and the fiſhermen becoming part⯑ners, joining hands, ſome of them apparently joining hearts, (cheeks and lips very often); boys bathing the draft dogs, girls thoſe happier puppies doomed to favouritiſm; little creatures without ſhoes or ſtockings ſwimming and div⯑ing like the fiſhes, amongſt which they live; ſome, as if the ſea ſervice was an innate idea, (though it is more like imitation) converting their very hats and ſabots into boats, and their ſhirts into ſails, ſwim out with them in tow ſo far into the ſea, that an Engliſh mother would tremble to behold them. The ſetting the boats off, when the tide ſerves, is, likewiſe, another pleaſant proſpect. They are all in ex⯑treme good fellowſhip, and ſtart, as nearly as may be, all at once; then ſpread, and ſeparate, [102]which is a freſh marine picture; and when the weather is fine is truly amuſing; the more ſo, as, on account of the different figure, faſhion, ſails, colours, and courſes of the boats, the appearance is very diſtinct from what we ob⯑ſerve on the ſea coaſts in the Engliſh fiſhery. While they are gone, the ſports, though by the abſence of the ſailors— ‘"Maim'd of half their joys."’ are reſumed. The incredible ſhoals of children in this little town, begin to make me think it was with good reaſon, the ancient poets made the queen of love ſpring from the ſea; and it is an obſervation, that I fancy every coaſt town corroborates. But this exceeds all I ever be⯑held; though, I muſt confeſs, few of them ſeem to have been the deſcendants of Venus; for a more abhorrent ſet of little naked cupids, never waſhed themſelves in their parent waves. Yet, they are all healthy, and all happy. The return of the boats is a ſcene of buſy expectation. Hundreds of baſket-women, barrow-men, and barrow dogs, are ſtretched along the beach, even to the edge of the waters, but no farther; for none of theſe women, or very few, go un⯑ſhod, or unſtockinged. On the contrary, they [103]are remarkably neat in their blue worſted ſtockings, and ſlippers; and, however, many of the former may ſhew the marks of houſe⯑wifry, an hole in them is not only extraordinary, but ſcandalous: nor are theſe girls, or women, in any reſpect indecent. They nod, ſmile on, jeſt with, every paſſenger they meet, (all through Holland, unleſs you obviouſly ſhun their harmleſs familiarity;) but never paſs this bound; it is a kind of courteſy here, be⯑longing to this claſs of people; and is, per⯑haps, a better way than having to pull your hat off every other moment, (which is the caſe in their great towns) in exchange of the trouble⯑ſome civility of the citizens and gentry.— Even the female children are only permitted to dabble without their ſtockings, while the boys aſſert, very early, the privileges of the hardy ſex, and grow adventurous by preſcription. On the unlading of the boats, every barrow, and baſket is filled to the brim, ſometimes by ſix o'clock in the morning, and dogs, boys, men, and women, ſet "doggedly to work," as Dr. Johnſon ſtrangely expreſſes himſelf, and run, or rather trot to the Hague market with earneſt activity. This ſhuts up the amuſe⯑ments of the beach; ſo with your permiſſion, after a pauſe, we will return alſo.

LETTER XXXIII. TO THE SAME.

YES, my friend, we will return, but not exactly by the ſame way we came, enchanting as it was. After you have taken a peep, at our re-entrance of the before deſcribed walks, to ſurvey the moving picture (and a very ſingu⯑lar one it is) of the ſwarms of fiſh-boys, fiſh-men, fiſh-girls, fiſh-dogs, and fiſh alive, filling every path in the long avenues; ſtriving which ſhall arrive with their loads firſt to market. I beg to take you by the hand, and conduct you as entirely out of the ſight of theſe, and all other public objects, as if you were in the deepeſt receſſes of Windſor, or any leſs faſhionable, foreſt. You gueſs, already, I allude to what I called the concealed walks, in the outſet of my deſcription.—Yes, let us glide into one of theſe—both are of equal beauty—and— ‘"The world forgetting, by the world forgot;"’ let us have this little green regalia wholly to ourſelves. In this ſequeſtered ſpot of half a league; ſituated, as it is, in a land, which may [105]almoſt be conſidered as "in the flat ſea ſunk," —even in Holland; and within a few furlongs of that very ſea—we ſhall be preſented with as verdant paths, as redundant foliage, as imper⯑vious glooms, as agreeable openings to the ſun, and as rich a variety of objects in keeping with ſuch ſcenery, as in the moſt happy woodlands of our own country; even in that delightful part of it (Wales,) which occupied ſo large a ſhare of our earlier correſpondence. There, it muſt be confeſſed, Nature is a volunteer. Here, ſhe has been preſſed into the ſervice: in Cambria, ſhe has "fixed her ſeats of deareſt reſidence;" ſhe is a native.—In Holland, ſhe is an exotic, dragged reluctantly from home, and made to eſtabliſh in a foreign ſoil. In Great Britain, ſhe conſents willingly to yield up her blooming beauty, and is en⯑amoured of the clime. In Italy, yet more; —there ſhe luxuriates. In Holland, the vegetable goddeſs, like many of her ſex, has been ſo long, and ſo aſſiduouſly wooed, that, after unavailing reſiſtance and refuſal, ſhe gives up the point to her perſevering lover, and makes him happy to get rid of his importunity. And in this country ſhe has been ſo careſſed, invited, and cheriſhed,—the whole Republic have, indeed, paid ſuch homage to her, ſince [106]ſhe ſettled amongſt them, that it is no wonder ſhe is, at length, conciliated,—beſtows a gracious ſmile over ſuch parts as are ſuſceptible of her influence, and aſſimilates to the ſoil.

The ſpot we are ſurveying is, indeed, pre⯑eminently favoured. Our path, you obſerve, is on the ſurface of a fine terrace, wide enough to admit half a dozen perſons abreaſt in ſome places, and narrowing, imperceptibly, in others, ſo as to admit only, what is uſually more agreeable in ſuch ſort of walks—a tête a tête. Nay, one ſide, (the left, returning to the Hague)—runs off into a variety of woody re⯑ceſſes, the footway of which is adapted only to a ſoliloquy—ſuch, as ſome few minds know how to turn to even ſocial advantage —ſuch as yours, my friend.

It would employ more time than we have to ſpare, were we to turn into any one of theſe winding walks, and ſuffer ourſelves to be led [107]away by its ſeducing deviations.—It is invol⯑ved in ſo many vernal labyrinths, that I can only recommend them to you, when Solitude, and her companions, Poeſy, and let me add, Philoſophy, concur, with leiſure, to devote a morning, or evening to ſuch aſſociates. Keep⯑ing the terrace, we ſhall, for the time that is on our hands, be ſufficiently gratified. As we go along, you, who are new to the ſcene, will be ſtruck with rural objects, not often to be found in any country in the vicinity of the ocean; and of one of the moſt populous, as well as po⯑pular towns in Europe. Among theſe, the ſound of that ocean, at firſt loud and paſ⯑ſionate, moderating its wrath as we go far⯑ther on, till at length it ſoftens, as if into ſounds of regret at having, in its anger, ſent us away, and perſuaſively murmuring to invite our return. How eaſily, without ſtraining the alluſion, may one apply this to the wayward, little animoſities of this little life! in which, how often does the violence of rage—the moſt foaming diſſonance, melt into the whiſpers of love! On the right hand of us, but many a foot beneath, for the terrace is extremely ele⯑vated, you perceive, the obvious roads; you catch a glimpſe of them, and of the paſſengers; and, but a glimpſe, the next three or four [108]ſteps ſhuts up the view, and you are again under covert of what Milton has called "a verdant wall." But were the public paths filled with living beauties, we might ſuffer this ex⯑cluſion from them (your pardon, fair ones, our excluſion is very temporary,) while "on ſuch a night as this;" (for I chooſe to have the even⯑ing we are taking this walk a very fine one) added to the diverſified ſounds of the ſea, we have the ſong of the nightingale, the note of the cuckoo, (whoſe very hoarſeneſs has a charm for us; we are in the education, you know, of loving his voice to the laſt;) the concert of the ſmall birds to amuſe the ear—the perfume of the wild-flowers, which are here in profu⯑ſion; the magnificence of the trees, many of which are, "of the firſt order of ſizes;" the oaks, for example, which are even of Druidi⯑cal dignity; the beaches, the American poplar, and a very luxuriant growth of underwood. The traveller, who has but a reliſh of the charms of verdure in him, cannot be weary of admiring theſe, and many other objects; though, (when he reflects on the general cha⯑racter, and, indeed, general ſurface of Hol⯑land), he will be apt to wonder ‘"How the devil they got here."’

[109]You ſoon arrive at the barrier, from whence, to your ſurpriſe, and it may happen in ſome diſpoſitions of mind, to your diſlike, you find yourſelf in the ſtreets of the Hague; a rapid tranſition from umbrage ſo profound, might induce you to fancy yourſelf, "in depth of woods embraced;" and then by another ſtroke of magic conveyed to a large town, which is the reſidence of courtiers, and the ſeat of the Dutch government. Before we wholly loſe ſight of this charming promenade, let us take a retro⯑ſpective view of it from the barrier, which ſhews us the perſpective of Scheveling church, as a terminating object; and which leads me to ſay a few parting words of the village.

The hiſtorians of the place all ſay, that this little town is extremely ancient; and that it was more than double the ſize it now is. In 1470, the ſea, (which I have ſometimes ſeen more terrible here than a roaring lion; and in a very few hours after, it might have been likened to the ſleeping lamb;) not only car⯑ried away one of its churches, but inundated more than two thouſand paces beyond it; and carried deſolation, and ruin in its courſe. In 1530, the reſidue of the village, and [110]the villagers, very narrowly eſcaped being ſwallowed up, in the middle of the night. And, notwithſtanding the extreme height of the banks, formed by the ſand⯑downs, the furious element, in diſdain of controul, broke over them, and deluged half the town ſucceſſively in the years 1538-46-51, and above all in 1570, on the day of All-Saints. On that fatal day one hundred and twenty houſes, were either buried under the ſands, or dragged into the main, and the other church, which ſtood in the heart of the village, was now leſt almoſt upon the beach, in which ſituation, it ſtands at this moment, a ſacred but ſolitary monument of the ſtorm; and looks, to fancy's eye, as if it ſtill mourned the event. Since that time, however, the ocean has flowed within its bounds; the vil⯑lage is, in part, rebuilt. It is inhabited en⯑tirely by fiſhers, and publicans; the firſt confine themſelves to the markets of Rot⯑terdam and the Hague; the laſt depend chiefly on the parties of pleaſure, which re⯑ſort to it in the ſummer ſeaſon. Such a thing as a private family building a pavi⯑lion in its neighbourhood, nor ſcarcely a lodger, except the old lady who boiled in [111]the tub, and myſelf, I really believe has not been heard or thought of theſe two hun⯑dred years; but then, you know, it is too near the "noxious vapours of the ſea." O, un⯑grateful Holland! thus to turn your back on your beſt friend! notwithſtanding he has ſwal⯑lowed up ſo many of your fiſhermen's houſes, ye ought to build a temple to Neptune in every town of the Republic; and in thoſe within reach of his purifying breath, ye ought to erect one in every ſtreet! and on the portals,

Theſe poor remains of Scheveling, ſtill boaſt the charities. There is one devoted by the counts of Holland to poor old people, ſo long ago as the year 1614, and flouriſhing ſtill; the other is conſecrated to orphans.

But I have mentioned myſelf as a lodger; one of thoſe beings, who, as I obſerved before, the boiled lady excepted, never ap⯑peared on the coaſt: and being a ſolitary wan⯑derer on the ſhore, and moreover, a ſelf-talker, [112]holding long and loud conferences upon the beach, in the market-place, in the wood-walks, and, according to the different feelings of my mind—

and now, "ſmiling as in ſcorn," or in ſport, on men, women, fiſh, fiſhing-boats, or the ocean, without uttering a ſyllable, all theſe peculiarities, I could plainly perceive, made me looked on by the inhabitants, (many of whom followed me, whiſpering to one another) as much as to ſay, poor fellow, thou art a much greater curioſity than the ſkull of the huge fiſh, which we keep in the choir of the church, and ſhew as a ſight, though we are told it is fifty-ſix feet long, and was thrown on ſhore here, near one hundred and fifty years ago. But I have no manner of objection to the forming part of other people's amuſement, pro⯑vided they do not interrupt mine, which the Schevelingites did not; except that a few boys would ſometimes, but at awful diſtance, attend my wanderings, and ſhake their little heads at each other, in manifeſt pity of my ſituation: and I perceived they always compaſſionated [113]me moſt, when I was in effect, the moſt to be envied; at moments, for inſtance, when my heart was pardoning an abſent enemy, or yearning after an abſent friend, yielding to the effuſions of the muſe—or repeating the ſtrains of a favourite poet!—Was I to be pitied? Even if I ſometimes wept? Ah, no. May the foun⯑tain of ſuch tears never be dried up!—Are they the offspring of weakneſs? Then may I never be ſtrong! I have one drop of this weakneſs, at this moment, in my eye, and another "in its chryſtal ſluice ready to fall," at the thought, that you and I, my friend, have been long divided; and that the date of em⯑bracing each other again, muſt be added to the uncertainties of human life. Adieu.

P. S. Do permit me—indulge me—in the egotiſm, by way of poſtcript to this letter, to relate to you a little perſonal anecdote, that I am reminded of by this "wonderment," amongſt the common people of Scheveling, on the ſubject of my ſoliloquies, which, I have already remarked to you, are, like thoſe on the ſtage, heard by every body. If I do not hitch it in here, I ſhall never give it you, and I would not have you loſe the trait of honeſt tender [114]heartedneſs in a poor daughter of Nature, which it includes.

Some ſummers ago, being on a viſit to the excellent ^* poet and venerable man, on whoſe recommendation, I bought the poor old horſe, of whoſe ſtory, I gave you the Gleanings in a former letter. It was "my cuſtom always in the afternoon," to go forth into the fields, cottages, farm houſes, while my friend was at his ſtudies; he being at that time finiſhing his third and laſt tranſlation of the ^† three great fathers of ancient poetry. One day our diſ⯑courſes fell on our Engliſh Pindar, whoſe noble ode founded on the pathetic tradition of the maſſacre of the Welch bards, my friend re⯑cited ſo as to divide the glory of the ſong, be⯑twixt the reader and the author: and, after this, he ſtood forth the champion of this ſub⯑lime compoſition; and entered into a warm, and juſt vindication, of his favourite poet, who had been attacked with ſuch barbarous fury by Dr. Johnſon: this manly defence is now in the hands of the public: it is, therefore, unneceſ⯑ſary [115]to mention its energy, its eloquence, or its juſtice.

Full of the ſubject, I ſet off, on the even⯑ing of the day on which it was brought upon our ſocial carpet, as replete with materials for a long and loud ſoliloquy, as any hero could de⯑ſire even on the French theatre; where he takes a whole ſcene to himſelf, that he may ex⯑patiate at large on thoſe ſecret conſpiracies, which he communicates to pit, boxes, and gal⯑lery. Every thing withoul, alſo, conſpired to aggravate the ſtate of feeling within: the even⯑ing was lovely, was drawing to its cloſe; and really brought into effect, and cloſe under the eye, and into the heart, many of the objects ſo exquiſitely deſcribed by this enchanting poet; literally, therefore, I was ‘"Wrapt in ſome ſtrain of penſive Gray."’ It was at Scarning, near Dereham, in Norfolk, from which laſt mentioned place, ſoon after I had got into the environs of the former, I heard ‘"The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day."’ I ſaw too, at the ſame time, ‘"The lowing herd wind ſlowly o'er the lea,"’ ‘[116]And obſerved, The plowman homeward plod his weary way."’ Of the ſecond ſtanza, every image was illuſtra⯑ted by the ſcene before me; and I exclaimed, (without in the leaſt attending to a knot of ruſtics ſitting round a bench that encircled a large tree, which "rear'd high its old fantaſtic roots.")

I might have added, had I not been elevated far above ſuch low-thoughted interruption, a few more exceptions to the general tranquillity, ſuch as the titter, and then the violent burſted laugh amongſt the villagers of the green, who broke upon the air, juſt as I had mentioned its ſolemn ſtillneſs.—Poſſibly this might have a little diſcompoſed me, had I not in the ſuc⯑ceeding inſtant obſerved, "a moping owl," as if ſhe came on purpoſe to ‘"Soothe the gloomy habit of my ſoul."’ fly over my head, and after wheeling about a little, take up her lodging in preciſely ſuch an [117]"ivy-mantled tower," as that immortaliſed by the poet: ſome children, who ſeeing her alight, threw up their hats after her; for which, though angry with them at firſt, I felt much obliged, as very ſoon after, ſhe hooted away moſt delightfully; and as the moon now began to ſhew herſelf, and the brats kept an⯑noying the ivytree, I had every reaſon in the world, you know, to conſider my owl was

In high good humour, to find every line tell in this manner, I paſſed on, quickening my pace, as moſt people put into high ſpirits ſud⯑denly, when they are walking, generally do: This, I ſuppoſe, to the audience of peaſants, might increaſe the ridicule, and the cauſe of it; for on turning my back on them, and ſtriding away, they changed their object from the owl to me, whom they hooted in much louder notes than the owl had hooted the moon; but, I be⯑lieve verily, had they pelted me at that moment, I ſhould have forgiven them.

Yet, I was now too much warmed to con⯑tent myſelf with the Elegiac Muſe—My [118]"ſober wiſhes had been taught to ſtray," too far, not to be ambitious of the pindaric; and what ſo proper, ſo natural to me, at ſuch a time, and under ſuch influences as the noble ode, to which my friend, had ſo lately been doing homage? This had no ſooner ruſhed on my fancy, than I burſt forth, with the moſt indignant violence of utterance and action,

which couplet I repeated ſeveral times, and at each repetition, with an aggravated voice and manner; and then I went on in the ſame ſtyle,

Judge what an impreſſion all this muſt make upon a poor old woman, whoſe clay-raiſed hut ſtood by the ſide of the road; and who could juſt make ſhift to draw open a gate, that ſeparated the boundary of one little pariſh from another; for which courteſy, ſhe frequently received nothing; and occaſionally an enpaſſant [119]penny. She had opened the gate; but with ſuch a countenance of alarm and commiſera⯑tion, fear for herſelf, and pity for me, that a painter might have acquired immortal fame, by drawing it. It "beggars my powers of deſcrip⯑tion ſo entirely," that I ſhall not attempt it.

Poor ſoul! poor ſoul! ſaid the old woman, as I paſſed through the gate, the cord with which ſhe drew it open trembling in her hands!— How long, added ſhe, in faultering accents— how long, poor luckleſs gentleman, have you been in this way?

Ever ſince I could walk ALONE, ejaculated I. —Good lack, good lack, born fooliſh, mayhap, quite a natural!

Even ſo—

Even ſo, good mother—exclaimed I, thruſt⯑ing a ſhilling into her hand, and paſſing furi⯑ouſly on—recommencing with ‘"Ruin ſeize thee," &c.’

[120]Heaven keep all good Chriſtians in their ſenſes!—how he raves, and curſes! ſaid ſhe.

I went home, when the fit was over, by ano⯑ther road, and ſaw no more of my pity-ſtruck dame; but on my relating it at ſupper to my friend, what was my ſurpriſe to find that the identical old lady, had juſt left the kitchen, having out of pure humanity enquired me out, come to know if I had got ſafe back, as ſhe had "a parlous fear, I ſhould lay violent hands on myſelf by the way."—The night turned out cloudy, and the poor creature was both lame and aged; neither of which circumſtances could withhold her from an office of diſin⯑tereſted compaſſion; for, amongſt other mat⯑ters, ſhe told my friend's ſervants, that I had put a ſhilling into her hands, which being a thing that never happened to her before, all the years ſhe had been at the gate, muſt, for certain ſure, be a miſtake; and therefore, ſhe would have ſurrendered it as a given evidence of the unfound ſtate of my mind; of which ſhe would not, for even five ſhillings, take any advantage! and it was not without difficulty, the domeſtics reconciled her to the keeping it, [121]obſerving to her that its being returned, would make me worſe.

For more than a week after this, ſhe came, unſeen by the parlour people, to know how I went on; and on being told, by my friend's footman, who had an arch ſort of gravity about him, that, upon the whole, I continued much the ſame; if any thing, rather worſe; my worthy old dame ſhook her head, and expreſſed her hopes, and declared I ſhould not want her prayers, that I might, with God's aſſiſtance, keep out of chains, and a ſtrait waiſtcoat; and then ſhe hobbled away with tears in her eyes.

But pity is communicative; the uſual way of confidence; this anecdote reached the men and women who were ſitting round the tree; it then ſpread to theowl and the ivy-buſh; arrived at the green, where I ſo deported myſelf, as to be hooted off the premiſes; putting all which to⯑gether, and adjoining the affair of purchaſing the ſuperannuated horſe, that had I been in liti⯑gation with any man in that neighbourhood, for any thing worth an attempt to prove me non compos, there is not an old man, or woman, boy, or girl, within half a dozen miles of Scar⯑ning, [122]who would not have ſupported the plain⯑tiff, in his bill of lunacy; and any defence I could have ſet up, had I maintained my ration⯑ality, with as much ardour and action as I had recited my poetry, would only have been ad⯑duced as freſh proof of my diſtraction.

But my poſtſcript is running to the length of my letter, and leſt you, alſo, ſhould vote for an indictment, and be witneſs to the bill when found, I will in my ſober mind and ſenſes, and with all the powers of both, aſſure you, I am, yours.

LETTER XXXV. TO THE SAME.

I HAVE imperceptibly "beguiled the way" to your hotel, my friend, which I will ſuppoſe you to regain juſt in time for the Dutch theatre, which is amongſt thoſe objects of curioſity, that no traveller, who has but a reliſh of literature in him, would, as one would imagine, paſs ungleaned; and yet I cannot find that any of our numerous Trippiſts have deem⯑ed a critique of the ſtage, or drama, of this country, worth their trouble. Unwilling, how⯑ever, to impute this negligence to national prejudice, or to a ſupercilious opinion of our own theatre, I will preſume the authors who have viſited this country, either had not leiſure to partake the amuſement, or that they were in Holland during the receſſes of dramatic ex⯑hibitions.

In this reſpect, therefore, I am to account myſelf more fortunate; and ſuppoſing you at my ſide, will expect you to join me in the gratula⯑tion. [124]—But I feel the neceſſity of becoming ſelfiſh on this occaſion; you ſee my wiſh to be ſocial has led me into ſome confuſion by run⯑ning the firſt and ſecond perſons into one an⯑other, and by perplexing the ſingular and plural numbers.

Shrinking, therefore, into myſelf, I proceed to inform you, that my firſt viſit to the play⯑houſe here, was on the evening when the tra⯑gedy of Hamlet, and the character of the Queen, by a celebrated actreſs, held out a double attraction.

The Dutch Hamlet is, almoſt, a literal tran⯑ſlation of the German, but differs, importantly, from the Engliſh in fable and character.

The ſtory is ſimply this—The King of Den⯑mark has been poiſoned by a favourite of the Queen; and that Princeſs, in the headlong vi⯑olence of her paſſion, conſented to the death of her huſband, and promiſed to reward his murderer with her hand and crown. The piece opens immediately after the commiſſion of this bloody deed; and the firſt ſcene is al⯑lotted to the aſſaſſin, and a friend, who is con⯑fidential, and indeed an accomplice in the [125]villainy. In the ſecond ſcene, a diſcovery of the murder is made to the Queen by the lover, who claims his recompence, which, from the "compunctuous viſitings of nature," is refuſed. Many high-wrought ſentiments are given by the royal, ſelf-made widow, to juſ⯑tify a breach of her wicked promiſe, and to determine on throwing the whole regal power into the hands of her ſon Hamlet. This re⯑ſolution ſhe maintains ſo ſteadily, that her lover (Clodius) the murderer, is converted into her moſt inveterate enemy.

Various ſcenes of ſevere diſtreſs enſue. An interview takes place betwixt young Hamlet and his mother, in which the conſcience of the latter impells her to relate her ſhare in the death of her huſband, to the former, who has been apprized by his father's ghoſt, of the hor⯑rid deed.—This ghoſt is ſaid to haunt him every where, but does not make its public ap⯑pearance.

The Dutch Ophelia is the daughter of the murderer, Clodius—of courſe, the ſame prin⯑ciple that prevents the Queen mother from an union with the aſſaſſin of her huſband, deſtroys the intended nuptials betwixt Ophelia and [126]Hamlet. Hereupon, the virtuous ſacrifices of paſſion to principle produce ſeveral very tender and affecting ſcenes. The filial piety of Ham⯑let, and the conſtitutional melancholy ſo ex⯑quiſitely touched by Shakſpeare, is, by no means, feebly ſupported by the German poet, or by the Dutch tranſlator. The introduction of a ſacred vaſe, in which are depoſited the aſhes of the poiſoned monarch, is very hap⯑pily brought on, and the addreſſes of the pi⯑ous and heart-wounded ſon to it, preſs cloſe on the ſofteſt and beſt paſſions of our nature. In the midſt of theſe addreſſes of Hamlet to the aſhes of his father, the Queen enters, and her ſon, wrought to agony, goes up to her, and with the outraged feelings of a ſon ſo ſituated, aſks—Where is my father? on her refuſing to anſwer which queſtion, he leads her to the urn, and in the ſame ſtyle of eloquent brevity exclaims—See, mother—here is all you have left me of him!

This calls forth all the paſſions of a ſon, and all the penitence of a mother. The lat⯑ter implores her death, the former attempts it; the dagger is pointed at her boſom; the parent kneels to receive, the child to give the blow; but, by a powerful working of [127]nature, the ſon falls into the embraces of his mother, wholly diſarmed. They riſe together, and Hamlet, unable to execute his purpoſe, ruſhes away, exclaiming—"The wife has killed her huſband, and my father, it is true; but the mother muſt not be murdered by the ſon!"

The fate of this unhappy princeſs is, with more natural juſtice conſigned, by the Auſtrian bard, to the hand of her lover, the guilty Clodius, who, failing in the attempt to deſtroy Hamlet, is himſelf ſtabbed by that prince, and the piece concludes with Hamlet's reſolution, to prefer life to death for the ſake of virtue, and the good of his ſubjects.

You ſee, then, that the Queen is here a fair penitent, and conſequently appears on the Dutch and German ſtages in a much more amiable light than on the Britiſh theatre; and judging her, even on Shakſpeare's own rule, is to be preferred to Gertrude; ſince,

But, of the two Ophelia's, that of Shakſpeare has every claim to pre-eminence. We ſee [128]nothing of the gentle Roſencrantz, or Gilden⯑ſtern, nor of Polonius, or of his ſon Laertes. And it is, indeed, no great matter; but I muſt confeſs myſelf Gothic enough to have felt much chagrined at the excluſion of the honeſt grave-diggers, who, in their way, are certainly "fellows of infinite jeſt," and have often amuſed me. The ghoſt, as I have al⯑ready obſerved, never comes on the ſtage. A gentleman of our party told me, it had made its entré laſt ſeaſon, but, at the inſtance of ſome of the burgomaſters wives, though it was not confined to its priſon-houſe, it was now forbid to walk in ſight. This inhibition muſt certainly be regarded as a ſingular piece of gallantry in the Dutch magiſtrates; but I do not clearly enter into the neceſſity of it. To make me ſenſible of which, however, the gentleman informed me, it was thought danger⯑ous for ladies in certain ſituations. Yet, unleſs the Dutch women could contrive to mark their offspring with the ſhadow of a ſhade, I cannot ſtill ſee any thing ſubſtantial in their complaint againſt this poor ſpectre; and I muſt own to you, Sir, (continued I to the gentleman,) that it is with regret I perceive my old friend For⯑tinbraſs is baniſhed from your ſtage; and can aſſure you, that the bulk of our Engliſh audi⯑ences [129]would ſooner give up the Prince of Denmark himſelf, than the apparition of his father. The fact, replied the gentleman, may be, that our wives in Holland are, in effect, the magiſtrates; and would, perhaps, (inter⯑rupted I, in the words of Shakſpeare) "make a ghoſt of him who ſhould dare to diſobey."

But look, (exclaimed my companion) Ham⯑let SEEMS to ſee the ſpirit of his father now. I was convinced, from the geſticulation of the actor on this occaſion, that the ghoſt could not be exiled without injury; for, in conſequence of this baniſhment, in courteſy to the female part of the auditory, the attempt of SEEMING TO SEE produced ſuch diſtortions as were truly diſguſting. The actor ſo turned up the ſight, that we could catch only the white of his eyes, thereby, I ſuppoſe, inſinuating, that he beheld the ghoſt of his father in his "mind's eye" only; but even, then, we are to conclude the Dutch mind to take up her lodging very far in the back part of the ſcull, for the performers eyes were trying to hide themſelves in that direction. Indeed, Prior tells us, that ^* "Alma [130](the ſoul) has her principal palace in the brain:" if this be true, the actor was right.

But letting this paſs, there are many very pathetic touches in the play that would not have diſhonoured Shakſpeare himſelf; and, notwithſtanding my love of that great poet, and my admiration of this his moſt philo⯑ſophical drama, I was highly gratified with as much of the Dutch Hamlet as I could under⯑ſtand. With regard to the repreſentation, I ſhould be guilty of a moſt invidious hypercri⯑ticiſm, were I to cavil at what my feelings aſ⯑ſured me was ſtrong, natural, and impreſſive. The Queen was a very fine piece of acting throughout. — Mademoiſelle Wattier is the Siddons of the Amſterdam ſtage. Before I went to the theatre, ſhe was ſo overpraiſed (as it appeared) by the party with whom I dined, that the panegyric had the effect of making me enter the houſe almoſt with a prejudice; for ſuch hyperbole, beſides that it is very un⯑wiſe, is, in general, very untrue. This was, however, a very happy exception, as Made⯑moiſelle Wattier really beggared the loftieſt rhapſody of her admirers. She has all the grace and energy of Mrs. Siddons's move⯑ment, with equal powers of face and of figure: [131]her eyes are of the ſame colour, poſſeſſing no leſs fire, no leſs ſoftneſs; and every turn of her perſon, in the variety of the paſſion to be expreſſed, would, ſtill Siddons like, have formed the ſubject of a maſterly painter, could he have caught the emotions as they roſe. Her abhorrence of her lover, af⯑ter he had aſſaſſinated her huſband—her ſcorn⯑ful rejection of his bloody hand—her indigna⯑tion againſt herſelf, at having promiſed to accept it on ſuch conditions, and her triumph on the breach of her raſh vow, are all ſtrokes highly favourable to the diſplay of tragic ta⯑lents, and were given by this great performer in the nobleſt ſtyle of that ſublime ſimplicity for which our own Enchantreſs of the Britiſh Drama is ſo worthily celebrated.

Nor was the part of the Prince of Denmark ill ſuſtained. I could not, however, but take notice, that the flowing trains and robes are on the Dutch, as on the Engliſh ſtage, of infinite uſe to the performers; each of whom were au fait to this tragic auxiliary, in the bye⯑play and trick of the ſcene—little arts that are known to have their effect every where— they might be thought the works of ſupe⯑rogation.

[132]A few nights after, the announce of Elfrida drew me again to the theatre. Of this per⯑formance, as of the other, I ſhall preſent you with a comparative view, becauſe this appears to me the beſt way of marking the variations and ſimilitudes which characterize the reſpec⯑tive ſtages; and the Dutch theatre, like the language and inhabitants, has been ſo gene⯑rally ridiculed for its ſuppoſed lethargy and inele⯑gance, that it will be quite a novelty in a foreigner, and eſpecially an Engliſh one, to do it honeſt, or even neighbourly juſtice.

The ſtories of Elfrida are nearly the ſame in the Engliſh and Auſtrain plays; and that which I ſaw repreſented at the Hague is nearly a literal tranſlation from the German; but one very marking difference is immediately ma⯑nifeſt, viz. that with all the charms of Ma⯑ſon's poetry, and with the ſuperadded magic of the muſic, with all the pomps of proceſſion, &c. &c. an Engliſh audience almoſt ſleeps, and abſolutely gapes, over the Engliſh Elfrida; whereas the Dutch—pray forgive me, my dear national friends—the Dutch Elfrida, keeps every eye open, and every heart throbbing at the "cunning of the ſcene," which at once ex⯑cites the hope and fear of the ſpectator.

[133]There is, however, one very unnatural inci⯑dent. After Edgar had detected the falſhood of Athelwold, as to his deſcription of Elfrida's beauty, he challenged him to ſingle combat, as the only manly way left to decide whoſe wife ſhe ſhould be. Athelwold falls, and his body is brought on the ſtage; but even while Elfrida, in the diſtraction of her mind, is weeping over it—the ſanguine mark of Edgar's ſabre full in her view, Earl Orgar, her ambi⯑tious father, comes to try all his powers of threat and intreaty in favour of her huſband's recent murderer; and this prepoſterous idea is afterwards, while ‘"The memory of her lov'd Lord is green,"’ followed up by Edgar himſelf, who preſſes the ſuit, and ſeems to think it very hard he is not immediately ſucceſsful. I have ſeldom ſeen, even on the ſtage, a more groſs violation of nature: a murderer making love to the wife of a tenderly beloved huſband, whoſe corpſe, mangled by that very murderer, is lying in the ſame room, ſtill bleeding, and ſcarcely cold from the wound. Yet even theſe circum⯑ſtances were forgotten, amidſt the overpower⯑ing excellence of Mademoiſelle Wattier. Mrs. Siddons could not more completely have anni⯑hilated them.

[134]The unfortunate Elfrida has no way of eſ⯑caping this ſecond marriage, even before the

but by eſcaping from life, which ſhe effects by ſtabbing herſelf, and dies, graſping the hand of Athelwold. The laſt act, which falls almoſt wholly to Athelwold's widow, is, in point of words, the ſhorteſt, and, in point of matter, the longeſt I ever ſaw, and is acted by Mademoiſelle Wattier up to nature in her boldeſt and ſublimeſt powers. Human ge⯑nius and feeling, aided by human art, ſel⯑dom have gone higher. I have the tears, the terrors, the aweful ſilence, and the aggra⯑gated burſt of admiration in an whole audi⯑ence, in evidence of this aſſertion. Her ſupplicatory addreſſes, in the firſt inſtance, to ſave her Athelwold; her delight on receiving Edgar's inſidious promiſe, that he ſhould be forgiven the offence of honourable love; her expreſſion of unutterable grief at receiving the news of his death; her tender ſervices over his body; her attempts to ſoothe her fa⯑ther from his cruel purpoſe of hurrying her into an unnatural marriage; her increaſing re⯑ſolution to avoid it; her gradual loſs of [135]ſenſe; her momentary returns of intellect; her affecting relapſes; the manner of her drawing the dagger, ſmiling upon, and ardently kiſſing it, as the guardian of her deceaſed huſ⯑band's honour; the lucid intervals of her reaſon and conſcience, even after ſhe has point⯑ed the dagger at her boſom; the ſudden vio⯑lence with which conſcience and reaſon are hurled from their throne at the ſight of Athel⯑wold's wounds; her ſecond attempts on her⯑ſelf; and in that inſtant the manner of her falling on her knees, to look the prayer ſhe could not utter, every feature importuning the Merciful for pardon and pity; the air of ſa⯑tisfaction with which ſhe then plunged the poignard in her breaſt, as if certain her prayer had been granted; the imitated movements of her death; the agony at vainly trying to find the hand of Athelwold; her joy on finding it at laſt, though the King of Terrors ſeemed to pull back her own; and her expiring groan, were repreſented in a manner ſo juſt, ani⯑mated, and bold, that "take it for all in all," I truly think I have never ſeen eloquence of ac⯑tion, unborrowed of the tongue, imitated with more energy. After ſhe fell, there was a ſilence of ſome minutes, the ſilence that might have been felt. It ſurely could not have been more pro⯑found, [136]more impreſſive, had a ſeries of thoſe calamitous incidents which had been imagined, actually happened. The audience, indeed, were too deeply moved to expreſs themſelves in the ordinary way of noiſy acclamation; moſt of them left the houſe before the laugh of the farce had weakened the force of their ſenſibility.

And now, my friend, having done an act of juſtice, and no more than juſtice, to the per⯑formers, let me dare to extend the principle of equity to the audiences of Holland, from whoſe hearts, as it were, by the common con⯑ſent of nations, pity, paſſion, and every capa⯑city of ſympathy has been excluded; other countries proudly and ſelfiſhly deeming them heavy as their atmoſphere, and torpid as their lakes. This imputed apathy has paſſed into a proverb, inſomuch that when any remarkable ſtupor attaches to a man's character in any other country, he is pronounced, by way of ſtigma, as dull as a Dutchman.

That there is a general appearance, and that there may be a general languor and lethargy in this people, till ſtrongly excited, is cer⯑tain; but when the proper objects of the [137]powerful emotions are called forth, either by real or fancied events, I have never ſeen, in any country, heads or hearts more replete with ſound ſenſe or good feeling; nor did there ever ſit, at the theatric phaenomena of our ſtage —Mrs. Siddons, Mr. Garrick, or Monſieur Le Kain—an auditory who ſeemed to have a better ſenſe of what was ſublime, or a finer touch of what was beautiful, than the audiences of Amſterdam and the Hague, whenever I have been a ſpectator. In truth, the Dutch have, on the ſcore of inſenſbility, been ſo much the deriſion of other nations, that they may very fairly apply the words of Shakſpeare's celebrated Jew, and ſay to inſulting foreigners, ‘Hath not a Dutchman eyes? Hath not a Dutchman hands, organs, dimenſions, ſenſes, affections, paſſions? fed with the ſame food? hurt with the ſame weapons, ſubject to the ſame diſeaſes, healed by the ſame means, warmed and cooled by the ſame winter and ſummer, as an Engliſhman, French⯑man, or Spaniard is? If you prick him, does he not bleed? if you tickle him, does he not laugh? if you poiſon him, does he not die?’

[138]And in good truth, when we perceive how very little the ſpirit of candour influences one nation in its judgment of another, we may farther juſtify the Venetian merchant in his ex⯑clamation— ‘"O Father Abraham, what theſe Chriſtians are!"’ ſince a very ſmall proportion of Chriſtian cha⯑rity would lead us to ſuppoſe,

What apology, then, ſhall be found for men of travel, who not only bring over with them, but take back the narroweſt prejudices againſt every other people? None can be offered; and we can only avoid cenſure by ſilence—a ſuffi⯑cient proof, you will allow, that I have not re⯑commended candour, without feeling its be⯑nign influence. Adieu.

LETTER XXXVI. TO THE SAME.

THE Prince, Princeſs, and whole Houſe of Orange, always attend the theatre, but without any pomp, and altogether as re⯑publicans. Indeed, the ſombrous aſpect of the playhouſe, from that almoſt univerſal com⯑plaint, want of light, gives them to the au⯑dience only in ſhadow: there is, literally, but half a pound of candles to illume the royal box, and amidſt this darkneſs viſible, they ſit ſo much incog. as ſcarcely to be diſ⯑tinguiſhable from the chairs they ſit on. Two maids of honour, and two pages form their playhouſe ſuite, and they make their exits and their entrances with very few marks of aſſent or diſapprobation. Round the body of the houſe are hung about a dozen reflecting lamps, which emit rather a glare than a pleaſant light. The ſtage itſelf, however, is ſufficiently lumi⯑nous, which is certainly of the moſt conſe⯑quence to that part of the audience who come to ſee; and I only mention it as a defect, as [140]it obſcures thoſe who come to be ſeen. And Holland is by no means without its votaries, who wiſh to be admired; yea, and can boaſt its coquettes of both-ſexes. Not that theſe make the theatre a frequent ſcene of their viſitation. It is rather ſacred to a tête-à-tête than a public exhibition, though it is more uſually the re⯑ſort of people who go ſimply to be amuſed. Juſt while I have opportunity, let me reſcue the characters of the Dutch beaux, (I will aſ⯑ſure you "ſuch things are") from the want of what would be looked upon in the city of Am⯑ſterdam as at London, an unpardonable defi⯑ciency. Know then there are many fair ladies ^* entreteniar'd in a very high ſtyle of magnifi⯑cence. Many young Hollanders, yea and old ones too, are faſhionable enough to have, and to take care it ſhould be known that they have, a female of as great expence as beauty in their train, and all commercant as they are, contrive to ſtrike a bargain between buſineſs and plea⯑ſure, erecting a temple, as well to Venus as to Plutus. Some there are who, contented with the reputation of keeping the miſtreſs, and the eclat of divorcing the wife, never viſit the for⯑mer but in public, by way of exhibition; and though, by habit or paſſion, attached to the latter, dare not hazard the loſs of character, [141]except by private interview, which, by taking the air of an intrigue, makes even a conjugal tête-à-tête, as it were, by ſtealth, at once dra⯑matick and intereſting.

Notwithſtanding this general gloom of the play-houſes, the Dutch, (albeit unuſed to pay homage to mere rank or titles, of which there is abundance, the bulk of an audience being frequently compoſed of the Repreſentatives of Emperors and Kings) are by no means inſen⯑ſible to merit, nor ſlow in affording it the warmeſt tokens of their reſpect and admiration, a very ſtriking example of which I had an op⯑portunity of gleaning in their publick recep⯑tion of the Count de Boetzlaer, the gallant veteran who commanded, and ſo bravely de⯑fended the fortreſs of ^* Williamſtadt. I had the fortune to be preſent at the firſt public appear⯑ance of this glorious and faithful ſoldier, after his ſucceſsful reſiſtance, and other favouring circumſtances had driven back the French army into their own territories: and to grace his tri⯑umph, and render it more complete, it was at a time when another General was ſuppoſed to have been leſs ſteady in the cauſe of his coun⯑try. The Count de Boetzlaer came late into the theatre, when a very affecting ſcene in a [142]favourite tragedy, the chief character of which was performed by a popular actreſs, had very ſtrongly engaged the general attention, and when the entrance of all the Kings, Queens, or Potentates of the earth, under leſs powerful circumſtances, would have been thought a ſe⯑condary attraction. But, in this inſtance, it was otherwiſe; and, for ſeveral minutes, the ſtage, "and all that it inherits," was nothing worth. The Count came in, ſupported by his two blooming daughters, each of whom had already been the well-ſelected object of national gratitude, the States General, and the Stadt⯑holder having accorded them a very liberal penſion for life. Few things could have been a more flattering mark of their father's valour, than theſe rewards of his well-earned laurels; and yet I was near enough to ſee that the uni⯑verſal ſhouts of a crowded theatre, amongſt which were mingled the plaudits of the Prince, his family, and the Ladies, not of the Court only, but of every part of the houſe, were cir⯑cumſtances of greater victory than their inde⯑pendence. Believe me, my friend, it was not a merely ſentimental tear, which tender fancy had made for the occaſion, but it was the ge⯑nuine drop of bliſs, derived from the fullneſs of the filial heart, that I actually obſerved upon [143]the cheek of one of the daughters, and the other caught hold of the General's arm, and was hardly withheld by the forms of life, from embracing her father; and it was, as I ſaid, a conſiderable time before the audience had any eyes, ears, or hands, for other entertainment. With reſpect to the General himſelf, without affecting to be elated beyond the due bound of a ſenſible mind, he received the incenſe thus offered him with a proper ſenſe of what he owed to his own bravery, and to the publick, who were proud to diſtinguiſh it. His exit from the theatre was more ſplendid than his entrance, and I could not help making a re⯑flection, drawn from the place where it was ſuggeſted, the truth of which I will ſubmit to your deciſion. The hero of the tragedy was a noble ſoldier, whom the poet had drawn as de⯑ſerving and receiving his country's applauſe, (whether on that night repreſented in compli⯑ment to Boetzlaer I cannot tell;) the actor, who performed this part, was honoured, and juſtly, with ſtrong tokens of publick favour, and, as he ſeemed to riſe in excellence, as he roſe in fame, it is to be preſumed his pleaſure was in proportion to his praiſe. The ſame, no doubt, was true as to the real General; but what an important difference, nevertheleſs, in [144]the comparative feelings of the two perſonages, even as great as that betwixt fact and fancy; the ſatisfaction of the actor being that of a man repreſenting, for the time being, the archieve⯑ments of another ſuppoſed character, muſt have been tranſient. When he had ſtrutted his hour out, there was an end of his glory, and even the acclamation, which his imitation excited, would give way to the fatigue of acting a long and laborious part, and he would ſeek, in repoſe, a willing oblivion of his ſhort-lived greatneſs, doomed, perhaps, on the morrow to aſſume another character—the reverſe of that he played the night before—the vileſt tyrant or the meaneſt ſlave; and be the averſion of the very audience, who had ſo lately worſhipped him. The real General, on the contrary, I doubt not, returned home to a ſeries of thoughts and emo⯑tions, which would be the ſame during the re⯑ſidue of his life, and ſweeten its lateſt moments. He had repelled a foreign enemy, and awed a domeſtick foe. He had retired in the fulneſs of honour, and of years. He had received the juſtice of the Republick for his ſervices in a period of its greateſt difficulty and danger. His children, his friends, his Prince, and "a whole nation's voice," informed him, what he had done was not followed by the paſſing [145]glories of an evening, but that his name, his memory, the fortunes and the character of his family, would be treaſured up amongſt the proudeſt archives of the Provinces.

On going to my hotel, I met with a very glean-worthy circumſtance. It had rained the whole of the evening, and might now be ſaid to pour. I was a mile diſtant from that part of the Hague where I lodged, and I was then a ſtranger to the town. A Dutoh gentleman, of whom I enquired my way, undertook to be my guide, with an air and voice of courteſy ſo preſſing, that in the dim ſurvey I had of the perſon to whom they appertained, I took it for granted I ſhould pay for the civility, and ſo, without much ceremony, or compliment, ac⯑cepted it. My director was furniſhed with an umbrella, which he ſhared with me, and held it over our heads. Still thinking I had en⯑countered a man, who would conſider a few ſti⯑vers a ſufficient recompenſe for the ſervice, I ſaid no handſome things on the occaſion, and entered only into converſation about the weather. The violence of the rain continued, and even augmented, when, ſo far from yield⯑ing any part of the benefit of the umbrella, I deſired my guide to give me more than my [146]ſhare, to which, very much to his annoyance, he aſſented, by almoſt leaving his own perſon undefended. I felt ſome reproof of heart on this; but rather from a ſenſe of injuſtice, than any idea of rudeneſs. We quickened our pace, and at length gained the point of my deſti⯑nation, at the end of which the conductor would have made his bow, I find, and taken his leave, had I not ſeen the landlord at the door, who bowed to him with the moſt pro⯑found reſpect, and begged him to walk in till the ſhower was over, or at leaſt to accept of a great coat, of which offer, having availed himſelf, he renewed his farewel, and left me, with the beſt nature imaginable, to ſettle my behaviour as I could.—I now perceived I had been indebted to a gentleman of one of the firſt families in Holland for this urbanity, who, ſeeing me aſtray, and benighted in a ſtrange land, walked through a tempeſt to guide me on my way, and looking upon me, no doubt, as a ſtranger, ignorant of cuſtoms, paſſed over my incivility, without relaxing his own kind⯑neſs. He was diſcovered to me juſt in time to prevent receiving from me the inſult of a couple of ſeſthalfs, which I ſhould have thought, deeming him the perſon I had at firſt [147]dubbed him, an handſome gratuity, as money goes in Holland, for a good wetting.

You are too penetrating not to ſee, that I have detailed this nocturnal adventure, which you have, juſt as it happened, to ſome better end than telling a tale. I wiſh it to ſerve as introductory to my vindication of the Dutch, from another ill-grounded charge, brought by neighbouring nations againſt them, viz. their imputed want of urbanity to ſtrangers.

I am aware, my loved friend, that it would be as eaſy to make you, as it would be difficult, to make the bulk of my honeſt countrymen believe, that the current civilities are ſhewn to foreigners in general, and Engliſhmen in par⯑ticular, with a liberality worthy the adoption of people—(their cenſurers for inſtance)—who have more reputation for thoſe curteſies which ſmooth the path of the traveller, and far leſs honeſt claim. But, from a citizen of the world, and a man of a candid ſpirit, we ex⯑pect and find better things. We eaſily credit others for thoſe virtues which form a part of our own character; we are even apt to ſuppoſe them poſſeſſed, where they really are not—juſt as we impute our favourite foibles to our [148]neighbours; and feeling anxious to have them more faulty than ourſelves, aggravate the quan⯑tum of their imperfections, and decreaſe their merit.

The ſingle example I have recited above, did it ſtand alone in the travels of an indi⯑vidual, would, or ought to be, ſufficient to reſ⯑cue the nation from the ſtigma under which they labour.—But, amongſt the Dutch, did every traveller tell all the truth, he muſt con⯑feſs, that the little urbanities he met with in a tour through the provinces, (were he not himſelf too proud or too churliſh to accept gentle offices) afforded him not Gleanings only, but a reaſonable harveſt; and yet ſo genial is the ſoil, this barren ſoil, ſaid to be unfruitful of every thing but what is ſold, and ſold on uſury, that every new gueſt may, if he pro⯑perly cultivates it, go "filled with good things," away.

In my own caſe, I by no means rely on the ſolitary inſtance with which I have preſented you. It is aſſociated with many others, where frequently "I turn the leaf of gratitude" to read them. Accept one or two more. I had loſt my⯑ſelf in following my mental, rather than my cor⯑poreal eye—no uncommon event in this world. [149]I was arouſed from my reverie in a part of Holland, which exactly anſwered to a line of Goldſmith's Hermit—it was ‘"Where wilds immeaſurably ſpread;"’ and I was half buried in a bog before I diſco⯑vered this. On looking round, I perceived a mill at about fifty paces diſtant, and a man running down the ladder, and then making towards me with his utmoſt ſpeed, calling out, and making ſigns for me to attempt no farther my own extrication. This, as I afterwards found, was a very neceſſary caution, for my plunging involved me yet deeper in the bog; and when the almoſt breathleſs miller came to my aid, I literally roſe ‘"in all the majeſty of mud."’

My preſerver informed me, I had got into a country where the ſolid and rotten ground were ſo mixed, that it had been the grave of men and beaſts time immemorial, and that even a perſon, born amongſt theſe treacherous quagmires, found it ſometimes difficult to paſs them in ſafety. With great good-nature he conducted me to a ſecure path which led to the village from whence I had rambled; but to effect this was a walk of more than twenty [150]minutes; and ſeeing ſome long graſs growing beſide a dyke we had to go over, he plucked a copious handful, and made me a little more fit to enter the abode of human beings. When the town-gate appeared before me in a direct line, he bid me farewel, and went back to his mill.

During the whole of this ſcene, I believe, my preſerver did not ſpeak more than twice—once to warn me of my danger, and once to bid me adieu, when he had got me out of it. Could the foſter courteſy of more poliſhed nations have better effected diſintereſted good will?

And the ſecond ſervice was like unto the firſt. It happened at the little village of Scheveling. I had uſed all my paper, to wrap up my Gleanings, and a morning's excurſion had crouded my mind with freſh matter. Not a ſcrap of paper remained, ſave the backs of two letters, which I had loaded to the very edges. My heart is very faithful to its feelings, but the expreſſion of them always ſuffers, if I truſt long to my memory.—It is hence that I have ever been deſirous to write "warm from that heart," becauſe, then it is, that my pen is "faithful to its fires."—What was to [151]be done?—My landlord had not a ſingle ſheet of paper in the houſe. I reſorted to the only ſhop in the village, where there was any hope of my want being ſupplied. Could any thing be ſo unlucky? he was out of paper; but ex⯑pected ſome from the Hague in the evening! E'er that, perchance, the images which are now ſo lively, will be loſt amongſt other oc⯑currences, and "leave not a trace behind." I thought this, and the little ſhopkeeper ſeemed to tranſlate that thought; for running up ſtairs, and returning with the ſame ſpeed, after hav⯑ing haſtily ſaid—I no doubt wanted to write a letter to ſome friend by the poſt of the day— he preſented me with a whole quire, which, he told me, had been put up in his ſon's box, to go with him back to ſchool after the holi⯑days; but to accommodate you, Sir, ſaid the father, a ſheet or two, more or leſs, is of no conſequence. He ſhewed me into a little ſitting-room at the end of his ſhop, furniſhed me with a new pen, ſome good ink, opened a bureau, placed me a chair, and, taking out his watch, told me I had barely half an hour before the poſtman would ſet off, he ſhut the door, deſiring me, as he cloſed it between us, to make the beſt uſe of my time.

[152]Though I was really not in ſo violent a hurry, I thought it would be a diſappointment to the honeſt man not to profit of his urbanity, which I therefore did, in a two-fold manner; firſt, by writing down the heads of thoſe things which I had gleaned; and, ſecondly, making a memorandum of the urbanity itſelf, as a juſt object of future gleaning; and the better to gratify mine hoſt, (for when a kind⯑neſs is intended, one likes to give it its whole weight in the ſcale of gratitude) I folded up my obſervations in the form of a letter, which I appeared to have juſt finiſhed as the ſhop⯑keeper came in to apprize me he heard the poſt-horn, offering, at the ſame time, to ſtep with it himſelf. Bowing only, as an anſwer to this, I laid a two ſtiver piece on the counter; but the good man inſiſted on my not paying for a ſheet or two of paper, which was properly his ſon's, and could not be ſold—you are a ſtranger (ſaid the father) and though I keep a ſhop, I know what belongs to the ſtranger; and I hope this boy (ſpeaking to his ſon, who now came in from his diverſions) will do the ſame—Peter (added the father) I have given this gentleman ſome of your paper, becauſe he wanted to write a letter to a friend—take off [153]your hat, and tell him it is much at his ſervice: But he wants to leave money for it. Put on your hat, and tell him if he had uſed half of it, as a ſtranger, he would have been wel⯑come.

Should there be any of my readers, whoſe lofty thoughts outſoar this humble benevolence, let them be taught, that the violet which flings its fragrance from the valley, is ſome⯑times ſweeter than the perfume of the cedar, and that a ſtill, ſmall, action, like that of the poor Scheveling ſhopkeeper, in his gift of the ſheet of paper, marks the bounty of the indi⯑vidual donor, and ought to ſerve as a trait of national hoſpitality, no leſs, truly, than the moſt oſtenſible deed that the courtly Hague itſelf has to boaſt.—It is neither the giver nor the gift, my friend, but the manner and motive that ſhould determine its value, as well as the richneſs or poverty of the ſoul from whence it proceeds.

But, if any of the ſaid ſublime readers deſire to have a proof of Dutch urbanity drawn from higher life, I can accommodate him even there, and will aſk his opinion of that merchant's [154]heart, which, in a mere dealing of money, could act its part in the following caſe:

A. is in Holland, and diſappointed of remit⯑tances: B. a Dutch merchant, (to whom he introduces himſelf as an Engliſh gentleman) offers to ſupply him with what may be wanted. A. draws a bill on the ſaid B. for 50 l. on London: B. even before its acceptance, or knowing whether it be good, or good for no⯑thing, deſires A. may take its amount, en ar⯑gent comptant.—This is, at firſt, declined, and, afterwards, accepted in part; for the bill, through an accident, is left unpaid ſome weeks. A. unable to account for the demur, apolo⯑gizes. B. anſwers by ſending one of his clerks with the whole fifty pounds, aſſerting confi⯑dently that the delay muſt have been unavoid⯑able. The delay however continues, and B. ſtill perſiſting in his offers, A. almoſt trem⯑blingly, receives a quarter of the bill. An⯑other fortnight's ſilence enſues.—A. is per⯑plexed; but though living at the time out of the merchant's ſight, B. neither calls, or ſends, about the money. The perſon who ſhould have honoured it recovers from a violent in⯑diſpoſition, [155]and the bill is paid. The mer⯑chant ſends word of this; and inſtead of pay⯑ing only the balance, would have withheld his own claim, to a future better convenience, had it been neceſſary; on calling upon him to take leave, A. could not but expreſs very ſtrongly his ſenſe of his candour. He ſaid it was his duty.

Tell me, ye ſticklers for Old England, could the moſt liberal Engliſh merchant deport him⯑ſelf more generouſly towards any ſtranger ſo circumſtanced? and to be quite honeſt, ſay, would not the majority think they did full enough, by paying the caſh, when they re⯑ceived advice the equivalent was ſafe with their correſpondent abroad? And, in the way of trade, ſuch, indeed, would be fair dealing; but let us ſtep a little beyond the laws of the ledger and counting-houſe, to relieve "the ſtranger that is within our gates," at leaſt, if indiſpoſed to "do as we have been done by," in like caſes, let us admit, that the ſeveral good offices, here recorded, ought to ſet down the people of Holland, (in place of what they HAVE been ſet down), a kind-hearted and obliging race, neither avaricious, uſurious, or [156]cold, where it behoves them to ſhew that they are men.

In contraſt to the impoſitions of the Schevel⯑ing landlord, who charged me the price of a ſumptuous entertainment, for my ſhrimps and milk, as related in a former letter, I promiſed you, I think, an account of better report, in the conduct of my other landlord of the ſame village. This is the preciſe place for it, and will, aptly, bring to a period, theſe little vindi⯑cations of a nation that ought to fill a greater ſpace in the map of philanthropy.

At the time I warned you of the knaviſh part that was played upon me, at the Heeren Logement, you may remember, I glanced at the excellent behaviour of a publican, whoſe houſe I ſhould, therefore, very ſtrongly recommend to the Britiſh paſſenger, as well in compatriotiſm to the one, as juſtice to the other.

The name of this publican is MULY, at whoſe pleaſant houſe, I went perfectly un⯑known, and as an Engliſhman, conſequently ſup⯑poſed to be able, and probably willing, (ſuch [157]is the general reaſoning) to bear any impoſing extravagancy. I had, moreover, the thought⯑leſsneſs to follow my ſeelings, rather than my intereſt, by running into a rhapſody on the beauty of the ſituation, the goodneſs of the air, the neatheſs of the apartment, &c. thereby giving him the hint, to make me pay for my being ſo well pleaſed. But none of theſe temp⯑tations, allured him into exaction. That he might want, however, no encouragements I could give him, I addreſſed him to this effect. ‘I wiſh, friend, to be furniſhed with board and lodging, with the advantage of be⯑ing near the ſea; you, and your houſe equally pleaſe me:—I like to live well, but without parade; I hate trouble, ſo muſt look to you, and your family for every accommodation—what muſt I give you per week?’

I muſt conſult my wife, quoth the publican; and making his bow, diſappeared. While the huſband, and his helpmate, were laying their heads together, to make, as one would have thought, the moſt of me, in driving a good bargain, I did, what I ſuppoſe, is the buſineſs [158]of every man in the ſame ſituation; anticipated the demand, which I ſuppoſed would be made. Forming my judgment on ſome experience, and ALLOWING for a certain meaſure of cheat⯑ing, as a matter of courſe, I made my eſtimate, I muſt confeſs, very little in favor of the peo⯑ple, with whom I was about to deal; in which calculation I injured them, and ſhould have done better, had I acted up to the good old principle; "think every man honeſt till you find him a rogue," inſtead of inverting the maxim. Sir, ſaid my landlord on returning, we have determined that to give you con⯑tent in your breakfaſt, dinner, and ſupper, your tea in an afternoon, a good ſleeping, and a good ſitting room; we cannot re⯑ceive a leſs ſum than twelve florins; it is a great deal of money to be ſure, Sir, but we know how an Engliſhman ſhould be ſerved, and fear, therefore, without loſs to ourſelves, we could not make our demand more reaſonable. Stop, however, a moment, if you pleaſe, Sir.

He now ran down to his fellow councellor, a ſecond time, leaving me to reproach myſelf, for having thought worſe of him than he de⯑ſerved; but then, ſaid I, by way of making [159]my peace with myſelf, it muſt be ſtill con⯑feſſed that "for a man to be honeſt as this world goes, is to be one picked out of a thou⯑ſand;" at leaſt, if he be a publican, and the perſon, with whom I am now in treaty, is ra⯑ther to be conſidered as an exception than a general rule.

While I was thus ſoftening away my own errour of judgement, my landlord came back to ſay, that the only alteration he could make in his original charge, would be to deduct ſo much per breakfaſt, dinner, or ſupper, or per day, or night, provided I was abſent at any, or all of theſe in my excurſions to the Hague, &c. &c. &c.

I have often felt, that the high pleaſure we derive from the worthy conduct of another, is not ſo much for the individual advantage, that occurs from it, as from the gratifying ſenſe we have of whatever redounds to the honour, or elevation of human nature. Surely, therefore, the firſt impreſſion of delight is not ſelfiſh, but ſocial; and all the ſubtlety of Rochfaucault, cannot overſet this impregnable truth, any more than that which contraſts it; namely, [160]that the pain we undergo on witneſſing any mean, or atrocious, behaviour, proceeds, in the firſt inſtance, rather from the due ſympathy and reſpect we have for the degradation of humanity, than for the perſonal diſcredit it reflects on ourſelves. Man, is very ſublimely placed in the ſcale of created beings, and he appears to drop below the ſtandard of his ſpecies, when he acts beneath the auguſt idea he has been taught to look up to as the chief glory of himſelf, as a rational creature, and of his Creator. However falſe or corrupt, ſays a noble author, the human mind be within itſelf, it finds the difference as to beauty, between one heart and another, and accordingly, in all oaſes, muſt approve, in ſome meaſure, what is natural and honeſt, and diſapprove of what is diſhoneſt and corrupt. Pardon me for deducing ſo grave a reflection from ſo, apparently, ſlight an occa⯑ſion; but, the great cauſe of morality is con⯑nected with the minuteſt parts of character and conduct; juſt as the ocean is dependent on the moſt inconſiderable ſtream that runs into its embraces. It is, indeed, the drops that form that ocean, immenſe as is the one, and ſmall as are the other, and virtue is conſtituted in like [161]manner of ſeemingly inſignificant parts collected into a whole.

From this after thought of my landlord, or as he is in the Dutch language, called Caſteline, I could derive but a very trifling benefit, even were I to take my bed and board in other places, twice or thrice in the week; but I was more touched with the unqueſtionable inte⯑grity of the propoſal, than if he had lodged and ſerved me for nothing. I told him I was perfectly ſatisfied; and would conſider myſelf as his gueſt from that very hour.

Every other part of this man's conduct was uniform, and I lived with him in perfect good will. The whole range of his houſe was ac⯑corded to me; when tea drinking parties, too much ſun, or wind, viſited one apartment, I ſhifted to another. My bed and table would, conſidering time and place, (I mean the ſea ſide, and the ſummer ſeaſon), have warranted treble the charge at any town or village in England. My bad Dutch was interpreted in the beſt, as well as beſt natured, manner: my very looks became language; and the ſervants, who uſually take the bent of their behaviour from their maſters and miſtreſſes, contributed [162]all in their power to make my ſituation de⯑lightful. And ſo it would have been, had my health permitted; but even my ſickneſs found, from the diſpoſitional kindneſs of this man, and of his family, numberleſs conſolements. With⯑out aſking, they adminiſtered what they ſup⯑poſed would do me good—the beſt fruits, ve⯑getables, &c. The richer fiſh—ſuch as ſal⯑mon, carp, turbot, &c. which daily came from the ſea to my table, while I was in an apparent ſtate to reliſh them, were now changed for ſmelts, and other ſimple dwellers of the ocean. So of meats—there was the ſame friendly diſtinction in my deſert, which, in my health, conſiſted of dried fruits, conſerves, &c. but in my ſickneſs, of ſtrawberries, and other delicacies, which at that period of the year, and in the Hague market, from whence they were brought, muſt have coſt more than the price I gave could juſtify. And ſo far from tireing of this conduct, it went on from the firſt to the laſt hour of my reſidence, without intermiſſion; and I am convinced would have done ſo for a twelvemonth together, had it ſuited me to have remained a gueſt.

You would have been much amuſed, as I was, to hear the good man of the houſe, labouring at [163]my meanings, and calling in not only his wife and ſervants, but that of any other perſon who might be taking refreſhment, as auxiliaries. The Engliſh heer, (gentleman) he would ſay, muſt certainly mean ſuch, or ſuch a thing. He would then repeat my bad Dutch; the com⯑ments of the company on which, were ſome⯑times pretty curious: according to the different conſtructions, the honeſt fellow has come up firſt with the ſubject of one interpretation then another; ſmiling only at the frequent miſ⯑takes in the tranſlations, and ſharing in an hearty laugh, which was choruſed by his friends below ſtairs, when the thing deſired has been hit upon.

All this, you muſt own, demonſtrates the perfection of good will, as well as of good na⯑ture, and I did not take leave of the authors of it, without wiſhing the entertainment I had found, as well for the body as the mind, might be enjoyed by other travellers on the road of life, which ſuch as have leiſure and inclination to viſit, or ſojourn with my friend and cor⯑reſpondent aſſuredly will: to which end, no leſs than to diſcharge a debt of gratitude and equity, I have preſented you and the public with this Gleaning, and with which alſo, I ſhall terminate my letter.

LETTER XXXVI. TO THE SAME.

PUBLIC juſtice is adminiſtered, I be⯑lieve, in the Provinces, with a very impartial, but, in ſome caſes, a very myſterious hand. In common affairs, the accuſed is tried, and if not immediately acquitted, he is reconducted to his priſon, without knowing when his ſen⯑tence will be paſſed, or of what nature it is to be. At the pleaſure of the magiſtrates, he is ſummoned to make his ſecond appearance, and then receives ſentence: after the hearing which, he is carried again to his confinement, from whence he is brought out only on the day it is to be executed: of this, he has only a few hours notice, whether the puniſhment be capi⯑tal, or otherwiſe. He is then delivered over as a public ſpectacle, and his offence made known, in a ſummary way, to the people.

The ſtate trials are conducted with great ſecreſy. A marked perſon is picked up, in a manner, almoſt imperceptibly. He is tried, condemned, and executed, without the public [165]ſuſpecting any thing of the matter. If the offender be a perſon of deſcent, whoſe family would be diſgraced by an ignominious death, he is brought into a certain apartment in the ſeats of juſtice, where he perceives a goblet ſtanding on a table; and on one ſide of it the figure of a woman, called the MAIDEN, larger than life; but of exquiſite beauty and proportion: the perſon whoſe office it is to attend, gives the criminal the choice of theſe, either of which is an inevitable fate. If to drink the contents of the goblet be his election, he has no ſooner taken the potion, than the officer makes him a bow, and informs him he is at full liberty to go where he pleaſes. Of courſe he makes the beſt of his way home; but the poiſon he has ſwallowed is of ſo active a nature, that he takes his death along with him; and has no other conſolation, than that of yielding up his life amidſt his friends. If the other be his choice, he advances to the figure, whoſe arms are, by ſecret ſprings, extended to receive him; and juſt as he has reached the lips of this treacher⯑ous MAIDEN, he finds deſtruction in her em⯑brace; he is locked faſt in her gripe, and feels innumerable lancets ſtriking at his heart and vitals.

[166]An involuntary horrour ſeized me at the re⯑lation of this figure; not becauſe I deem, on theſe occaſions, a ſudden death ſo terrible as the apparatus and ſhame of a public execution, but as it is abundantly more aweful. I, likewiſe, regretted that this formidable inſtrument of juſtice ſhould be repreſented under the form of a beautiful female. Although it ſtruck me, afterwards, as a pretty cloſe ſymbol of the unſuſpected miſchiefs, which are in⯑ſidiouſly ſtored up by that faithleſs part of the ſex, who convey, even with their endear⯑ments, a dagger into the heart; more perni⯑cious in its effects, though more ſlow, than the lancets of the MAIDEN, or venom of the GOBLET.

I will embrace this opportunity of offering you a few Gleanings reſpecting the govern⯑ment of Holland, as well as of the provinces that appertain to it; from whence, I truſt, you will acquire a competent general idea of the adminiſtration of juſtice, of which I have given you the above particular inſtance. And it will, at the ſame time, prepare you for ſome obſer⯑vations on the different attempts that, at ſun⯑dry periods, have been made to alter the form, [167]or totally to ſubvert that government, and that juſtice.

Before the ſeven Provinces, which are the ob⯑jects of our conſideration, acceded to the union of Utrecht, they were under the government of their particular States. Although the eſſential parts of the government are ſtill the ſame, there is ſome variation in the form. Agreeable to the primitive order eſtabliſhed in the Low Coun⯑tries, the States of each province acknowledged a ſovereign; but the union above-mentioned totally aboliſhed monarchy in the Seven Pro⯑vinces. According to the ancient ſyſtem, the States were compoſed of the three orders fol⯑lowing,—the clergy, nobility, and the people, repreſented by the deputies of each town. But the Calviniſtical religion no ſooner became predominant, than the eccleſiaſtical order was excluded from any rank in the States; the power of the nobles was greatly diminiſhed, and the principal ſhare of the authority devolved on the people; an arrangement which cut up the kingly power by the root: preſently the government became ſubſtantially democratic, retaining, nevertheleſs, the ſhadow of ariſto⯑cracy. At preſent the government of the [168]whole Republic is ſaid to be veſted in the States-General and under them, the Council of State.

Theſe Provinces form, therefore, one Re⯑public, which is thus governed; the States of Guelderland have the firſt voice, thoſe of Holland the ſecond, of Zealand the third, of Utrecht the fourth, of Friezland the fifth, of Overyſſel the ſixth, and of Groningen the ſeventh. All the authors who have written on their polity, agree, that they ſend as many de⯑puties as they pleaſe to the States-General, but the deputies of each Province have but one voice; and each preſides weekly in its turn in order to maintain its reſpective equality. The perſon beſt qualified is choſen preſident, pro tempore, out of the deputies, as was obſerved, of each province. This aſſembly, ſays Carter, declares war, makes peace, gives audience to foreign miniſters, and nominates ambaſſadors to the ſeveral courts of Europe; but none of theſe things are done, till the deputies have firſt conſulted the ſtates of their different Provinces, and received their order.

It muſt be confeſſed, that the neceſſity of thus waiting for unanimous conſent to every [169]meaſure, frequently cauſes an inconvenient de⯑lay in the progreſs, and concluſion of what calls for diſpatch; eſpecially as the demur, or diſſent, of any one Province, however inconſiderable, is ſufficient to put a ſtop to the moſt important affairs; even though the fafety of the whole Re⯑public was depending. If we conſider that there are no leſs than ſix and fifty towns in the Seven Provinces, whoſe ſanction is to be ob⯑tained; beſides that of the nobles, diſperſed at unequal diſtances; and that each of theſe towns has a right to ſend any given number of de⯑puties, we ſhall not ſo much wonder at the tar⯑dineſs of a Dutch negociation, as that it is ever brought to a concluſion. Their treaty of Treves, for inſtance, with the Arch-Duke Albert, was impeded till no leſs than eight hundred de⯑puties had performed their miſſion. Yet there is ſo much ſtreſs laid on this priviledge, that the States-General themſelves, can neither make peace, or declare war; nor put an end to the moſt trifling treaty with foreign powers, till every neceſſary and unneceſſary doubt is removed in the ſeveral Provinces; whether the object of government be to raiſe men or money, to make laws or regulations, the people muſt be all of one mind. The member who ſhould preſume to act on his own unſupported [170]judgement, would, unqueſtionably, fall a victim to his temerity. Sir William Temple obſerves, that this fundamental article was never vio⯑lated, except in 1688, when he himſelf pre⯑vailed on the States-General, to conclude three treaties in five days, without having recourſe to the Provinces: But this was for the preſerva⯑tion of Flanders, when much of it had been conquered by France, and being looked on as an indiſpenſible meaſure of ſtate neceſſity, re⯑ceived the thanks of every Province; though had any one diſapproved it as a daring breach of priviledge, the States-General muſt have paid the forfeit with their heads; ſo that, it is with great propriety, this aſſembly, which is called ſovereign, only repreſents the ſovereignty, and eſſentially differs from the parliament of Great Britain, of which the members are in a manner principals, and may act independently in the counties that deputed them; their only puniſhment, when they act unconſtitutionally being the diſgrace they ſuffer on the part of their conſtituents, or being thrown out at the next election. Our happier legiſlation, in this point, admits of more ſpeedy deciſions. Not that this ſlow method of proceeding in the Republic is without ſome advantages. It af⯑fords full leiſure for deliberation and for cau⯑tion, [171]as one of its advocates has remarked, and it is, ſometimes, a very good pretext for gain⯑ing time, and waiting events.

The council of State is compoſed of deputies, which aſſiſt in the name of each Province. It is this council which regulates military affairs, and finance. Here the Treaſurer General and a deputy from the nobility have a ſeat and voice. It alſo puts the reſolutions of the States General, and propoſes to them the moſt expedient means for raiſing troops and money: gives out paſs⯑ports, diſpoſes of the revenues, ſuperintends the army, works, and fortreſſes, as alſo, the go⯑vernment, and affairs of all the conquered places in Flanders and Brabant. Towards the end of every year, this council form an eſtimate of the expences they think neceſſary for the year following; the money for defraying which is raiſed by quotas, in the proportion, as an approved writer informs us, of aliquot parts of one hundred pounds ſterling; and, it ſeems, there has not been any alteration made in the quotas, of the ſeveral Provinces, ſince the year 1668. From that date to this, before us, they have ſtood thus: [172]

To theſe two ſovereign councils of the Re⯑public, may be added a third, that of the Ad⯑miralty, which is ſubdivided into five courts; each of which conſiſts of ſeven deputies. Great Britain has but one Court of Admiralty; the maritime Provinces of the Republic, have each of them one, as a mark of their ſovereignty, and, in ſome ſenſe, of their independency of each other; and yet all theſe ſovereignties and independencies muſt, like ſo many links, be cloſe riveted by uncompelled connection, form⯑ing one ſolid political chain, before either civil, eccleſiaſtical, or religious affairs can be effective. Hence it is evident, ſays one of their moſt partial admirers, that the real ſovereignty of the commonwealth reſts, where one would leaſt expect to find it; that is, neither in the States General, nor Provincial; but in the town or people. This has been deemed, and, perhaps, juſtly, an enormous defect in their con⯑ſtitution; for, at preſent, the corruption, or perverſeneſs of any one ſmall town may put [173]public affairs into great and even fatal diſorder. The Seven Provinces, therefore, are, in effect, my friend, ſo many little Republics. The Bur⯑go-maſters, and Senate, compoſe the ſo⯑vereignty; and on a vacancy by death, a Burgo⯑maſter, would be highly offended if any petty burgher, preſumed to murmur at his filling it up with one of his own ſons, relations, or friends: and ſo great is the awe of the magi⯑ſtrate in this imputed free country, that the citizens, either in their private, or collective capacities, do not care to hazard any innova⯑tions; ſo that the boaſted liberty of the Dutch is not to be underſtood in the general and ab⯑ſolute ſenſe, but cum grano ſalis; and Carter, has, therefore, well called it, not a Common⯑wealth, but a confederacy of ſeven ſovereign powers, for their mutual defence; leagued to⯑gether by provincial compacts for their com⯑mon intereſt and ſecurity. The ſame writer obſerves, that this Republican confederacy has a near reſemblance to the Archaean League, which, you know, conſiſted of ſeveral little in⯑dependent ſtates and cities allied together for general ſafety. Each of them had been govern⯑ed by ſingle perſons, who having abuſed their power, were degraded and exiled. Thoſe cities then formed themſelves into ſo many [174]Common-wealths, and entered into a league to ſtrengthen themſelves. This new ſtate, which had, at leaſt, the face of liberty, became the common aſylum of its neighbours, and im⯑mediately grew rich, powerful, and populous. They had a fixed place, where the deputies of the cities aſſembled to deliberate on the affairs of the league. They alſo choſe a chief, whom they called Praetor; who governed conform⯑ably to the reſolutions taken in the aſſembly of the allies, and was, at that time, their Captain⯑General. Their Praetor, indeed, was only an⯑nual; in which ſingle circumſtance, the re⯑ſemblance between the Confederate States of Greece, and the United Provinces, does not hold good; the office and authority of the Stadtholder, (the Captain-General of this Republic) being perpetual and hereditary. Which obſervation brings me to the place, where it may be proper to ſay ſomething of the Stadtholderate.

Notwithſtanding the early propenſity which the Dutch diſcovered for a democratic form of government, they inclined to blend with it ſome⯑thing of monarchy. This was manifeſted by their voluntary creation of the Stadtholders, who, though not altogether inveſted with ſo⯑vereign power, were entruſted with no incon⯑ſiderable [175]ſhare of authority. The power of this chief magiſtrate is at once limited and ex⯑tenſive; and he was originally choſen by the people, and placed at their head on this maxim of their ſtate, which paſſed into a ſolemn and unanimous declaration in 1672—we feel fully convinced we are in want of a centre of union, that may give grace, ſtrength, and harmony to our Conſtitution: and, accordingly, in the year 1747, Charles Henry Friſo, who had been choſen by the people of Guelderland, under the name of William the Fourth, was appointed Stadt⯑holder of the Seven Provinces, and the ſuc⯑ceſſion made hereditary in his family.

The functions and priviledges aſſigned to this great officer of the Republic were origi⯑nally from the States-General, and the Pro⯑vinces. He enjoys the title and power of a Captain-General, and Admiral, of all the forces of the Republic by ſea and by land. The States of Holland, obſerves a very able writer on the Revolution of 1787, having declared that the Republic cannot ſubſiſt ^* without a chief, we are, it ſeems, to conſider the Stadtholder, as an eſſential part of the conſtitution; and [176]that he is not an immaterial part of it, will appear by an enumeration of his priviledges.

In Guelderland, Holland, and Utrecht, he participates the ſovereignty, as preſident of their bodies of nobles; and in Zealand, as the only noble of the Province; and he has a right of aſſiſting, though not of voting, at the delibe⯑rations of the States-General. In his executive capacity, he is principal member of the Coun⯑cil of State, which, in military affairs, is almoſt entirely under his direction. He preſides in all courts of juſtice; and has a right of par⯑doning criminals. He diſpoſes of the patents, or written orders, for marching the troops, although theſe patents ought to be accom⯑panied by what is called a Lettre d'Attache, or permiſſion from the towns, through which the troops are to march. He has the means of ſta⯑tioning the army as he pleaſes. He publiſhes all military ordinances, he names all Colonels and inferior officers, by virtue of the right which was made over to him from the differ⯑ent Provinces; and, as the ſuperior officers are conſtantly appointed by the States-General, in conformity to his wiſhes, he virtually poſſeſſes the whole patronage of the army. He names all Vice-Admirals, and Captains of the navy, [177]inſtitutes all Court-Martials, and preſides in the different Admiralties.

In the three Provinces, aux Reglemens, he ap⯑points to all offices whatever; and in Holland and Zealand, he annually elects the greater part of the magiſtrates, from a double number of candidates, preſented by the towns. He chooſes from a nomination of three candidates, every officer in the department of the States of Holland, and of their chamber of accounts, and all the members of the College of the Heem⯑raden, or ſuperintendants of the dykes. He diſpoſes of all the poſts in the nomination of the Council of State, and of the Council of Deputies. He is Governor-General, and ſu⯑preme Director of the Eaſt and Weſt India Companies, with a right of chooſing all the other directors, from a double number of can⯑didates, named by the company: in ſhort, his influence pervades every department of the State.

Beſides theſe, the Stadtholder claims the right of appointing a military tribunal, called the High Council of War. This was eſtabliſhed by William the Third: as it tended to ſhelter the military from the common courts of juſtice, [178]it was thought dangerous, but was neither li⯑mited in 1747, nor at the ſucceſſion of the preſent Stadtholder in 1766: though it was reformed by the patriots in 1781, and may, poſſibly, never be revived. Moreover, by the commiſſion from the States-General, to the late Prince of Orange, dated 12th of May, 1747, he was inveſted with full powers to command the whole forces of the Republic, for the pur⯑poſes, (amongſt others) of "maintaining and preſerving the union, and of ſupporting the preſent form of government."

To this ample liſt of princely privileges, may be added, his influence in the choice of envoys and ambaſſadors: his right to reſpite, or ſave ſuch criminals, as come from Brabant, to ſettle at the Hague. In Utrecht, he not only changes the magiſtrates yearly, but his approbation is neceſſary in the nomination of the deputies propoſed by the General Aſſembly of that Province; in Friezland, he diſtributes all military honours, and employments, names the Councellors in the courts of juſtice, the Receiver-General, &c. In Overyſſel, he is the firſt member of the Province; nor can any litigations, or civil, military, or even religious diſpute, be terminated, but by his deciding [179]voice and judgement. In Groningen, the ſame privileges he enjoys in Holland, are ſecured to him. In Guelderland, his prerogative is yet more extended; and to what has been already obſerved of his ſway in Holland, it may be added, he can there aſſemble the States-General, convene the Council of Deputies, and is, in his own perſon, exempt from all charge.

Such, my friend, and ſo great, is the authority and the nature, of the Stadtholderian govern⯑ment, concerning which, there have, at all times, been very different opinions, and ſometimes, ſo ^* diametrically oppoſed to each other, as to create in the Republic, the moſt dreadful in⯑ſurrections and diſorders.

The author, to whom I am indebted for ſome of the above obſervations, conceives it might be happier for the republic, if the Stadtholder, whoſe office is intended to connect and aſſimilate the jarring elements of this complicated conſtitution, were inveſted with more power and leſs influence. Preroga⯑tive, it muſt be owned, is uſually odious in a free country, but when exactly defined, it is [180]ſurely leſs dangerous than influence. The moſt timid Stadtholder would not heſitate to employ powers expreſsly granted him to ſuppreſs faction, and the boldeſt could not ſafely exceed them. At preſent, the Stadt⯑holder, though he has very little ſhare in the ſovereignty, has the right of chooſing the ſovereigns of the republic; becauſe the depu⯑ties to the provincial ſtates are neceſſarily ma⯑giſtrates, and the magiſtrates are, in general, choſen by the Stadtholder. It ſeems, indeed, probable, that the influence ariſing from hence, and from the whole patronage of the army, might eaſily be converted into power, and that an artful and ambitious governor might be⯑come abſolute, without the danger uſually at⯑tendant on arbitrary power, becauſe he would reign under the forms of a free government. Wil⯑liam the Firſt, we know, was on the point of becoming maſter of the Republic. Maurice was able to bring ^* Barneveldt to the block. Accident alone prevented William the Second [181]from eſtabliſhing a military government within the walls of Amſterdam. William the Third [182]was certainly as much a Sovereign, in fact, at the Hague as at London. On the other hand, [183]a long minority would, probably, be again fa⯑tal to the Stadtholder, and produce a De Witt [184]or a Van Berkel. During the infancy of the Stadtholder, the influence and patronage muſt be transferred ſomewhere, and it is difficult to transfer them with ſafety. Every thing might fall into confuſion, until deſpair, or the inter⯑ference of ſome neighbouring nation, ſhould incite the people to take the government into their own hands, and re-eſtabliſh the conſtitu⯑tion: poſſibly this might be more full of peril than all the reſt: at leaſt very lamentable in⯑ſtances are before us.

[185]Many, however, are ſtill advocates for the ple⯑nitude of the Stadtholderian authority. St. Evremond, who lived four years in Holland, and who employed that penetration and ſagacity for which he was ſo juſtly celebrated, to diſco⯑ver the true genius and character of the people, and, eſpecially, to gather their undiſguiſed ſentiments on conſtitutional ſubjects as Repub⯑licans, ſpeaks of them as follows: ‘I remem⯑ber often to have told the great penſionary, that the real character of the Dutch is miſ⯑conceived. They have not much of that pride which ſupports the dignity of an inde⯑pendent character. The pride they do pro⯑feſs, is more for their property than perſons. They apprehend, that an avaricious prince would appropriate their wealth, and that a violent one might commit outrages to the injury of their commerce; but, thoſe great points ſecure, they accommodate to the de⯑gree of ſway neceſſary to their Stadtholder with pleaſure. If they are attached to the re⯑publican form, it is chiefly on account of its being favourable to their traffic; and if the magiſtrates value their independence, as far as it goes, it is partly for the ſame reaſon, and partly for the ſatisfaction of governing thoſe who are dependent: yet the people [186]had rather acknowledge the authority of a prince than a magiſtrate; and on the whole, they are rather devoted to the Houſe of Orange, than to thoſe who in the name of patriotiſm would ſubvert it. Many revo⯑lutions have been agitated; much blood has been ſhed. ^* More political convulſions may be expected; but, I ſuſpect, after all theſe extraordinary ſtrokes of wantonneſs, idleneſs, zeal, or infatuation, the power of the Stadt⯑holder will rather be increaſed than dimi⯑niſhed.’

Perhaps this learned writer thought, that the ſovereignty of the ſtates of each province ſerved as a counterpoiſe to the ſovereignty of the Stadtholder, and the authority of the Stadt⯑holder un point de raillement for that multitude of petty ſovereignties, which, upon account of their occaſional oppoſition and difference, re⯑quire ſuch a conciliating power as the mediator and centre of their union.

Having mentioned the various revolutions, which have been, at different times, oppoſed to the authority of the Stadtholder, you will expect of me a curſory account of the cauſes that led to theſe commotions, and the effects [187]wrought thereby. The harveſt of theſe facts has been long ſince got in, and have been col⯑lected from thoſe wide fields of obſervation, which rebellion, under the form of patriotiſm, always yields, when oppoſed to royal or prince⯑ly rights, under the form of prerogative. I ſhall, aſſuredly, lay before you ſome Gleanings on theſe eventful ſubjects, ſimply ſtating the cir⯑cumſtances on both ſides, and leave the infe⯑rences to your own judgment: but this muſt be the object of a future letter, when we have breathed a little from politics: otherwiſe, you may exclaim with Hamlet, "ſomewhat too much of this."—For the preſent, then, I ſhall content myſelf with obſerving, in the words of a ſenſible traveller, that, whether the eſta⯑bliſhed government of this Republic be capa⯑ble of reform or not—whether, according to the opinion of ſome, liberty ſubſiſts no more here than in Turkey; or, according to others, that it is the beſt ordered government now in the world, it is certain (in deſpite of thoſe male⯑contents, whom not even the adoption of their own ſyſtems would long keep from a reſtleſs ſpirit of innovation) the United Provinces diſplay a more wonderful ſcene to a perſon of any reflection, than Rome herſelf in her ſacred pageantry, and all the magnificence of her [188]triumphal arches, baths, obeliſks, columns, grottoes, amphitheatres, and catacombs; her majeſtic temples, ſplendid altars, and pompous proceſſions. For, if we conſider the Roman and the Belgic commonwealths, we perceive the latter making greater advances towards the eſtabliſhment of her opulence and gran⯑deur in a few years, than the other was able to do in ſeveral ages. In Holland, a whole na⯑tion ſeems to have been born at once, and a beautiful, well-cultivated region, like the Cre⯑ation in the Phoenician ſyſtem, riſing out of the boſom of the deep. The wiſeſt nations of Europe ſtand amazed at the ſcene, and can find no parallel (taken for all in all) in the annals of the world.—An handful of oppreſſed, un⯑happy men, make head againſt four mighty tyrants, of whom, each has, ſucceſſively, cauſed not only nations, but all Europe to humble; and after obtaining glorious victories over them all, at length eſtabliſh their rights and liberties, and tranſmit thoſe ineſtimable bleſſings to their poſterity. One cannot reflect on their ſhort, but intereſting hiſtory, without a veneration for thoſe nobles who ſought in defence of the people, and, be the imperfections of govern⯑ment what they may in other reſpects, that very people owe a very ſincere gratitude to the [189]Princes of Naſſau Orange, who, by their wiſ⯑dom and valour, animated both the people and nobility; and, in founding a great Republic, deſired, in return, that they, and their deſcend⯑ants, ſhould be conſidered as the friends, de⯑fenders, and protectors of that Republic they had formed.

If it has been found neceſſary for the peo⯑ple to contribute a certain quota, and a pretty large one, for theſe bleſſings, they are to con⯑ſider, likewiſe, that they ſee the money ſo con⯑tributed laid out on works of real uſe and emolument to themſelves. In Rome, both old and new, the citizens were cruſhed under a load of taxations, to aggrandiſe a few, and enable thoſe few to lay ſtill more oppreſſive bur⯑thens on their ſometimes yielding and ſome⯑times reſiſting ſhoulders. Inſtead of circuſſes, and amphitheatres, erected for the cruel delight of deſtroying the human ſpecies, the Dutch dykes, and ſluices, repreſent public works of no leſs art and grandeur, for general ſafety and preſervation. Rome, amidſt ſome better examples, exhibited a race, generally ſunk in ferocity, ſloth, voluptuouſneſs, and poverty: Holland of ingenuity, diligence, application, and public energy.

[190]Such is the language and the ſentiment of one party. The other, of courſe, is its con⯑traſt, in every particular; but we will here take leave of both, till a more convenient ſeaſon. Meanwhile, if the provinces were as firmly united in good fellowſhip and alliance with one another, as you and I, my dear-loved friend, are, in kindneſs of affection, their Re⯑public would be the moſt enviable and leaſt interrupted ſtate upon earth. In this gentle and generous commonwealth of the mind, where, in friendſhip, no leſs than in love, ‘"Thought meets thought ere from the lips it part,"’ long may we live! Friends are placed far be⯑yond the ſphere of thoſe jarring atoms which ſo frequently diſturb the political world. As a common calamity, they may, no doubt, involve and annoy; but the examples they hold out, of the miſeries of diviſion and diſagreement, will rather tend to union than difference. Adieu.

LETTER XXXVII. TO THE SAME.

BY way of interlude, permit me to conduct you to the Hague fair, where, though ſome circumſtances of public tumult, of which in their place, have deducted ſomething from the uſual agremens, we ſhall find, not a few pleaſant gleanings. You perceive, that I write this letter at the time that the ſages of the Ba⯑tavian ſtate thought it proper to impede the courſe of pleaſure, as well as of commerce. The Hague fair felt this check moſt ſeverely; for their High Mightineſſes iſſued an immiti⯑gable decree againſt the French, German, and even Dutch theatres, nay more againſt les Grands Jeux, and les Petits Jeux, thereby leav⯑ing this celebrated Fair only its carcaſe, and taking away its ſpirit a mere ſkeleton with⯑out fleſh or feathers. But then, in lieu of all this, though the burgomaſters had ſtripped the body, they had by no means neglected the ſoul; for whoſe banquet they had ordered all hands, once a week, at a ſtated hour, to prayer; the object of which was, to return thanks to [192]the Almighty Leader of Armies, for having enabled them, and their good allies, to drive the French patriots back to their own territories, and ſo ran the ſupplication to keep them there. I was much ſurpriſed, on my re-entrance into this town, after a ſhort abſence, to find all the fair⯑folks ſhutting up their ſhops and booths betwixt three and four o'clock in the afternoon; but I was told, there was an order, that not a ſtiver's worth of any thing ſhould be ſold, till after divine ſervice: yet if, Sir, ſaid my informer, (having an eye to this world, as well as the next, in deſpite of magiſtracy) if, Sir, after the clock has ſtruck ſix, being obliged to pray till then, you ſhould want any thing in my way, nobody ſhall uſe you better, the moment I can get rid of the church.

A Fair deſerted was a new object; and I took an almoſt ſolitary ſurvey of it; for the booths and walks were nearly emptied into the churches; and to ſhew me that the magiſtrates are very much in earneſt, I obſerved a party of ſoldiers take into cuſtody a ſhopman, who, ſetting his affection more on things below than above, had the temerity to re-open his ſtores ſome moments ſooner than the moment pre⯑ſcribed: [193]an offence for which his ſhop re⯑mained ſhut during the fair.

It is worth noting to you, that on the return of the good people from their devotions, they worked double tides, and at leaſt brought with them that part of ſcripture which admo⯑niſhes every man to be diligent in his calling.

And now, the whole range of ſhops, from being in the ſolitary ſtate I have deſcribed, were diſplayed with an almoſt incredible rapi⯑dity: the play, trim, fineſſe, and trick of the gainful artiſt, who deems every thing which the law cannot lay its long hands on, as fair, were once more put in motion; and, as if they had reſolved to be no loſers on earth for what they reluctantly, I fear, ſacrificed to heaven, they did not again cloſe their booths till after midnight!

And, believe me, ſuch a fair as that of the Hague, even in its maimed ſtate, when viewed by moon-light, accompanied as it was when I ſaw it by innumerable ſtars above, and lamps below—(pardon this anti-climax) was a ſight well meriting any traveller's obſervation. Se⯑veral of the ſtreets are near a mile in length, [194]and the ſquares extremely ſpacious. The ſhops were placed either along or around the moſt extenſive of theſe, diſcovering, in a ſort of rivalry of each other, the magnificence, and the variety of their articles, as well as an in⯑credible number of people, of all nations, and of all deſcriptions, parading backwards and forwards—ſerenaded by bands of itinerant muſicians, of all nations likewiſe, and an appa⯑rent oblivion of all care and diſaſter; and, though amidſt all this, a thoughtful mind may now and then be tempted to exclaim, with the ancient philoſopher—what an infinite va⯑riety of idle things are here that I do not want! one cannot but be highly pleaſed to obſerve ſo many of the arts of life, whether uſeful or ornamental, thus brought into one point of view, for the accommodation, grace, and amuſement of ſociety, reflecting, at the ſame time, that the moſt unimportant article has been the work of induſtry, ſkill, and talents, all, or each of which, even when employed on the moſt inſignificant toy (an infant's rattle) is better engaged than in ſquandering the like meaſure of time in idle occupation, or wicked pleaſures; and I muſt own I took my noctur⯑nal rounds with my full ſhare of ſatisfaction, happy to forget that "midnight ſhews" are [195]not amongſt the diverſions my health uſually permits me to partake.

On my return home, about one in the morn⯑ing, I encountered my old friend, Mr. Punch, "a fellow of infinite jeſt," if not of wit, for whom I have always had a moſt ſincere regard, deeming an hearty laugh—(pardon me, ye vo⯑taries of the never-ſmiling, grace-loving Lord of Cheſterfield) a real acquiſition, and he who can innocently raiſe it, a benefactor to mankind. It ſeems, the harmleſs buffoonery of this cele⯑brated perſonage eſcaped the proſcription of the magiſtracy, though I ſuſpect it was upon promiſe of good behaviour; for, beſides, that his diſcourſe to his wife, the prieſt, and the people, was an inveterate panegyric on the States General, and the Stadtholder, and an abuſe of the French patriots, ſome of whom he belaboured furiouſly, he had decorated him⯑ſelf, and the whole of his little drama, with orange-coloured ribbons: he had an orange in his hand, ſqueezed the contents of it into his throat, and knocked down a figure, repreſent⯑ing one of the National Convention with the rind, and was, in ſhort, perhaps the moſt loyal ſubject of the Houſe of Orange in the whole Fair.

[196]I have mentioned the ſtrolling muſicians. Theſe gentry come from Upper Saxony, Bra⯑bant, Tyrole, and other countries on the con⯑tinent, in bands of eight or ten perſons of both ſexes, to attend the Dutch fairs. They ply the table d'botes, private houſes, &c. and are ‘"Happy to catch you juſt at dinner-time!"’ and they are as regularly ſeen at your meals as the diſhes, or the waiters. The Hague fair this year received ſtrong reinforcements from the French emigrants, all trades and profeſ⯑ſions, as well as nobles, making an eſcape from that unhappy country, and carrying their induſtry and ingenuity into others. They carry with them, alſo, their reſentments and prin⯑ciples, a curious inſtance of which preſented itſelf in a quarrel which took place in the ſtreet between two of theſe muſical parties; the one German, the other French: but they both broke all the laws of harmony, and kept no meaſure with each other, the words Demo⯑crate and Ariſtocrate, (with ſuitable epithets) being liberally diſpenſed, till they were both taken into cuſtody, to ſettle their diſputes be⯑fore a magiſtrate.

[197]Many of theſe people ſing and play ex⯑tremely well, ſome with conſiderable taſte; and each band being habited in the dreſſes, and armed with the inſtruments of their country, throw an air of joyouſneſs over the fairs of Holland, which, with all their richneſs and re⯑ſort, they would otherwiſe want.

You have, doubtleſs, heard of Dutch toys. How they came to be famous, I am yet to learn. They are remarkable only for the ſtrangeneſs of their invention, the clumſineſs of their execution, and the general indecency of their appearance. Amongſt the moſt po⯑pular, are wooden and brazen (pray allow the pun) men and women, voiding ducats, or vo⯑miting florins. But this, whether intended by the Dutch wits as a ſatire on the ſuppoſed love of money of the Dutch, or only as a whim, is nothing to the objects in the ſome ſtyle, which are exhibited publicly at the fairs of Holland.

To ſay truth, very little account is made of the perſonal decencies, if I may uſe the expreſ⯑ſion, either here or in other parts of the Con⯑tinent. There is nothing more common than to ſee, not only peaſants and country people, [198]of both ſexes, upon the road, but very well dreſſed men and women, in the beſt towns, and in capital ſtreets of them, do thoſe things in pub⯑lic, almoſt oſtentatiouſly, which, in every quarter of Great-Britai is concealed with a care that borders on a diſtreſſing conſciouſneſs of the im⯑perfections of nature, if thoſe things, which attach to human beings can or ought to be ſo called. There is no occaſion, however, me⯑thinks to ſhew ourſelves remarkably proud of them, as actually ſeems to be the caſe in theſe countries. What elſe can make females, young and old, chooſe the moſt obvious places, with⯑out any regard to paſſengers, for the ſettle⯑ment of little affairs that are undoubtedly amongſt the things, which, even in a religious ſenſe (according to the maxim, "cleanlineſs is holineſs") ought to be done in a corner. But, through every part of the Republic, the reverſe of this is ſo true, and ſo common, that the moſt rapid traveller, in an hour's tour of any one town or village may obſerve it. It is certainly a "cuſtom more honoured in the breach, than the obſervance;" and I cannot but wiſh the good people on the Continent would "reform it altogether;" which, never⯑theleſs, cannot be expected, while there does not ſeem to be even a ſenſe or idea of inde⯑cency [199]attached to it; of which I will give you a memorable inſtance in its place. The diſ⯑guſt one feels on theſe occaſions is ſomewhat covered by other ſenſations, when any thing highly ridiculous blends with it: as in a cir⯑cumſtance which I ſaw at an hotel in one of the largeſt towns of the Republic. Two very little apartments were made in the centre of a paſſage that extended the length of the whole houſe, and were placed in ſo neighbourly a way as almoſt to join, being parted off only by a ſlight boarded partition. Being conſe⯑crated to different ſexes, the proprietor was very nice in his diſtinctions, by affixing over the door of the one, "Ladies Secret;" and the other, "Gentlemen's;" but, leſt a poſſible miſtake ſhould ſtill happen, he had cauſed the figures of a lady and gentleman to be painted in rather whimſical ſituations in the centre of the different doors, by way of aſcertaining right of poſſeſſion. After what I have aſſerted, you will think it "nothing ſtrange," that both theſe little tenements ſhould be very often occupied, at the ſame in⯑ſtant of time, by perſons of different ſexes, but of all ſorts of quality; and the entrances and exits, on theſe occaſions, are ſo far from being made, as with us, by ſtealth, that the performers appear to expect as much applauſe as an [200]actor, who has played his part highly to the ſatisfaction of his audience.

Leſt, however, you ſhould call out for "an ounce of civet to ſweeten your imagination," I ſummon your attention to what was, at the time it happened, a very general object of cu⯑rioſity—no leſs than a public diſplay of the Prince, Princeſs, and family of Orange, in a walk round the Fair, with the annual ceremo⯑nies of that exhibition, and its effects.

This great event took place at the Hague, on, or about, twelve minutes paſt three o'clock, an hour at which the public have returned from their dinners; and the world, by which are meant the few for whoſe pride and plea⯑ſure they think it was made, have juſt finiſhed their toilette. The truth of the time, when this walking pageant happened, lay preciſely betwixt the third and fourth hour: a circum⯑ſtance about which I am particular for the uſe of ſome future hiſtorian who may think fit to record it for the benefit of future poſterity. We have ſeen, you will allow, the chrono⯑logy of equally important actions ſettled with no leſs ſolemnity, for which precious morſels of biographical accuracy, if poſterity are [201]thankleſs, their ingratitude be upon their heads. Authors can only deſcribe illuſtrious deeds, but cannot be reſponſible for their impreſſions. On ſuch a day, then, at ſuch a point of time, and on a day, which, no doubt, was "ſent as if meant t'invite the world abroad," their Royal Highneſſes the Prince and Princeſs of Orange, ſurrounded by their ſplendid ſuites, the lords and ladies of the court, and in their gala ſmiles and habits, came forth from their palace, or rather pleaſure-houſe in the wood, to be ſtared at by the mob.

The ſaid mob received them in the uſual manner, crowded about them, followed their heels, half ſmothered them with the duſt, which curioſity always raiſes on ſuch occa⯑ſions—devoured them with their eyes, or ſuf⯑focated them with their breath. Rather an heavy tax, which little folks levy on great ones! but which theſe latter pay, well pleaſed, for admiration from the former, and think them⯑ſelves gainers! But, in the inſtance before us, policy, more than the love of fame, was the active agent.

It had been lately neceſſary to hold the reins of government with a ſtricter hand [202]than uſual; on account of certain ^* internal diſ⯑orders, concerning which, I ſhall in due time expatiate; and the Orange party, though hap⯑pily fixed more ſtrongly than before, were anxious to attempt the neceſſary rigour which had been in certain caſes found neceſſary, with ſome after acts of condeſcenſion. And this was no bad opportunity. You ſhall hear how their Highneſſes profited of it. The Prince and Princeſs made a pauſe at every ſhop, pur⯑chaſing, at each, a great variety of articles, ſome of which they took as firſt coming to hand, and others they ſelected. Theſe articles were given firſt to the pages, then the other ſubordi⯑nate officers of the ſuite, and then, for the want of more than two hands a piece, to the other courtiers without exception, till every lord or lady in the train was labouring, in an exceſſive hot day, with his or her load, like a parcel of footmen lacquying a modern fine lady on a ſhopping day. It was curious to ſee what heavy burthens your true court-bred ladies and gentlemen can bear in the ſervice of their prince, aye and bear ſmilingly. All this time their chapeaus were under their arms; their pockets ſtuck out with fairings, like an aſs's panniers, and [203]like that enduring animal they appeared to be ſo familiar with ſlavery, that they took patiently what nothing but a beaſt of burthen would deign to carry. The high blood of a gene⯑rous horſe would have lifted up his heel, at the attempt of ſuch an inſult; a filly foal would have ſnorted diſdain, and the very forehorſe of a team would have rung his bells with indig⯑nation. As Benedict ſays, "an oak with but one green leaf on it, would have refuſed" to fetch and carry in this cur or courtier-like manner.

But an oak is not the proper emblem of theſe obſequious perſonages. They rather re⯑ſemble the oſier, whoſe pliability

to every ſlaviſh purpoſe. I do not know I ever felt my blood more thoroughly chafed; and yet the ſenſation was not without that ſort of pleaſure which is derived from a triumphant ridicule—to ſee thoſe ſervants in office ſtep⯑ping forward, officiouſly, as if zealous to diſ⯑tinguiſh themſelves by ſhewing who could beſt do the moſt abject work of it, who, neverthe⯑leſs, would not carry the weight of a penny loaf half a mile to keep a poor wretch from ſtarving, and would think a requeſt of the [204]labourer (that might be ſtruck with a palſy) to take his fickle, ſcythe, or other implement to his cottage, the moſt daring piece of aſ⯑ſurance. For more than an hour they took the rounds of this extenſive fair with their re⯑ſpective leads; one, a jar of ſweetmeats; an⯑other of pickles; a third, a box of ribbons; a fourth, a box of perfumes; a fifth, a piece of ſ [...]k; a ſixth of ſilver; a ſeventh, a baſket of toys; an eighth, a baſket of artificial flowers. I particularly obſerved a maid of honour carrying a couple of wooden muſkets, and the Prince's chief gre [...]ier, or ſecretary, loaded with eſſence-boxes. I am a friend to the proper diſtinction and ranks of ſociety, with⯑out a juſt, though not ſervile, attention to which, I think, indeed, ſociety cannot ſubſiſt, or ſubſiſt, as the world might be ſuppoſed to do in anarchy before the Creator put it into order; and I believe you know me to be the laſt man who would; in any way, wiſh to ſee "Chaos come again!" but the proceſſion of the Dutch courtiers round the Hague, under the burthen of the fairings, now truly ludi⯑crous, eſpecially as many purchaſes were of a ſize and bulk to make half our London foot⯑men throw up their places, rather than con⯑ſent to ſuch drudgery, even on the ſcore of [205]weight.—But gentlemen in office you know never reſign their places, till they are turned out of them, very often without the benefit of the warning their loweſt ſervants have a right to claim.

It would have diverted you alſo to obſerve the trembling kind of deference with which the ſhopmen and women received the princely purchaſers, en paſſant.—While the latter were buying away at one booth, I could ſee the for⯑mer putting themſelves into a fit attitude to greet their Highneſſes, at the ſame time hold⯑ing in each hand what they conceived to be the moſt attracting (and what they knew to be the moſt coſtly) articles in their booths.

Pry'thee tell me, my friend, you who have looked at, and into, human nature with no common eye! Is there any thing in our ideas of great people, which makes little people, in preſence of the former, ſeem ſtill leſs, even in their own meaſure of themſelves? Every man's eſtimate of his individual ſelf is thought to be, and perhaps is, on a ſcale ſuffici⯑ently large; not ſeldom of a ſize diſpro⯑portionate to his intrinſic dimenſions, whether of perſon or of parts. When amongſt our [206] equals we aſſert this, with no little pride of pre⯑tenſion. Amidſt inferiors we inſiſt on our actual, or ſuppoſed, rights with an high, ſometimes with a tyrannic hand. Even with our ſupe⯑riors, in the next degree, i. e. only a ſtep higher, we occaſionally put in our claims of equality. It is only when ſtanding in the pre⯑ſence of ſuch as, decidedly, and out of the reach of our moſt ſtraining ambition, are ac⯑knowledged to be above us, in reſpect of for⯑tune, or of birth, that (yielding up all com⯑petition) we ſeem to ſhrink even from our natural ſtature; and, though ſwoln before into giants by the inflating breath of ſelf-love, that deluder leaves us on the approach of the Great, and we dwindle into dwarfs even in our own opinion? Help me, dear friend, to account for this. Is it from a too powerful ſenſe of the value of thoſe poſſeſſions, which are beyond our graſp? or from the contagion of example? or from our own modeſty? or, laſtly, is it from a certain faſcination which we conceive to be inherent in greatneſs? Be the cauſes what they may, the effects are amongſt thoſe things which ‘"Scarce the firm philoſopher can ſcorn;"’ and, perhaps, there is ſcarce any man, how⯑ever [207]endued with a ſenſe of his own dig⯑nity, who has not, at ſome period or other of his life, rated the adventitious circumſtances of rank or fortune much too high, and under⯑valued himſelf in proportion much too low, The Poet, after creating Princes, Emperors, and Kings, and doing with them what he thinks proper, depoſing one, aſſaſſinating an⯑other, and putting a paper crown upon the head of a third—in ſhort, acting the tyrant over them all, diſpenſing honours, or inflict⯑ing puniſhments, has no ſooner finiſhed his work, than he ſingles out a patron to protect what, if it cannot protect itſelf, cannot be ſaved, were all thoſe Princes, Emperors, and Kings, to ſtart from the leaves into life. A patron, however, is found to our poet's wiſh, ‘"Beſprent with titles, and hung round with ſtrings."’ See! there is a ſtar on his breaſt, and a ribbon acroſs his ſhoulder: aweful circumſtances! The bard approaches. He trembles—ſtammers; he had made the beſt ſpeech poſſible for the occaſion, and delivers it in the worſt manner. He gives the manuſcript, and wiſhes it in the fire; then, amidſt a confuſion of awkward bows, and more awkward compliments, this depoſer of kings, and aſſaſſin of emperors— [208]this arbitrary deſpot, who ſaves or damns, like Antony and Lepidus, with a daſh—even with a dip of ink—feels as ſincere a joy at get⯑ting out of his great man's great houſe, as if he had eſcaped from the dark hole at Calcutta into his garret.

No wonder, therefore, that the makers of wooden or gingerbread Kings and Queens ſhould feel the like ſenſations in their very oc⯑caſional, perſonal intercourſe with the higher powers of fleſh and blood. The little traders, indeed, at the Hague, who gave riſe to theſe remarks, ſeemed to have forgot they were of the ſame fleſh and blood; for, as the princely viſitors ſtopped at their booths, the articles offered, trembled in their hands, and like the aforeſaid author, they recommended their re⯑ſpective goods with the worſt grace in the world. A perfumer emptied a bottle of eau de luce on the ſleeve of his Royal Highneſs's coat, and a milliner preſented a cap and fea⯑thers to one of the courtiers, inſtead of the Princeſs of Orange. Whether this latter was an act of confuſion, or of waggery in the mil⯑liner, as thinking the ſaid courtier entitled to a fool's, cap, I cannot exactly tell.

[209]But the thing that principally delighted the congregated mob happened at the booth of a confectioner, where the royal progreſſers not only bought, but actually ate ſeveral little ar⯑ticles. To ſee a Prince and Princeſs eat was in itſelf a feaſt, at which hundreds of the ſpectators had never banqueted before; and, indeed, the anxious curioſity that purſued every morſel of cake or biſcuit, as well as every drop of orgeat or liqueur, not only in the road to their Highneſs's mouths, but as far as could be down their throats, each peaſant at the ſame time, opening his own mouth, as if it was expected by ſome preternatural means, the morſel ſo eaten would make its ſecond appearance, and find its way into their own mouths.—This, I ſay, would juſtify my ſup⯑poſing that many deemed it ſtrange ſuch great people, and fine folks, ſhould eat or drink at all. In which cafe (and therefore it is to be wiſhed, amongſt other modern inventions, this could not be brought about) the homage which the Great receive from the Little would be better founded. Men and women, reduced to the vulgar neceſſity of continuing life by conſtant ſupplies of groſs and common ani⯑mal food, are, whether kings or beggars, no objects of particular veneration, becauſe there [210]is no pre-eminence, unleſs we ſhould concur to pay ſuperior homage to ſuperior appetite; on which ſcore the beggar would often deſerve the ſovereignty; but if thoſe who, even in the act of eating and drinking, can engage the at⯑tention of ſo many beings, which beings can do the ſame things to the full as well, how much more would be the gaze, the wonder, and the worſhip of the little world, could the great ones luckily contrive to diſpenſe with thoſe levelling offices of ordinary nature, which does away all reaſonable perſonal diſtinctions at leaſt amongſt men. At this Fair, for inſtance, had theſe auguſt perſonages above mentioned, to have ſhewn themſelves to the people, under the elevating circumſtances of having arrived at ſuch a period of their lives, without ever having taſted any common vulgar ſuſtenance, fed, as it were, by a ſublime conſciouſneſs of their own dignity, and looking with benign pity on their poor eating and drinking ſubjects, how noble would that have been! It would have been a ſubject, not only au⯑thorizing the abject ſenſations with which the mob ſurveyed theſe Princes and Princeſſes at their dirty employment of chewing cakes, and ſwallowing ſpirits, but would throw the gazing multitudes at ſuch an aweful diſtance, as to [211]make them aſhamed of their own modes of exiſtence. A country bumpkin's exclaiming (to his wife or friend) Look! if a Prince or Princeſs, King or Queen, does not eat and drink! ſhould be conſidered rather as a dimi⯑nution of that dignity, of which ſo many are ambitious; but, on any of theſe auguſt per⯑ſonages coming into public amongſt the inſe⯑rior orders of mankind, to have it ſaid—Ob⯑ſerve thoſe are beings far above our vulgar natures; they are ſupported by the excellency of their own pre-eminent ſituations. Your King and Queen are fine Things, that neither eat or drink! Would not this be a matter to pique one's ſelf upon, my friend? But you remember the compliment that the late Mr. Garrick the king of the ſtage, paid himſelf, when it was ſuggeſted that his appearance at a benefit play, though only to ſhew himſelf, and walk off, would fill the houſe. "Yes (ſaid the actor) I know very well that my good friends, the Gods (meaning the mob of the galleries) would fill their benches, and ſet the theatre in a roar, were I only to come on to be ſhaved."

I am very far from entering into the ſpirit of that undiſtinguiſhing nonſenſe to which hot-hearted and light-headed innovators have, [212]of late, given the abſurd name of natural equality; becauſe, I am thoroughly convinced, Nature herſelf (who is an all-wiſe politician) has diſcriminated in all things with admirable order, and did never yet ſanction ſuch non⯑ſenſe; but I could wiſh the homage which the lower pay to the higher powers, was leſs to their extrinſic, and more to their internal me⯑rit; and yet, as happineſs is ſaid to be our "being's only end and aim"; and as I am cer⯑tain the hundreds who amuſed themſelves at the above royal cramming ſcene, were to the full as happy as the crammers, the ſyſtem had, perhaps, better ſtand as it is, with reſpect to the little people; only, it might be as well, if the great were at leaſt as anxious to be ad⯑mired for a good head and a good heart, as for a good ſuit of cloaths, and a good appetite; for, after all, my friend, it will be found

Not that I mean, in any thing I have ſaid, to apply in particular to the heads of the Houſe of Orange, of whom I ſhall have to ſpeak not ſlightly, and who, I have reaſon to believe, are as little obnoxious to all claſſes below them, as it is in the nature of things to be; for [213]a ſtrange mixture of veneration and envy will always touch thoſe who are conſcious of that inferiority; and this mixed tribute, of love and diſlike, is a tax which the ^* Great muſt al⯑ways pay to the Little.

[214]I was ſo lucky as to be preſent at the review of the militia, which, when embodied, always takes place on the day after the fair, of courſe much company ſtays in town to attend this ſpectacle, and it is really very ſplendid. The whole company of militia men were aſſembled on the parade, under my chamber windows; they were ranged under ſhelter of ſome of the fineſt trees in the world, which extend by va⯑rious rows from the Voorhout to the wood. The men were dreſſed extremely well, and for the enſigns of loyalty in the national colour, they ſeemed to have ſtripped all the branches of all the orangeries in the Republic; every ſoldier having as large a bunch of orange in [215]his hat, as is worn by my lady's footman in his beſt livery, by way of bouquet.—Orange alſo were the cockades—orange the faſhes—orange the ſword-knots, and orange the flags.

About ten o'clock, being all gathered toge⯑ther, they marched to a noble ſquare in the wood, where they performed their exerciſe, and their manoeuvres, in a very reſpectable manner. The Princ eand Princeſs came in ſtate coaches; each drawn by ſix cream coloured horſes, and followed by twelve other coaches and four. Their tents were truly magnificent both within and without, and every well dreſſed perſon, had a priviledge to enter and partake the collations. The ſucceeding day there was a review of ſuch of the regulars, as were not on actual ſervice, and a repetition of the ſame proceſſions and pageantries.

With reſpect to the forces of the Re⯑public, we are told, that after the treaty in 1697, the States kept 44,992 men in pay; formerly, in time of peace, they uſually employed thirty or forty men of war in con⯑voys. At the beginning of the laſt general war, the States by treaty, furniſhed in the Nether⯑lands 102,000 men, viz. 42,000 for garriſons, [216]and 60,000 for the field. Great Britain only 40,000. By ſubſequent treaties the quotas of both powers were augmented according to the exigencies of affairs: that of the States to 129,488 ſoldiers, and that of England to 72,197, deducting the ſmaller number from the greater, the remainder is, 57,261; ſo that the Dutch ought to have had in Flanders 57,261 fighting men, more than the Engliſh. The States were at the expence of all the powder and ball expended in the many ſieges laid by the Duke of Marlborough, during nine campaigns: an enormous ſum! and not eaſily computed. It was at their coſt, likewiſe, that the fortifications of the town, then taken, were repaired, and their magazines filled up! Amaz⯑ing efforts for ſo ſmall a State! the whole Seven Provinces, not exceeding five or fix of our ſmalleſt Engliſh counties, and not more than one or two of our moſt ^* conſiderable!

In 1740, the States had 36,000 men on foot, including 12,000 in the barrier towns. The eſtimate of more modern times, both with re⯑gard to their army and navy, are more imme⯑diately [217]in the view; and, therefore, I ſhall not mention it.

It is remarkable, ſays Carter, that almoſt the whole army of the States are foreigners. The reaſon is obvious, other countries abound with ſuperfluous people, Holland wants men. On account of this ſcarcity, one would think it very difficult to raiſe ſoldiers: the majority be⯑ing employed in trade, manufactures, or ſea ſervice; and yet the States are ſeldom at a loſs. A Dutch officer no ſooner beats up for recruits, than numbers flock to him, for very good rea⯑ſon: Firſt, the pay is good, and exact; ſecond⯑ly, their High Mightineſſes, punctually keep their words with them: the ſoldier liſts for what number of months, or years he pleaſes; at the expiration of which term, were there ever ſo hot a war, he has his diſcharge on de⯑mand. And, thirdly, the officers are very humane. They have been ſo accuſtomed to uſe their domeſtic ſervants well, according to the laws of Holland, that, luckily, they cannot get the better of that habit, but extend it to the ſoldiery. It has been obſerved, and I have been reſident long enough, to confirm the truth of it, that in the United Provinces there is a kind of rational, not frantic, equality, [218]natural, indeed, to well ordered Republics, that prevails between all orders of the people, who live in an humble friendſhip, by no means obtruſive, or unpleaſant with their ſuperiors. By conſequence, there is better ſervice, and more willingneſs.

It is, however, univerſally admitted, that the greateſt ſtrength of the United Provinces, is in their ſituation, a natural ſecurity ſo potent, that nothing but treachery and diſſention amongſt themſelves could, or can ever ſubdue it. On the weſt and north they have the ocean: on the ſouth are canals, large rivers, and arms of the ſea, ſo as to be abſolutely inacceſſible: on the eaſt lies Weſtphalia, and on the ſouth eaſt Juliers and Cleves; and were all theſe to fail, they can, as it were, convert their towns into arks, and their country into a world of waters; where, as in a deluge, their enemies would be diſmayed or drowned.

There has been, you know, a recent neceſ⯑ſity for flying to their Dernier reſorte, in which, however, as I ſhall in the courſe of our cor⯑reſpondence ſhew you, the Republicans were by no means unanimous. Heaven be praiſed, we, my friend, are always ſo, and, therefore, our affection ſhall ſtand. Adieu.

LETTER XXXVIII. TO THE SAME.

HAVING drawn you into the famous Hague-wood, I cannot conduct you out of it, without paying both you and it the juſtice of a little Gleaning. With all poſſible predilec⯑tion for the beauties of my own country in ge⯑neral, and for thoſe of St. James and Hyde⯑Park in particular, I cannot but give the im⯑mediate object of our notice, the preference to both. The Hague is, juſtly, allowed to be, in point of faſhion and agrémens, of every kind, the London and Paris of Holland, and this wood is, as I have obſerved, its Hyde and St. James's Park, and its Tuilleries alſo, being, like thoſe, in the centre of the town. It is barely an Engliſh mile and an half in length, and little more than half a mile broad. Travellers, who come freſh from old England, with all old England's prejudices (amongſt which are the ideas reſpecting old England's oaks) would, were not prejudice an incurable malady, be con⯑vinced, that old England had not monopo⯑liſed [220]all the majeſty, or beauty of vegetable nature. The oaks of Holland, and of this identical wood, have as ſovereign an air, and are of as venerable an age, and (the circuit of ground conſidered) flouriſh in as great abundance, as any in the proudeſt foreſts of the ſaid old England. A thorough home-bred, untravelled ſon of our iſle, would be apt to wonder how they could have emi⯑grated from thoſe foreſts, not believing it poſſible they could be natives of the ſoil. Na⯑tives, however, they are, and nature has been venerated as ſhe ought to be, in the liberty of their growth, for, except in the grand avenues that form the malls, and a few other pro⯑menades, which are cut through them, not a branch has been "curtailed of its fair pro⯑portions," for centuries, except in caſes of the utmoſt exigence. Even in times of private, or of public, rapacity, when the moſt innocent and lovely parts of nature are ſacrificed to the moſt dreadful art, that of war, this wood has been ſpared. In the great war with Spain, for inſtance, Philip II. it appears, ordered, that not a twig ſhould ſuffer, and the ſoldiers who were in the habit of hewing down all before them, reſpected this command. The common people, who have ſeldom any high taſte for [221]rural graces, entertain a more than ſuperſtitious regard for this wood: their High Mightineſſes, however, in the year 1576, to ſupply a State neceſſity, had ſat in Council upon it, and pro⯑nounced the ſentence of deſtruction. The burghers aſſembled, remonſtrated, and, un⯑derſtanding the Republic required ſuch a ſacrifice, (alledging the ſale of the timber would yield ſuch a ſum)—that ſum, then re⯑joined the Citizens, ſhall be moſt willingly paid to ranſom our favourite wood, and the money we raiſe, may be appropriated to the ſervice of the ſtate. This was accordingly done, and ſince that time, (upwards of two hundred years) there have not been a dozen trees devoted to the axe:—ſo jealous, in⯑deed, are the Dutch of preſerving them, that the death of an hare or partridge in England, is not more revenged by a country juſtice, (who happens himſelf to be a ſportſman, on a poor fellow who happens to be a ſportſman alſo) as are thoſe men or boys, who ſhould preſume to do any injury to a ſingle bough of this beau⯑tiful wood.

This vigilance and attention on the part of the magiſtrates, is very diſintereſted, in pro⯑portion, as that of the common people is ſel⯑fiſh; [222]for the Dutch gentry are, by no means, fond of wood walks, or, indeed, any walks, while they can either ſtay at home, or be car⯑ried abroad; preferring any conveyance, (even one of their cart-coaches), to that of their own legs. All attractive as this wood appears to be, you rarely ſee, except on a Sunday when great folks exhibit themſelves, as well as little ones, a dozen perſons in the whole tour of its moſt public walks; and if you encounter one man in a week's viſitation of the private paths; (I mean one Dutchman)—you ſtare at him as a curioſity. For my own part, I can ſay with Comus,

Since the diſaſters, or ſhall we call them triumphs of France, I have now and then met a ſolitary emigrant, with his book, according to the cuſtom of his nation, read⯑ing, or ſeeming to read, but, in general, the whole range of the wood, has been left "to nature and to me." Ancient authors, however, inform us, that it was once [223]uſual for the foreign miniſters or others, to give concerts alternately thro' the ſummer, when the wood was crouded with the faſhion of the town and country, as well as the citi⯑zens and peaſantry. The muſic was a mixture of the rural and martial kinds, conſiſting, prin⯑cipally, of drums, trumpets, and French horns; and care was taken not only to keep the per⯑formers at a proper diſtance, but out of the ſight of the company. But, though this addi⯑tional charm might be very agreeable, none is wanting to the true lover of nature in ſuch a wood as this, where, ſcarce a mile removed, from the "buſy hum of men."

Forgive me, I am growing peotical. But remember it is the Hague wood and Milton, who have led me thus far aſtray.—Yonder green alley will take us again into the world.

LETTER XXXIX. TO THE SAME.

SINCE I had the pleaſure to addreſs you laſt, it has occurred to me that inſtead of apologizing for yielding a little to the magic of the muſe, I ſhould have claimed your atten⯑tion to the reſult of my own obſervation, and enquiry into the preſent ſtate of the Dutch poeſy; which would be to you, and ought to be to every traveller, a juſt object of conſidera⯑tion.

It would, indeed, be an unpardonable omiſ⯑ſion not to appriſe you, that, as a ſtranger, you will be welcomed to ‘"A Feaſt of reaſon and a flow of ſoul."’ given by ſeveral private gentlemen who meet, by turns, weekly, at each other's houſes, in this town, to diſcourſe, in a friendly, but not formal, manner on the arts and ſciences; and you will, no doubt, become a member of the poetical ſociety, which was inſtituted here ſome years [225]ſince, for the purpoſe of bringing to greater poliſh the production of the Dutch muſe. This ſociety is held in one of the beſt apartments of Prince Maurice's palace.

It is acknowledged, even by the Dutch themſelves, that the little handful of watery earth, which belongs to them, unknown even to the reſt of Europe till the abdication of Charles the Fifth, and getting firſt into repu⯑tation of a martial kind, by the courage of its inhabitants againſt the uſurpations of Spain, ſeemed, for ages, undeſerving the notice of the literary world.

Even at this day, when the torch of every muſe ſeems to flame over every other part of Europe, the light which is emitted from the poets of the Dutch hemiſphere, is like that of a taper juſt glimmering through the Provinces. The names of Hooft, Vondel, and Antonides, are ſcarce known beyond thoſe narrow limits, while every minor author in the boaſted age of Louis XIV. every puny whipſter of the muſe; the author of an epigram, or an acroſtic, is familiar to every reader, down even to thoſe pettyfogging quarrels amongſt themſelves, that are a diſgrace to letters, and [226]ought to be remembered only with ſhame. Thus the worſt poetry of France, has a more extenſive character than the beſt of Holland.

The cauſe of this is very well, and truly ac⯑counted for by a writer of the laſt mentioned country. This injuſtice, ſays he, is derived from the ſame ſource, as that which ſo long impeded the reputation of Dryden, Milton, and Shakſpeare of England; namely, the ge⯑neral ignorance of foreigners, in the Dutch and Britiſh languages. The Dutch idiom though more rich, and powerful than the French, is not, never was, and probably never will be, either by fortune or by choice, a language of faſhion. That of France, on the contrary, like the Greek and Latin formerly, is the univerſal language of courts, and in moſt countries a marked object of education; riſing, partly, from the famous revocation of the edict of Nantes, in that ſwarm of emigrants, who were conſtrained to fly from their native land in 1685. Baſneſe, Bauſobre, Bayle, Le Clerk, and very many other illuſtrious philo⯑logiſts, hence became known to the reſt of the world. And the more recent flight which this ingenious people have been compelled to tak⯑ing, (and are continuing to take at this [227]moment) will give the influence of their gay and amiable language a yet wider range. Cer⯑tainly, there is no one would attempt to com⯑pare with the literary ſatellites that formed the French glory of the 17th age, and of poetry in particular, (for it was that age which added Corneille, Moliere, Boileau, Fontaine, and Racine, to the conſtellation) the few bards who have illumined the horizon of Holland. This country has never yet given birth to a poet, who roſe above the merits of Reynard; and he can ſcarce be eſtimated be⯑yond the laſt form of the ſecond, or perhaps, the firſt bench of the third. Nevertheleſs, Holland has produced men of genius and learning, who, in every art and ſcience, have deſerved well, not only of their own country, but of all Europe; yet, if we except a very few individuals, ſuch as, Leuenhoch, Huygens, Graveſzande, Boerhaave, and Vandoveren, in phyſic; Voct in juriſprudence, and Burman and Gronovius in general literature, there is ſcarce an author whoſe fame has reached his next neighbours, on the other ſide the water.

Why, aſks a ſenſible Dutchman, are our poets, philoſophers, and hiſtorians, ſo little popular amongſt ſurrounding nations? Why [228]are not the beſt of their writings, at leaſt, as well known as the worſt of thoſe of other countries, the very traſh of whoſe preſſes we tranſlate? Surely, it is a ſettled point with others to neglect us? Were it not ſo, our Little Republic would not confine its character to trade and commerce, but aſſert its rights to fame in the Great Republic of Letters.

The Dutch have ſucceeded chiefly in the Epic; of their power in which ſpecies of poetry, they have exhibited three examples, one by Antonides, one by Rotzans, and an epic poem, called the Hiſtory of Abraham, the Patriarch; in Dutch, Abraham de Aartſvader. To ſhew that the Dutch are not deficient in point of quantity, they have filled two conſiderable volumes with the names and hiſtories of their authors, amongſt whom very reſpectable mention is made of the above epic poets. By way of ſpecimen as to the quality, I will preſent you with a ſhort account of the lives and writings of theſe favourite bards.

Antonides van der Goes, was a native of Zealand, born in the year 1648, and died in 1684. His genius is characteriſed by its eaſe, boldneſs, and fire: and his beſt poem is [229]that which celebrates the river Y, on which the city of Amſterdam is erected.

This poem is divided into four Cantos: and the flouriſhing ſtate of Amſterdam, ſituated on the Y furniſhed the author with his ſubject. It is thus conducted; the firſt canto is employed in celebrating every thing remarkable on the banks, or on the boſom of the river. The deſcriptive parts are here a little too redund⯑ant; the common fault of deſcriptive poetry. The bridge, called the Pont Neuf (New Bridge) is repreſented as the reſidence of fame, on which ſhe is ſuppoſed to have erected a temple, dedicated to pleaſure and commerce, the par⯑ticular objects of which are painted with great truth and energy. A part of the city, which is called the New Iſland, gives our author a fair opportunity to celebrate Admiral Ruyter, whoſe houſe ſtood in that quarter.

‘At the name of that hero, exclaims the ^* poet, the river ſwells under my view, as with pride: I behold the delighted waves advance to the foot of his palace, as if to bathe and ſanctify the ſpot with gratitude and admiration. 'Twas thus the Tyber overflowed its banks to teſtify its joy at the [230]triumph of Octavius Caefar. O, Ruyter! thy name is more deſerving the epithet of Great, than that of Egypt's Conqueror, no wonder then if the conſcious Neptune and all his watery train, ſhew thee a more pro⯑found homage!’

Now, although, my dear friend, I fear, theſe ſame Y. waters cared as little for the ſpot where the admiral was born, as for that where the author purchaſed the quill with which he wrote the deſcription, or for the gooſe on whoſe wing it originally grew; though I am apprehenſive, this ſympathiſing river ‘^* "Nor gave one bubble leſs, one murmur more,"’ on the occaſion, we muſt either allow theſe poetical imaginings, or take away from the muſe, altogether, her moſt eſſential priviledge; invention, and all her creative powers— ‘"Thoſe painted clouds that beautify her lays."’ and you are to remember that a man of genius "looks round on nature and on life, with the eye which nature only beſtows on genius."—the eye that diſtinguiſhes in every thing preſented to [231]its view, whatever there is on which imagina⯑tion can delight to be detained. Poets of all countries have claimed them, and when ſo many Engliſh and French epics have made their rivers ſpeak, ſing, dance, and exhibit a great many other pretty conceits, it will be hard, indeed, if the river Y may not be allowed to pay a few paſſing compliments to one of the heroes who ſo bravely diſtinguiſhed himſelf as a Son of the Waves. It was this Admiral Ruyter, you know, who had ſo many "hair breadth eſcapes," particularly in gain⯑ing his deſtined port, in the Sale Roads, in defiance of five Algerine pirates, who lay in wait for, and purſued him: the Moors who from the town were ſpectators of this action, preſented him with a Barbary horſe, richly capariſoned, on which he was invited to make a triumphal entry, followed by the five pirate Captains in chains. WE have reaſon to re⯑member this great naval officer on our own ſcore; for it was he who, in conjunction with Van Tromp, commanded the fleet againſt us, and with ſo much honour in 1653. It was he who took the famous renegado Amand de Dias, whom he hung at the yard's arm. In the three obſtinate engagements, between the Dutch, Engliſh, and French fleets, at the mouth [232]of the Texel, Ruyter conducted himſelf in ſo gallant a manner, that Vice Admiral D'Eſtrees, in a letter to Colbert, ſaid, "I ſhould be very willing to purchaſe with my life, the glory which Ruyter has acquired in theſe deſperate actions." The patents for his dukedom were preſented, after his death, to his family, but preferring the title of Deſcendants of a good Citizen, they declined every other honour; and I have always thought it one of the few real inſtances, amongſt the many imputed ones, of greatneſs of mind in Louis XIV. when, on being congratulated on the death of this noble mariner, he exclaimed, "that he him⯑ſelf ſhould be unworthy of life, were he not to regret, ſincerely, the loſs of ſuch a man as De Ruyter to his country, and to the world!"

Theſe things conſidered, it was ſurely the leaſt, the river Y. could do, to make the houſe in which he had lived a bow, as it flowed by; and the man that cannot perſuade his reaſon to ſmile on this image of poetical juſtice, deſerves to go dull rounds of a mill horſe, for the reſt of his life.

In the ſecond Canto, after having given a ſplendid panegyric on navigation, the poet pays [233]due attention to the grand fleet, then lying in the river, and celebrates the atchievements of particular ſhips of war, at that moment an⯑choring in the ſtream. He next deſcants on the different articles of the Dutch trade, brought by their merchantmen into the port of Amſterdam, from all quarters of the globe.

Book the third, is taken up with an epiſode; the poet then carries his readers to the bottom of the Y. where we are invited to partake of a FETE MARINE, which the grateful river prepares to celebrate the marriage of Thetis and Peleus. The author, arriving at the bottom, is con⯑ducted by one of the water goddeſſes, who gives him the hiſtory of the moſt celebrated rivers; ſee'ſt thou, ſays the goddeſs, ſee'ſt thou that noble river, whoſe long treſſes reſemble the poplar of Hercules? That is Eridanus. Thus was it called before thy fatal enterprize, pre⯑ſumptuous Phaeton, ere angry Jove precipi⯑tated thee, (even in the ſplendid car that con⯑tained thee) to the bottom of the waves; but, in pity to thy unhappy ſire the name has been changed to that of the Po. At firſt, thou per⯑ceiveſt, that the impriſoned waters are hid un⯑der the giant ſhoulders of the Alps, but, ſoon regaining their liberty, they quench the burn⯑ing [234]thirſt of panting Italy, and rambling on⯑ward, loſe themſelves at length in the Adriatic. Liſtening, in days of yore, to the ſtrains of Ho⯑race, they ſuſpended their courſe, to hear the poet celebrate his Lydia, and her ſportive airs; or, while he ſung of Chloe, praiſing her modeſty; or addreſſed his Maecenas. And then, favourite of Apollo, divine ſon of Maro, thou frequenteſt often the banks of this claſſic river. It ſwells to greet thee, and with proud atten⯑tion liſtens to thy ſong, during whoſe enchant⯑ment it cannot flow: it even commands its waves to keep the moſt profound ſilence. Its ſubject Naids hear thee with admiration; and when thou ſavedſt Aeneas from falling Ilion, and led him to rich Auſonia, each wave ap⯑peared to do thee reverence, and dwelt with rapture on thy ſtrain!

This paſſage, which cannot but appear like "proſe run mad" in a literal tranſlation, has great beauty in the original, as well for the imagery as the verſification, the latter of which is remarkably harmonious and energic.

By order of Neptune, the Y is placed above its fellows, and takes rank as ſovereign. If any true Briton ſhould be diſpleaſed at this, [235]let him conſider he has no right to monopo⯑lize the prejudices of nations; and, ſurely, he ſhould not be offended at ſharing one of his moſt diſtinguiſhed imperfections with a neigh⯑bour. Methinks, he ought rather to rejoice, that ſuch prejudices and imperfections are not peculiar to himſelf. Indeed, the Dutch bard ſeems conſcious that this pre-eminence given to his own river gods will occaſion a ſplaſhing amongſt thoſe of other countries; for that which is ſuppoſed to preſide over the Seine is very much irritated: the Baltic is by no means ſatisfied, and the Thames is in a ter⯑rible paſſion. Theſe troubled waters daſh their foam at each other, through half a ſcore pages, each contending for the ſuperiority, which is at length given by the monarch of the ſea to the Y and the other rivers are obliged to give up the point; though they do not give it up without a great deal of muttering, as they rowl back diſgraced to their own banks.

The laſt canto furniſhing ſcant matter, and that little of a rather dry nature, a meagre deſcription of the Y our poet takes refuge from this ſterility of his ſubject, in his own prolific fancy. He introduces a ſybil, who preſents us with a magnificent painting of all [236]the evils and misfortunes which the Batavians ſuffered before they enjoyed that degree of power and glory which they now boaſt. This may be conſidered as a ſort of poetical hiſtory of the riſe and progreſs of the Republic; and our author has contrived to render it one of the moſt intereſting parts of his work. He concludes with an addreſs to the magiſtrates of Amſterdam, to whoſe wiſdom and government he attributes, in great meaſure, the wealth and proſperity of the city.

If the critics ſhould refuſe this work the rank of an Epic, it certainly may command a diſ⯑tinguiſhed place amongſt the beſt deſcriptive poems, and were there no other ſpecimen, ſhould redeem Holland from the ſtigma of never having given birth to a truly poetical production.

The general teſtimony borne to the merit of the author of this work correſponds with the above. He is conſidered as a poet of a rich and ſublime genius; and his Poem on the Y as a very noble performance. After what this bard has ſung of that river, and our Denham of the Thames, thoſe celebrated waters need not envy the Tiber his poets.

[237]The Great penſionary Cotts, is, alſo, allowed to be deſerving of the praiſes which Carter and his own countrymen beſtow on him. Correct, copious, affecting, and for his delicacy and harmony, juſtly ſtyled the Dutch Ovid. His verſes have in them ſomething that intereſts and attaches: uniting a profound knowledge of the human heart, and the characters of men, with a ſplendid fancy, he paints with truth, force, and vivacity. His diction is pure and natural, his thoughts delicately conceived, and happily delivered, and his deſcriptions, to other charms, have thoſe of novelty.

This ingenious writer was, likewiſe, a ſaga⯑cious ſtateſman; he was Lord Keeper of the Seals of Holland and Weſt-Friezeland, and Stadtholder of the Fiefs; but he withdrew him⯑ſelf at an early period of his life, while in the bloſſom of public favour, from all political bu⯑ſineſs, to indulge his love of poeſy: in which, as well as in the general eaſe and grace of his verſes, he reſembles our favourite Prior, who like⯑wiſe was, you know, both poet and politician. De Cotts, however, was never perſuaded to quit his retreat, but at the inſtance of their High Mightineſſes, who once borrowed him from the muſes, and the ſhades where they delight to [238]dwell, to undertake a diplomatic character, as Ambaſſador of the States to England, in thoſe ſtormy days, when Cromwell, with a daring hand, governed our helm. The penſionary was received amongſt us with the diſtinction his talents commanded, as a wit and a man of buſineſs; but his embaſſy being honourably compleated, he returned to his native coun⯑try, and to one of the moſt ſequeſtered parts of it, where he had an eſtate, on which he lived, and on which he died, the latter event happening ſome time in the year 1660.

The Dutch are extremely proud of this poet. His works have been ſent forth in every poſ⯑ſible ſize and form: the laſt edition appeared very ſplendidly, in two volumes in folio, in 1726.

The Dutch theatre depends very much on that of every other country, particularly the Engliſh, German, and French, whoſe plays they give in tranſlation with great ſucceſs. At Amſterdam I once ſaw the tranſlation of an Engliſh tragedy, a German interlude, and a French farce, acted on the ſame night.

[239]The objection brought by the critics againſt the dramatic, eſpecially the tragic writers, of Holland, is, that they are incorrect, and ſo far from conſulting Ariſtotle, ſeem to deſpiſe both him and his laws. They have, however, one tragic writer of conſiderable eminence, and whoſe pieces are, what is technically, called ſtock, being repreſented in their turn every ſea⯑ſon. He certainly has a mixture of great faults and beauties. His moſt popular drama is Giſbert of Amſtel, or the ſiege of Amſter⯑dam. I ſhould give you but little pleaſure, and do the author leſs credit, were I to offer you an analyſis of this piece, which is a ſtrange jumble of good and bad, ſublime and abſurd; though it is performed every ſeaſon, amidſt thunders of applauſe; which it owes chiefly to the beauty of the ſeenery and pageantry of the decorations. I cannot forbear giving you one inſtance, out of many, of its aſtoniſhing ab⯑ſurdity. The cataſtrophe is thus ſettled. Giſ⯑bert, the hero, after the ſurrender of Amſter⯑dam, determines to ſend away his wife and children to avoid the rapacity of the conque⯑ror. His wife, on the other hand, reſolved not to be outdone in tenderneſs, deſires to ſtay with her captive lord, and ſhare his fate. This brings on between them a conteſt of affection, [240]in which each maintains a generous idea, with the uſual force of diſintereſted love. In the midſt of this ſtrife a very unlooked-for viſitor comes on the ſtage, no leſs than the angel Raphael, who pops down from heaven in a cloudy chariot, on purpoſe to put an end to this diſpute betwixt man and wife. He very dexterouſly makes uſe of the ſaid cloudy cha⯑riot, to ſkreen them from their enemies, and aſſiſts both in fairly running away. Under ſuch a ſeraphic guard, no wonder that they got ſafe out of the garriſon; for they were wrapped up ſnug (together with their children) in the be⯑fore-mentioned chariot, and ſeemed to the ſentinels, ſays the bard, a paſſing cloud. Raphael conducts them to a ſafe receſs in the domi⯑nions of Pruſſia, and in their way thither bids them be of good cheer, for that it is the inten⯑tion of fate to make Amſterdam one of the nobleſt cities of Europe, and that he can fore⯑ſee, there will riſe up to future times a Dutch bard, who ſhall make the misfortunes of Giſ⯑bert and his family, the ſubject of a tragedy, which ſhall be performed with great ſucceſs on the Dutch ſtage.

Did ever author contrive, in a more novel way, to pay himſelf, and his hero, a compli⯑ment? [241]Or, did our Raphael employ himſelf in ſuch a comical buſineſs as he appears to have undertaken in this very comical dénoue⯑ment of a deep tragedy? One would think that the poet meant to finiſh his tragedy by a bur⯑leſque; in which ſpecies of writing the Dutch greatly excel; their principal author in which ſtyle is Foquembrog, who is the Scarron of Holland.

Nor are they without thoſe ſelf-taught bards, who anſwer to our Stephen Duck's, Wood⯑houſe's, and the Milkmaid of Briſtol. Of this claſs, Hubert Poot, of Delft, the ſon of a pea⯑ſant, who flouriſhed about a century ago, is the moſt diſtinguiſhed. We are informed that he had no education, little or no reading, and never ſuffered his paſſion for making verſes to inter⯑rupt his duty as a day-labourer: notwithſtand⯑ing which, he is the father of the paſtoral and elegiac poetry of his country. His addreſs to Ga⯑latea, and his Idyls, particularly that entituled Diana and Endymion, contain ſome very beauti⯑ful images, and melodious verſification. Poeta naſcitur non fit, is, you know, an old remark, and POOT's is a very remarkable illuſtration of it. You will find the beſt edition of his works, in three volumes quarto, with pretty [242]vignettes, printed at Delft, in 1734. He died in 1733, the year preceding. He is ſaid to have ſold his watch, and ſhoe-buckles, and ring, to purchaſe books, deeming the one lux⯑uries, and the other neceſſaries. I have paid a viſit to his cottage and his grave; and after having read his works, felt the emotions of a friend at both.

I have gleaned theſe literary ſketches as a freſh encouragement for the reſidentiary tra⯑veller, to attain ſome knowledge of the Dutch language; which will enable him to peruſe many good poets, of a country which is too commonly thought never to have produced them. I need not remind you, that Eraſmus, Grotius, and Boerhaave, are to be numbered amongſt their miſcellaneous writers; a trium⯑virate, it has been obſerved, not to be excelled by three perſons of any other nation whereſo⯑ever the light of learning has been diffuſed. Dryden has properly given to three countries an honour which he deems ſufficient to im⯑mortalize each, you know,

[243]Theſe little provinces have given birth to three writers, who would have conſtituted the glory of any three nations of the world. To Eraſ⯑mus the whole commonwealth of letters is in⯑debted for its re-eſtabliſhment, and a new aera of its glory; and Grotius did honour, not only to his country, but to human nature; and the pride with which the Dutch contemplate their Boerhaave may be gathered from what has been ſaid of him by Johnſon: ‘A man formed by nature for great deſigns, and guided by religion, in the exertion of his abilities: determined to loſe none of his hours, when he had attained one ſcience, he attempted another: he added phyſic to di⯑vinity; chemiſtry to the mathematics; and anatomy to botany. He recommended truth by his elegance, and embelliſhed the philo⯑ſopher with polite literature: yet his know⯑ledge, however uncommon, holds in his cha⯑racter but the ſecond place, for his virtue was more uncommon than his learning. He aſcribed all his abilities to the bounty, and all his goodneſs to the grace, of his God. May thoſe who ſtudy his writings imitate his life! and thoſe who endeavour after his knowledge, aſpire, likewiſe, to his piety!’

[244]Neither has the Republic wanted, as Carter obſerves, able hiſtorians or civilians. Brandt's Hiſtory of the Reformation of the Low Coun⯑tries is a piece ſo much admired, that one of the penſionaries uſed to ſay, the Dutch lan⯑guage deſerved to be learned by foreigners, if it were only for the pleaſure of reading that hiſtorian; and it is certain that there is no univerſity in Europe where the civil law is taught with ſo much dignity as at Leyden and Utrecht. Vinnius, and Voet, the firſt upon the Inſtitutes, and the latter upon the Pandects, have been pronounced the ſtandards of that law. It is not without reaſon their law-writers in general, like their pleaders, are accuſed of prolixity; they overwhelm us with a deluge of words, and make us loſe fight of the main point by the multiplicity with which they en⯑tangle and ſurround it.

But, perhaps, the ſame imputation will lie againſt the Dutch divines, the prolixity of whoſe writings no human patience can ſupport. They will write a volume on an Hebrew word, and another, by way of ſupplement, on the pronunciation of that word. I would not, however, urge this too far againſt a very re⯑ſpectable body; being convinced, no leſs than [245]the author of the Preſent State of the Pro⯑vinces, that, if a profound knowledge of the originals of the Bible, and other learned lan⯑guages, if being well read in the beſt com⯑mentators, and ſacred critics, a good taſte of eccleſiaſtical hiſtory, and controverſies, joined with a laborious diſcharge of the paſtoral duty, be eſteemed eſſential qualities in forming good clergymen, there are few churches in the world better provided with able miniſters than that of Holland.

In a former letter, I ſpoke of the neceſſity, ſe defendendo, of acquiring ſome knowledge of the Dutch language, and I noticed, in general terms, the ſtriking reſemblance between it and our own tongue. At the time of making this re⯑mark, I did not know it had been made be⯑fore; I now find it has; and ſo good a ſpe⯑cimen offered to prove that reſemblance, that I ſhall, by way of ſupplement to what has been previouſly obſerved, tranſcribe it, as it lies ready to my purpoſe; juſt premiſing, that the Britiſh nation are very apt to cenſure and deride that language, without knowing, or at leaſt conſidering, that the compound themſelves ſpeak is little more than the Low Dutch. If we have ſoftened a few of the terms by Engliſh [246]refinements, and by naturalizing abundance of the French and Latin, the difference is not ſo great as to make us loſe ſight of that upon which it is founded, and which is certainly our parent tongue. Sir William Temple ſays, that part of the Saxons who conquered Eng⯑land came from Friezeland, which is very pro⯑bable, as that province lies nearer to Saxony than the other two maritime powers, Holland and Zeeland. Numbers of the Saxons came down from the North of Germany at different times into the Low Countries. After having made ſome ſettlements, they paſſed over into the ſouth part of Britain, with a mixture no doubt of the natives of the provinces from whence they ſet out. They, however, ſtill re⯑tained the names of their nation and diſtrict, viz. of Saxons and Engles. The firſt, in pro⯑ceſs of time, had the good fortune to parcel the country out into ſeven diſtinct Saxon king⯑doms; and the latter, though no very con⯑ſiderable part of their own country, had the honour to unite thoſe kingdoms into one un⯑der Egbert, one of their deſcendants, about the year 800. Thus the reaſon is manifeſt, why the Low Dutch, properly ſo called, is ſpoken at this day in England, preferably to Saxon or the High Dutch; and thus, too, we [247]may account for the general ſimilarity betwixt the Low Dutch and the Engliſh, the latter of which has all the leading features of the for⯑mer, "more delicately touch'd," as for ex⯑ample:

If the above proof of affinity be added to thoſe already promiſed to be given at the cloſe of our Gleanings, it will be manifeſt that the language now in uſage through Great Britain, is, in good meaſure, the ſame as that ſpoken in Holland, ‘"Through certain ſtrainers well refin'd:"’ the latter, certainly, ſounds harſher and more heavy, than the former; but every man's [249]language, like his voice, ſeems muſical to his own ear: beſides which, I can aſſure you, the Dutch, when ſpoken by a pretty woman, or well-bred man, is deſtitute neither in harmony or elegance.

The above example is almoſt totally com⯑poſed of kindred words; and determine that they are not only nearly related by deſcent, but that they are of Dutch or German extrac⯑tion. The great author of the Engliſh Dic⯑tionary, indeed, in tracing the family of Eng⯑liſh words to their origin, tells us, that he conſiders the German and the Dutch "not as radical, but parallel, not as parents, but ſiſters of the Engliſh." Even this is a very cloſe alliance, and merits that we ſhould treat them not as aliens, but as relatives eſtabliſhed in dif⯑ferent countries. Adieu.—In all countries my mind's beſt language is your's.

LETTER XL. TO THE SAME.

SEE the uncomfortable diſtance of the date of your laſt received letter, and of my power to anſwer it—an interval of more than twenty days! Such is the tyranny of winds and waves; and ſuch the ſolicitudes of an ab⯑ſent friend.

But, according to the proverb, "ill blows the wind which brings not good to ſomebody." In the preſent caſe, though it has been to me inauſpicious, I truſt it has to you been fa⯑vourable; and that the very cauſes which have delayed your letters, have accelerated mine. You will then be ſatisfied, that my regard keeps pace with your's in the frequency of written evidence.

Yet how different, at this moment, is the face of things in this country from that you have ſo deliciouſly deſcribed! Winter has for⯑got [251]his time, and come back into Holland, a treſpaſſer on the rights of ſpring. So far from feeling or ſeeing the blooming approaches of the latter, we are embraced by the utmoſt ri⯑gours of the former: this very morning, though otherwiſe bright and fair, being one of the coldeſt I ever felt in my whole life. Your ſweet and captivating landſcapes are inverted. Inſtead of the earth covered with ſnow-drops, it is covered with heaps of ſnow only; and in lieu of watching the opening buds, thirty or forty ſkippers are digging in the canals to open the ice; and I can diſcover, over my head, only the white-encruſted branches frozen from top to bottom. Yet I cannot, by any means, ſay, this ſort of ſcenery is void of at⯑traction. To a Britiſh traveller it is intereſt⯑ing from its novelty; for though a world of white does not ſeem to admit of much variety, whether viewed in one country or in another, a deep fall of ſnow and hard froſt is certainly very different in its general appearance in Hol⯑land and England. What it is in the latter you have ſeen and felt: what it is here will be more pleaſant, perhaps, in my deſcription, than from the evidence of your own feelings.

[252]Rotterdam is in itſelf, you know, one of the moſt conſiderable and beautiful towns of Holland. It is watered by the Rotte, from whence it borrows its name, and by the junc⯑tion of that river with the Meuſe, and the proximity of both to the ſea, is equally well ſituated for commerce and navigation. The Engliſh ear is caught by its accuſtomed ſounds in every ſtreet, and almoſt in every houſe; for trade has made our language a ſettler in this place; the Engliſh merchandiſe, and the Eng⯑liſh merchant being amongſt the ſtaple com⯑modities of Rotterdam, which has long been conſidered as the firſt object of intercourſe that the Britiſh nation has upon the Continent of Europe. The canals, which run into the heart of the city, are ſo broad and profound, that veſſels of a noble ſize and of equal burthen, enter into it abreaſt, Theſe canals are ſur⯑rounded by the moſt beautiful ſtreets, each of which is adorned by a row of very fine trees.

Imagine ſuch trees, ſuch ſtreets, and ſuch canals, with all their inhabitants, combining to form a winter piece! Repreſent to yourſelf the houſes, almoſt all windows, and of the cleareſt glaſs, daily and almoſt hourly waſhed, ſparkling to the ſun in all the radiance of a [253]froſty atmoſphere; the canals are a ſolid floor of thick-ribbed ice, on which a thouſand pair of ſcates, uſed with inconceivable adroitneſs, are gliding in as many directions. The veſſels of pleaſure and buſineſs, of almoſt all nations, particularly our own, wedged cloſe together, and anchored at the very doors of the proprie⯑tors: the ſhips and barges, indeed, are as firm⯑ly bound as if they were chained to a world of rock; the rigging, maſts, and even pen⯑nants, loaded with coagulated ſnow; the trees candied over in the ſame manner; but, to⯑wards the middle of the day, dropping into fleeces by the warmth of the ſun, as if it was new falling ſnow.

Except it be that our tour-loving country⯑men ſeldom indulge the emigrating paſſion in winter, I know not, my dear friend, how it has happened that we ſo very ſeldom have been preſented with, (in deſcription) a Dutch winter⯑piece: ſuch as every one of their capital towns exhibit at this very inſtant. Theſe cold⯑weather amuſements are uſually paſſed over, though they are pictureſque and intereſting.

It has been juſtly remarked, that the deadeſt ſeaſon in other countries is the moſt lively in [254]Holland. While this little watry world is froſt-locked, which it is ſometimes for three months together, it is a kind of univerſal fair or jubilee. Booths are erected upon the ice, with good fires in them. Horſes, rough-ſhod to the element, run races. Coaches glide over the ſmooth expanſe, like pleaſure barges. Men, women, and children, are equally expert. The peaſant ſcates to town with his panniers, the country girl with her milk pails, and many merchants take their longeſt journies du⯑ring the ſeaſon of the ice. You may ſome⯑times ſee a ſtring of twenty or thirty young people, of both ſexes, holding each other by the handkerchief, and ſhoot away almoſt with the rapidity of lightning.

This is illuſtrated at the preſent moment, as well upon the land as water. Hundreds of little hand ſledges, variouſly decorated, and filled with children, covered to their very noſes in rugs and furs, paſs to and fro, through the ſtreets, and a no leſs number of horſe-ſledges, gay and gaudy, drawn by prancing, ſleek-ſided ſteeds, with long manes and tails, guided by a gentleman, and containing a lady, are flying along in theſe froſt-chariots. Theſe have no wheels, but are moved on an iron rounded [255]at the ends, and they go ſometimes at the rate of fourteen or fifteen miles within the hour: the ſtreets, mean while, crouded with ſpec⯑tators, gathered together in a kind of happy compoſure, which ſeems to ſet at defiance all the inclemencies of the ſeaſon. I muſt not forget the windows, which are all thrown wide open, and ſtuck with happy and even healthy faces from top to bottom, though it ſhould ſnow into the apartments; every individual, of whatever rank, entering into the ſpirit of the entertainment; and it is really curious to ſee, when there is a ſtop put to buſineſs, how the people of this, and ſome other more nor⯑thern countries, convert the very rigours of the clime into ſources of pleaſure and exer⯑ciſe. A native of the more ſouthern airs would almoſt congeal to ice at the bare view of ſuch a ſcene as that before me: but cuſtom, you know, my friend,

At all the Imperial, Saxon, and other northern courts, I find theſe ice and ſnow di⯑verſions are exactly what travellers have de⯑ſcribed, and of a very pompous kind. Many of their machines are conſtructed in the ſhape [256]of lions, ſwans, dolphins, peacocks well⯑carved, painted, and gilt. The northern Fair ſits in one of theſe, dreſſed in velvet, lined with furs, and decorated with lace and jewels, with a velvet cap on her head, faced and lined with ſables: the horſe is finely capariſoned, and ſet off with feathers and ribbons: bells hanging about him, and a ſtag's horns on his head. One or more pages on horſeback, ride on each ſide with torches in their hands, and in this manner, they perform the courſe upon the frozen ſnow, about the ſtreets of Dreſden and Vienna, driving full ſpeed after one another in the middle of the darkeſt night; or ſometimes when the moon and her attendant ſtars are in their fulleſt luſtre.

As you know my general averſion to hiſtories of brick, mortar, and fair freeſtone, you will not expect me to give you any fine deſcrip⯑tions of the fine buildings, or other fine places of this fine town, when the ſaid fine ſights are unaccompanied by more intereſting particu⯑lars: ſuch, for inſtance, as appertain to the ſouth church (Zuider Kerk.) This was for⯑merly the place where ſtood the old Dutch playhouſe: after the Revolution the play⯑houſe was pulled down, and a Scotch church built upon the ſpot, and now Dutch [257]ſervice is performed; but between the time of its being a theatre and a place of worſhip, fifty other occupations were carried on.

The froſt and ſnow ſo lock me up on all ſides, that till the relenting weather opens the roads, I can neither travel by land or by water; but my inquiſitive diſpoſition leads me amongſt men and books, and wherever either of theſe preſent me with any thing worthy notice, I will not fail to pick it up for your entertain⯑ment, or inſtruction. Take, for the preſent, a few miſcellaneous remarks deſcriptive of place and people.

The Dutch are, no doubt, imagined to be great feeders on fleſh, and as great drinkers of gin. They are neither. They eat very ſparingly of animal food, and ſwallow far leſs of ſpirituous liquors than the Engliſh. One of our porters will conſume more Hollands in a day, than an Hollander in a week. The common drink of the country is beer, tea, and coffee: of the two latter, they drink ſix or ſeven times in a day; a drunken Dutchman is a rare character.

All ranks of people ſhake their heads, when they diſcourſe, or even when they liſten.— [258]They have a ſhake of aſſent, a ſhake of objection, an angry ſhake, a friendly ſhake, and a loving ſhake, but to meet with a Dutch man or woman, who does not ſhake the head, is what I have never yet obſerved. In the heat of converſation this practice is ſo remarkable, that in a public place, where there are many ſpeakers at a time; in the coffee-houſes, for inſtance, the heads all go together, as if moved on ſwivels, and are as ludicrous to any traveller, whoſe head is firmer on his ſhoulders, as the figures of a parcel of Mandarines on a chimney piece. A Dutch⯑man might be known from a native of any other country, by this national, and almoſt univerſal ſhake. I mentioned this to ſome of the people, who muſt have ſhaken themſelves out of all conſciouſneſs; for of eleven whom I addreſſed, nine aſſured me, while they ſhook their heads at me moſt violently, the remark was not juſt; and the other two, ſhakingly, ſaid, why we ſhake our heads thus, heaven only knows.

The Dutch women, in general, deſerve not the cenſure which other nations have paſt on their legs. It is the cuſtom of the country, amongſt all ſuch as adhere to the habits of it, to diſplay the leg more than midway. The female peaſant ſhews it nearly to the garter: [259]and though not often very delicately, the legs are for the moſt part far from clumſily made. They all wear ſlippers, even in winter; and are, moreover, perpetually dabbling in water; yet are remarkable for being ſeen with a clean pair of ſtockings, which are almoſt univerſally of blue or grey worſted. In compariſon of their general form, their legs are even ſlender. Their limbs are coarſe and heavy, and rendered yet more ſo by their dreſs; eſpecially about the hips, which they ſwell out with more than ſeven-fold petticoats, to an even abſurd cir⯑cumference. They ſometimes cover them⯑ſelves up with huge black cloth cloaks, and yet you will ſee them in the moſt rigorous ſeaſons of the year, going about without either hats or bonnets. The practice of ſticking on a black patch, about the ſize of half, ſometimes a whole crown-piece, on each of their temples, is al⯑moſt univerſal amongſt the middle and lower orders of the women. The women themſelves tell you, this is as a charm for the headach; the men inſiſt, it is deſigned as a charm of ano⯑ther kind, and as much a mark of ſelf admira⯑tion and coquetry, as the little patches, which were formerly worn by the fair enchantreſſes of our own country.

[260]I think I have already ſent you word that the buſineſſes, which centre in one man's hands in England, viz. hairdreſſing and ſhav⯑ing, are in Holland ſplit into two trades as diſtinct as huſbandry and ſhipbuilding; your chin being committed to a ſworn ſurgeon, and your head to a friſſeur. I beg'd to know the reaſon of this? The ſame reaſon, Sir, ſaid a profeſſor of the razor, that induces a man to reſign his broken leg or thigh to one of us, rather than to a fellow who knows no more of a human machine than his powder puff: it is not thought ſafe in this country to truſt a man's naked throat with any perſon unſkilled in anatomy. How the devil, Sir, ſhould ſuch blockheads and bunglers, know how to manage an affair of ſuch delicacy? Whether the indignation of my medical ſhaver, might give an intemperance to the flouriſhes of his razor, as if to cut up the pretenſions of the ſaid "bungling blockheads," I cannot ſay, but, in the very act of cenſuring their awkwardneſs, he cut me moſt ſcientifically; and on my ob⯑ſerving this, he exclaimed nothing but a pimple, Sir, and the more it bleeds the better; It was a ſolid ſlice of my fleſh, and no excreſ⯑cence for all that; but I let it paſs.

The poor little domeſtie BIRDS, (ſparrows, robins, &c.) how this hard weather has ſubdued [261]their uſual independence! How they throw themſelves on us for protection! I have already more than twenty of theſe winged penſioners, who ſeem to have no reſource but what they receive from the crumbs that fall from my table. At this moment they are ſeated on a board on the outſide of my chamber window, on opening which, ſeveral of them have actually come in, hopped about my room, warmed themſelves at my fire, and thus re⯑freſhed, again take wing, and brave the element. Birds, are, at all times, more tame here than I have ſeen them elſewhere; but in the ſevere part of the year, ſo abſolutely throw themſelves in the way of your bounty, that a man's charity muſt, very perverſeſly, "paſs by on the other ſide," not to ſee, and ſeeing he muſt have an heart yet colder than the ice, not to accom⯑modate their little wiſhes. What pleaſure there is in gentle offices, whether adminiſtered to bird, beaſt, or man! How it refreſhes one in warm; how it animates one in rigourous weather! A redbreaſt is trotring over my carpet as I write; a poor froſt-nipped chaffinch is neſtling almoſt in the aſhes of my buzaglio; and a ſparrow who had, after warming him⯑ſelf, aſcended my table, is within the length of his beak of the paper, on which I am writi [...] [262]I nod and tell him, as he ſlopes his curious head to the writing, 'tis all about himſelf and his aſſociates, and the little fellow, with the pleaſant pertneſs, which characteriſes the ſparrow tribe, looks ſaucily into my face, with his head aſide, as much as to ſay, a very good ſubject! glean away, friend.

But though he, you, and I, may think ſo, ſome criticks may be of a different opinion. "An author and his reader are not always of a mind," ſays Johnſon. Cold as the ſnow, and biting as the froſt, the literary caviller, alſo, may aſk, whether "two ſparrows are not ſold for a farthing?" and, by way of inference, demand, what can that leaf be worth that is waſted in deſcribing, or ſupplying their wants? The lite⯑rary caviller ſhall not be honoured with a reply: but ſhould the true critic, and ſuch, I gratefully own, I have found ſome of the public Review⯑ers, whoſe cenſures, blended as they have been with praiſe, on my early or later writings, have ſince put me upon thinking, how I might more deſerve the one, and leſs merit the other; and, you know, that two of the deareſt friend⯑ſhips of my life, and which, I truſt, will be my pride, and boaſt even unto death, aroſe, not from the encouraging ſmiles, though thoſe were generous and ſweet, but from the more [263]ſalutary frowns, with which they marked ſome of the errours of a juvenile pen: ſhould, therefore, I repeat, ſuch critics here put the "frontlet on," I ſhould—no—in this in⯑ſtance, at leaſt, I feel aſſured of the uncon⯑tracted brow; for they will conſider, that if, in the eye of Omnipotence, "one of theſe ſparrows ſhall not fall to the ground;" but his divine miniſtry muſt deal the blow, their lives, their comforts, their diſtreſſes muſt be of ſome ac⯑count in the eye of humanity; and he that ſaves them from falling, ſhall, at leaſt, diſarm criticiſm, if he has no claim to praiſe. And after all our magnificence, ‘"Theſe little things are great to little men."’ And if they were not, the time, and paper, and room, in my book, they have here employed, ſhall be nothing loſt, even to the reader who values only quantity; for that ſuch reader may be no loſer, I promiſe him a long letter gratis, on great ſubjects, the very firſt time they fall in my way; whether great men, great houſes, great towns, or whatever elſe conſtitutes a magnificent reader's idea of worldly great⯑neſs.

LETTER XLI. TO THE SAME.

FROM what has been ſaid in the laſt letter, you will conclude that the ſpirit of pleaſure is by no means an inactive one in this country: the ſpirit of hoſpitality is, on the ſlighteſt recommendation, no leſs vigorous, or lively; although, in both caſes, moſt other parts of the Continent have a more popular character for courteſy and urbanity: but, it ſhould be conſidered, that ſuch character is generally given by themſelves of themſelves, or by ſuch confederating nations, as erect their own good name, on the ruins of their leſs im⯑poſing neighbours. An Engliſh ſtranger who viſits Holland, from either curioſity, or misfor⯑tune, will find, even in the motives of his reſidence, as much courteſy and compaſſion, as he could meet with in any other part of the earth: in reſpect of the former, a ſingle letter of introduction, to any reſpectable indivi⯑dual, will be a paſſport to the beſt families in that individual's line of connection; and in [265]regard to the latter, diſtreſs, in whatever ſhape, or however brought about, is not leſs venerated or relieved by the Hollander than the Engliſhman. I was a witneſs to many illuſtrative inſtances. Take one.—A French gentleman, from being diſappointed of all re⯑mittances was (after diſpoſing of his neceſ⯑ſaries, for current expences) unable to pay his account at his hotel, and ſo reduced as to throw himſelf on the generoſity of his hoſt, who not only requeſted him to feel at his eaſe, as to the paſt, but at his home as to the future, continuing to lodge and board at the hotel, as many weeks or months, as might ſuit his con⯑venience: in addition to which liberality, the landlord begged he might ſupply him with pocket money, while he ſtaid with him, and with ſuch a ſum, as might anſwer his purpoſes when he departed. All this was done on no poſſible idea of intereſt; for the gentleman thus kindly treated, thought he could not deal too candidly in return; therefore, laid before his hoſt, previouſly to farther ſervices, a true ſtate of his affairs, which exhibited the near proſpect rather of deſpair than hope. Since which diſ⯑covery the bounty of the landlord, did not alter its aſpect, but rather wore a more be⯑nignant ſmile, accompanied by deportment, [266]that mingled reverence with kindneſs. And believe me, this ſpirit of philanthropy is not confined to inſtances like thoſe, ſelected with difficulty, or by the accuracy of diligent Glean⯑ing, but is really, and truly, the liberal and genial growth of this country, in as fair an abundance as that of any other, of whom we ſpeak more vauntingly.

The ſpirit of trade keeps pace then, but does not outſtrip that of courteſy. It is incon⯑ceivable, to thoſe who have not been eye wit⯑neſſes, with what unabated energy men of buſineſs traverſe this and other commercial parts of Europe. Our Engliſh riders, as they are called who travel over Great Britain, ſeem inert and dead, in compariſon of thoſe who croſs the water as factors and agents. The unwearied aſſiduity, with which they attend to all the myſteries of trade, the ardour with which they cultivate correſpondence, and en⯑large the connection of their reſpective houſes, the exactneſs and diſpatch, with which they execute orders, the zeal with which they urge gainful enquiry, and the vigour with which they improve every profitable occurrence, every "golden opportunity" cannot but attract the notice of a traveller, the moſt diſengaged from [267]public affairs. Viewed only as objects of ſpe⯑culative curioſity, this is intereſting, ſince, it is impoſſible to ſtroll into any of the public coffee-houſes, walk along the canals, viſit their exchange, or ſit down at any of the table d'Hotes, of this buſy town, in particular, without being exceedingly ſtruck at the effect, and going into ſome enquiry of the cauſe.

Some ſentiments on this ſubject are ſo appoſite to this cauſe, and this effect, on general prin⯑ciples, that I cannot but apply them in this place, ſo far as my memory accommodates me, either with them or the language in which they were given to the Britiſh Houſe of Parlia⯑ment, in the courſe of the laſt ſeſſion. But you ſhould previouſly underſtand, that what the member offered as deſcriptive of the Britiſh empire, I conſider as equally influencing all the trading parts of Europe, and in a more eſpecial manner the United Provinces.

When we thus ſee the revenue, and the trade of every country increaſing, it is natural to enquire into the cauſes. Of theſe the firſt is undoubtedly the induſtry and energy of a country, but there muſt be ſecondary cauſes to give to this its effect, ſaid one, who [268]who is not in the habit, as many honourable members are, of ſacrificing truth to decla⯑mation. The increaſe of ſkill in artizans and manufacturers, the great improvements in the application of machinery, and the various ways, by which labour is ſaved, ſubdivided, and expedited by ingenuity, have done much in all countries: the facility of credit ariſing from confidence in the public faith, give great advantage to manufactures at home, and, by enabling the merchant to extend his credit abroad, give no leſs advantage in the foreign market, and thus operate in a double ratio.

This is, certainly, firſt the ſign, and then the cauſe, of national proſperity. The enter⯑prize of commercial men, puſh adventure, and judicious ſpeculations wherever a market is to be found, or created, and the liberal policy of a more unreſtrained commerce between nations, have greatly contributed: but more than all other cauſes have operated the accumulation of capital, the effects of which were never fully underſtood till a philoſopher of our own coun⯑try, the celebrated author of the "wealth of na⯑tions," with a depth and clearneſs of inveſti⯑gation, fitted to enlighten, and direct, the in⯑ternal policy of any ſtate, diſcovered and [269]pointed them out. This accumulation operates with all the effect of compound intereſt, every addition to it is the immediate cauſe of ano⯑ther, and its force increaſes in an accelerated ratio through its progreſs. ‘"Mobilitate viget, vireſque acquiret eundo."’ And theſe combining cauſes, are, moſt indiſ⯑putably, productive of thoſe aſtoniſhing effects, which pour not only through our own coun⯑try, but every other in the trading world, the graces, the riches of each other, in greater abundance, at this very hour, than at any former period of, at leaſt modern, and, per⯑haps, of ancient times.

Of what farther it is ſuſceptible, it is impoſ⯑ſible to ſay: becauſe the perfection of National commerce, that bound which it may reach, but may not paſs, cannot eaſily be aſcertained; but we may fairly aſk, if ſuch are the effects of ſuch cauſes already, what, in the progreſs of induſtry, genius and emulation, may not be expected from them in future! In proſperity no limit can be ſet to national vigour; and in the hour of difficulty, diſtreſs or danger, as ſuch vigour is the only mitigation of national evil, it will be exerted in proportion. Far, [270]therefore, from having reached a point at which it is likely to ſtop, the national proſ⯑perity of a country flowing out of its com⯑merce, admits yet of encreaſe, and though the cauſes muſt be permanent, the effects may be progreſſive; for, while human ſkill, in any branch of commodity, is capable of improve⯑ment, it is impoſſible to ſay to what a pitch of wealth and proſperity any trading nation may arrive, by its own energy of advancing.

Holland, it is true, has had at different pe⯑riods of her hiſtory, very heavy drawbacks, as well from within as from without, from the enemy in her own bowels, as from a public invader. Often have the fruits of her genius and induſtry been ſwept away by rebellion and war: often has ſhe been drenched in her own blood: but with all theſe depreſſions, her efforts reſrſted theſe calamities, and repaired them ſo well, that at this very hour, ſhe may ſtand, perhaps, foremoſt amongſt nations, as an example of human induſtry producing hu⯑man proſperity.

The deſcription of Alexandria, by an an⯑cient author, has been applied, and juſtly, to this Republic, particularly its capital. [271]"Rich and opulent Provinces that abound with every thing, and where nobody can be idle. The very lame and blind have their exerciſes, and uſeful occupations, and even thoſe who have the gout in their hands, are not ſuffered to be uſeleſs. This is ſo true of Amſterdam, that, in almoſt every corner of it amazing examples of induſtry are to be ſeen, even in thoſe whoſe age, ſickneſs, and bodily infirmities would obtain a diſpen⯑ſation from work, any where elſe. Thoſe who think, therefore, that the Dutch have more of matter than ſpirit in their com⯑poſition, may undeceive themſelves. Other cities of Europe have had the models of moſt of their uſeful contrivances, and ma⯑chines of various ſorts from the towns of this Republic. Even thoſe who arrogate all wit, and all art to themſelves, have been obliged to borrow from hence ſeveral of their moſt ingenious utenſils: and, upon the whole, Voltaire's character of the States is well merited. "La Hollande," ſays he, ‘merite d'autant plus d'attention, que c'eſt un etat d'une Eſpece toute Nouvelle, devenu puiſ⯑ſant ſans poſſeder preſque de terrain, riche et n'ayant pas de ſon fonds de quoi nourir la vingtieme partie de ſes habitans, & con⯑ſiderable en Europe par ſes travaux au bout de l'Aſie.’

LETTER XLII. TO THE SAME.

IT has been amongſt the objects of theſe Gleanings, to reſcue the inhabitants of the dif⯑ferent countries in which I ſojourn from the undue meaſure of cenſure caſt on them, and to ſettle them, without prejudice on the one hand, or partiality on the other, in every candid mind, juſt as they are,

The Welch, being part of ourſelves, ſuffer little from us on the ſcore of prejudice; and therefore little was left for a liberal traveller to do away. But the Dutch demanded a ſturdy champion, and yet one, who in the zeal of adminiſt'ring juſtice, avoided flattery. In va⯑rious inſtances, I am diſpoſed to believe that the Gleaner has approved himſelf this even-handed advocate. I truſt he has defended them, where they were defenſible, and blamed them where [273]they deſerved reproach. In the ſpirit of this principle he began, and will have the honeſty and the fortitude to maintain it unto the end.

Amongſt other aſperſions from which it has been his office to exonerate the people of this country, is their imputed inſenſibility; an aſper⯑ſion which very generally prevails. You find the Gleaner has ſeen their hearts and minds in the operation of various events, as well happy as diſaſtrous. He has had an eye on them, when a man leſs impreſſed with conviction of the im⯑portance of little things to aſcertain the great ones of character and principles, would have overlooked their feelings. He has obſerved them too, when great occurrences called forth their ſtrongeſt paſſions, or their moſt ſubtle hypo⯑criſy. In both caſes he has found their affec⯑tions as powerful, as fervid, as expreſſive of upright principles, and of tender emotions, as any of our own.

There are, you know, certain occaſions ſo abſolutely demonſtrative of real heart and ſoul, that the moſt profound diſſembler would find it impoſſible to keep on his maſk, however ne⯑ceſſary it might be to his intereſt, his fame, or even his life. Of this omnipotent claſs of in⯑cidents [274]is the peruſal of letters, the contents of which, as to general ſenſation, whether of pain or pleaſure, is as clearly read by the ſpectator as by the party concerned: I mean of courſe ſuch letters as are read in company immediately on their being received. Something beyond the power of human reſiſtance urges a man al⯑moſt univerſally to open the letters that are brought him by the poſt; nay, we often break the ſeal inſenſibly; and the utmoſt forbearance which good breeding enjoins, ſcarce ever ex⯑tends to the putting them quietly into our pocket, when, from a recognition of the hand⯑writing, we expect any thing of heart, or even when we are ſtrangers to the characters of the ſuperſcription. Curioſity ſeizes us in the one caſe, and more than curioſity in the other. If therefore we do gain this degree of good man⯑ners, it is by a painful exertion, which often makes us wiſh our company were at home; though, induced by a ſort of fellow-feeling, they often prevent this wiſh, by diſpenſing with eti⯑quette, and enjoin the reading our letters. For the moſt part we apologiſe for the rudeneſs, but are rude.

Then it is, that fineſſe, weakneſs, folly, ſtra⯑tagem, and even treaſons BETRAY THEMSELVES. [275] Then it is, that we are perfidious to our truſt, without any other accuſers, any other language than what is furniſhed by conſciouſneſs of our being trickſters, fools, or traitors: ſo inge⯑nuous is our inviſible, boſom judge, ſo all-power⯑ful is conſcience; though guilt firſt faſtened her with chains, that very guilt only waits for a fit opportunity to break them aſunder, and forces the culprit to avow his crime, even to thoſe who are ſure to puniſh it. It is thus that in the act of reading any written miſchief, done, or to be done, conſcience flies into the face of the delinquent, ſeizes every limb of his body, and, by a ſtrange power, renders that countenance really honeſt, which had be⯑fore only appeared to be ſo. A young man, for inſtance, long loſt to fame and fortune, ſud⯑denly reads of his diſinheritance when he ex⯑pected a remittance—a broker, of a proſecution for uſury when he looked for an invitation to meet the party to receive the premium—the libertine, of diſcovery by a parent or brother, who ſends a challenge, when his heart beat high with ‘"expectation of the coming joy."’ to be derived from his long-planned ſe⯑duction.

[276]But theſe examples are, you will ſay, ſo ſtrong, that he who runs may read them. Be⯑lieve me, the ſubordinate foibles, and vices are no leſs under the dominion of the letters, which, unawares, deſcribe their cauſes and their effects: in like manner, the better parts of our nature are, alſo, developed with equal truth and ac⯑curacy by the ſame faithful reporters; and without being endowed with the ſagacity of Lavater, a quiet obſerver muſt want that de⯑gree of common ſenſe, in which few are de⯑ficient, not to aſcertain the actual ſtate and ſtrength of thoſe natural feelings, the viva⯑city of that fancy, the ſenſibility of that heart, which are exhibited by the peruſal of letters. The paſſions and emotions are not ſimply called forth by their proper objects, they are, whe⯑ther reluctantly or by aſſent, placed before our view, by that imperial, and, not ſeldom, im⯑perious law in our ſouls, which is ſupreme, in⯑diſpenſible, and incorruptible. Hence it is that vice has, in deſpite of herſelf, and which ſhe ſhews, perforce, to the innocence ſhe would deſtroy, and to the Judge who will condemn, her diſordered eye, her livid cheek, her ſhaking joints. And hence too, that virtue ſhews us her moſt affecting ſmile, her trueſt, tendereſt tear, her moſt touching bluſh, and her nobleſt [277]glow of courage, or of benevolence. All is genuine.

To exhibit an inſtance of the former—of vice betrayed—would be irkſome to you, my friend, and to me: to preſent one of the latter, of virtue diſcovered—will be alike pleaſing to us both.

I have fixed myſelf, for the ſake of ſociety, at the beſt inn here, to the intent that while I am ſhut in by the weather, I may beguile the time I muſt neceſſarily paſs within doors, in the moſt pleaſant manner, and be at leaſt in the way of a glean-worthy occurrence. The houſe is, at preſent, filled by travellers nearly in my own ſituation, and glad to find, like my⯑ſelf, ſuch reſources as are within reach. Laſt night brought us the acquiſition of a lady and gentleman, man and wiſe, from Amſterdam. They came, at all hazards, on a conſiderable emergence, by land. We breakfaſted in the ſame party, and ſeeming to aſſimilate, with even leſs than the uſual ſlight punctilios of a public room, were getting into a cordial con⯑verſation, before the forms of the world, in a more private apartment, would have warranted, ſo tyrannous is cuſtom, the opening our lips. [278]Our diſcourſe had thawed the very idea of an hard froſt, and of a bad fire, and was, in de⯑ſpite of the ice without doors, flowing in full vigour, when the ſervant entered from the poſt⯑houſe with letters, the very ſight of which "checked the genial current" of our converſe. The general pacquet which was addreſſed to the huſband, contained ſeveral others, two of which were given immediately to the wife, who, ſeeing they came from her children, whom ſhe had left, by the bye, only the day before, opened them with an emotion that a man of the dulleſt mind muſt have pronounced it a domeſtick and maternal emotion. The gra⯑dations of that colouring which nature painted in her cheeks, as ſhe read, and the eloquence of that ſilent felicity which illumined her countenance in the progreſs of the peruſal of her papers, manifeſted that they came from parties very near, and dear to her heart; and to you, who love to look at the happy, would have furniſhed ſuch a regale, that I wiſhed then, and cannot help wiſhing ſtill, you had partaken of our breakfaſt. The letters were from two daughters, the one written in proſe, and the other in verſe; but both expreſſed the ſame duty and affection, and both upon the ſame intereſting ſubject—the gratulation of children [279]on the anniverſary of their mother's birth, a day which had uſually been celebrated at home in preſence of the whole family, but which theſe worthy parts of it were reſolved ſhould not paſs without at leaſt ſuch marks of tribu⯑tary honour as they could confer in abſence. Happineſs is communicative: in the overflow of the heart, the mother detailed, with a pro⯑lixity natural to parents, and even to felicity, the cauſes of her joy. She juſtified therein the effects; but after all, ſhe could only give me the particulars of bliſs, the general ſubject of which ſhe had before ſo well diſcovered by a language unborrowed of the tongue.

Her ſtory was a freſh proof of my poſition, viz. that the moments of receiving and reading a correſpondence of the affections, whether good or bad, are the moments in which the characters of the ſoul are to be peruſed, and eſtimated. The lady entered upon her ſubject con amore, et con ſpirito, telling me, with all a mother's glow, that both her daughters were the beſt girls in the world, but that the author of the anniverſary addreſs had the ſenſe of an angel; and ſhe wiſhed, with all her heart, I underſtood ſufficiently the Dutch language to read the verſes—‘and the other dear creature, though [280]no poet, is no leſs clever, no leſs good; here now, ſir, is a letter written with the ſolidity and correctneſs that would do honour to my eldeſt ſon, whom, every body ſays, is a won⯑der for his age.’

The huſband's looks corroborated the eulogy of the wife; and the breakfaſt, which had been impeded by this letter-reading ſcene, now went on. Before the poſtman appeared, they ſeemed to have a reliſh for the repaſt; but ſudden emo⯑tions, purely of the mind, whether of pain or of pleaſure, are, for the moment, no way fa⯑vourable to the common bodily appetites. The toaſt which I had made for them in the Engliſh faſhion—a rarity here—and which was thought delicious, had now loſt its charm, or, rather, had given place to a much more potent en⯑chantment; the free will offering of the duti⯑ful daughter had introduced a much more agreeable banquet. ‘I have (ſaid this fond mother) been in many reſpects, and I am ſtill in ſome, a moſt fortunate parent; but, in one inſtance, O my God, how miſerable! That rapacious tyrant, the ſmall-pox, ſnatched from me a girl who—parental tenderneſs apart, or allowed for in its fulleſt extent— was not only the pride, the glory of our fond [281]boſoms—(here the huſband began to cough)—but the delight of all who knew her: full of goodneſs, of talents, and of beauty, ſhe was the very boaſt of our whole city; yet we were bereaved of her in leſs than a fortnight after we had celebrated, in an aſſembly of all her little friends, the day at which ſhe gained her fifteenth year.’

"Our only conſolation," ſaid the huſband, (filling up a pauſe, which ſorrow made in the account of his wife—yet filling it up with a voice that faultered)—‘our only conſolation is, that the laſt moments of her unſullied life were employed in acts of filial love. Her death, ſir, which it almoſt kills me to think on, her death, happened in the middle of the night. The chamber had been darkened at her requeſt ſome time before; but ſhe now felt the faſt approaches of her diſſolution, and deſired the light might be brought into the room. When it came—pray bring it nearer, ſaid the poor thing—nearer ſtill—my eyes grow more dim every inſtant, and ere they quite fail me, I would wiſh their laſt office might be to ſhew me their ever-deareſt objects, my parents and ſiſters; I grieve that [282]abſence prevents them from once more be⯑holding my brother.’

Here the huſband loſt his voice in ſoftneſs; and the wiſe took up the ſorrow-moving tale, by exclaiming, ‘O dreadful, yet dear, mo⯑ment! when my dying Anna found that ſhe ſtill wanted light to diſtinguiſh us, ſhe begged the candle might be put into her own trem⯑bling hand, and after ſhe had looked a little while moſt earneſtly in our faces, wiping away the tears that were running along her poor father's cheeks, and then kiſſing us all ſeveral times, ſhe returned the candle, ſaying—I am now ſatisfied, and am on the edge of the everlaſting manſions of my Father which is in heaven—the only parent whom I could go to with gain, after the loſs of thoſe I am now leaving.’

‘Do you remember her look while ſhe ut⯑tered this?’ ſaid the wife to the huſband.— "Remember it! O God!" exclaimed the lat⯑ter, in a burſt of anguiſh that atteſted the too⯑faithful integrity of his recollection—‘Were not her hands, her eyes lifted up towards heaven?—the doors of which were opened, ſhe aſſured us, to receive her? Seraphs, cried [283]the almoſt cherubim, are thronging to give me welcome, and Almighty God himſelf invites me to enter.’

"It was, at this aweful criſis," ſaid the mother in great agitation, ‘that my departed Anna, conflicted with the powers of death, to raiſe herſelf on her knees, in the attempt of which ſhe fell, and under our ſupport, invoked a bleſſing on us both! In our very arms ſhe expired, and we thought the ſpot where ſhe yielded up her innocent being, would have been the general death-bed of the family!’

The huſband covered his face with his hands; the wife, after looking ſteadfaſtly at the fire, without, perhaps, ſeeing it—ejaculated at length "God's will be done!" and left the room.

When alone, I repeated aloud a verſe which I had often felt, in reading that part of our Night Thoughts which mourns Narciſſa, but had never before ſeen occaſion ſo forcibly to apply it:— ‘"Ye, that e'er loſt an angel, pity them!"’

Never did hearts, in the warmeſt country, under the moſt unclouded ſky, beat higher— [284]never did eyes more copiouſly ſtream in token of that grief which "paſſeth ſhew." Away with diſtinctions! with appropriations! and all the offspring of ſelf love!—Education, cuſtom, example, may do much—climate may have its power—the ſun may animate—the ice may chill—but there are, in all countries, mo⯑ments and events, which render all good be⯑ings the ſame, and prove us, through all the zones, allied cloſely to one another!

With reſpect, however, to the countenances of the Dutch, they are certainly not, generally, lively indexes of thoſe affections which they frequently cover. Thoſe affections are, in their ſtill life, often extremely hid from obſerva⯑tion, and you will ſee fifty or an hundred men, with pipes in their mouths, and as many women ſtewing over their ſtoves, paſs hours away in one another's company, with ſcarce the utterance of a ſyllable, change of a poſ⯑ture, or variation of a feature; yet, in a ſe⯑ries of remarks, I have followed ſeveral of theſe very perſons into their domeſtic circles, and have there ſeen, as in the caſe above cited, the kindeſt and ſtrongeſt emotions, of which the human heart is capable, fly out, according to circumſtances and occurrences, with an [285]energy, a vivacity, an eloquence, of which, from general appearances and ſpeculations, not even the pervading eye of Lavater could have any preſcience.

We will now advert to a few more of the neceſſaries of life, amongſt which muſt be reckoned the travelling expences, eſpecially thoſe of the table d'hotes.

Theſe have been very erroneouſly ſtated. The moſt diligent inſpection has enabled me to offer you the following table of charges, which, with a variation not worth noticing in a few houſes, may be depended upon as your general directory in the tour of the Provinces.

The bed is according to the goodneſs of the room, from one florin to three.

The houſe-meſſenger, two ſtivers an errand.

[286]Surgeon-barber, three or four ſtivers.

Hair-dreſſer the ſame.

Except the ſhoe-boy, who commonly in⯑cludes the office of meſſenger, nobody pays the ſervants except the maſter of the inn; ſo that you have no ſaucy fellows crouding about your horſe and carriage in the parting mo⯑ments as in England: none of the domeſtics even expecting a ſtiver, were you to make a month's ſojourn in the houſe. This is a very comfortable circumſtance; and it is, ſurely, very unreaſonable the traveller ſhould pay the landlord's bill, which uſually takes care of contingencies, and then be detained till the ſervants are paid for doing the ſaid landlord's buſineſs; and if you do not pay up to the ſaid ſervant's idea, to be abuſed into the bargain! Now really that is an hardſhip! As I ſhall have occaſion to bring forward the ſubject of expenditure in another place, (in a com⯑parative view of the charges of Holland, with Pruſſia, &c.) we will cloſe it for the pre⯑ſent; and with it this letter, the poſtman warning me, that "his hour is come." In haſte, then, adieu.

LETTER XLIII. TO THE SAME.

STILL under double lock, as it were, of froſt and ſnow, I ſee not how I can ſo uſe⯑fully employ the leiſure which theſe impedi⯑ments have thrown into my hands, as offering you a ſummary account of the provinces that conſtitute theſe celebrated States, in which ſummary, I truſt, you will gain a diſtinct idea of the diviſions, privileges, and reſpective powers of the Republic; the connection of the parts, with the whole; and whatever elſe it befits a traveller, who has any laudable cu⯑rioſity, to know.

We have already ſeen, by ſketches of their ancient and modern hiſtory, in the courſe of our firſt ſheaf, that the induſtry and labours of the inhabitants of the States have been united and inceſſant; that if, upon the whole, they breathe a more heavy air, or tread, and dreſs, a more difficult ſoil—if their exterior is more rude, leſs brilliant, leſs gay, than that of [288]their neighbours farther ſouth, nature has en⯑dowed them with the more ſolid, and, perhaps, more deſireable, certainly more uſeful, powers of conſtancy and application.—If they have been, at all times, ſlow in taking their beſt and wiſeſt meaſures, they have the faculty of holding to them, when taken, more reſolutely than quicker minds; and to this unrelaxing perſeverance, this characteriſtic ſteadineſs, we owe the almoſt miracles they have performed in agriculture, arms, and arts, without any aſ⯑ſiſtance, from thoſe ſprightly talents which have been ſo much relied upon in other countries.

With reſpect to agriculture, without queſ⯑tion, the moſt neceſſary art of human life, they have arrived at a wonderful degree of per⯑fection; in which praiſe we are to include, not only the ſeven provinces, and their ap⯑pendages, but the ten others which conſtitute the whole of the Netherlands, whoſe farmers and huſbandmen, of every deſcription, may vie with thoſe of any country in the world. In various other parts of Europe, the ſoil is more genial, and in every reſpect more highly fa⯑voured by nature, but in none is it better cul⯑tivaited by art: indeed, it may be obſerved, [289]that in every part of the earth where the leaſt labour is required, the natives, either from that very reaſon, or from the influence of ſoften air, and intenſer ſuns, are leſs inclined to, and, perhaps, leſs capable of toil: whereas, thoſe who are the growth of a land to which na⯑ture has denied theſe indulgencies, are endow⯑ed with a good conſtitution, and a good will to ſupply the deficiencies, by dint of that la⯑bour which contributes at once to their proſ⯑perity, and the ſtrength by which it is gained. In Gleaning the lands belonging to the Dutch, I have often paſſed over places now blooming with culture, or gay with the magnificence of palaces; ſo indeed may whole ſtreets in ſome of the great towns be called, I have trod on ground, at this time waving in plenty, which nature herſelf ſeemed to conſider unworthy to be the reſidence of her leaſt valued produc⯑tions, having ſunk whole leagues either in bogs or quickſands, a dark and ſterile tract, where the very weeds refuſed to grow—nay, their firſt and moſt important city, which may now be called one of the grand ſtore-houſes of the univerſe. Amſterdam itſelf was once a mere quagmire, the abode only of the moſt loath⯑ſome animals.—In a word, there never was, perhaps, a ſoil ſo barren, ſo ungrateful, as that [290]which hath been ſubdued by the Hollander, wherever he has laid his indefatigable and pa⯑tient hand.

Of their proweſs in arms every country is conſcious. Their literature is not contemp⯑tible, and their commerce—another proof of their inflexible diligence—ſurpaſſes that of Ve⯑nice, or any Republic on the face of the globe. What ſea hath not been, and is not ſtill, co⯑vered with their ſails? Into what country have they not penetrated? Where is it, that they have not eſtabliſhed a factory, or a connexion? What ſort of trade is unknown, or untried by them? Is there a climate, or a corner of the univerſe, which, in ſome ſort, is not, or has not been, obliged to pay tribute to their induſtry? What a countleſs number of veſſels touch at, or are a part of, the property of their ports? Have they not intereſts, and intercourſe, with nations who affect to deſpiſe them? and who yet take refuge in their induſtry, to be fur⯑niſhed with what their own idleneſs and effe⯑minacy denies?

And with reſpect to the ſacred love of free⯑dom, is there, has there ever been, a people on earth, in whom the paſſion for liberty was [291]more conſpicuous? It is with reaſon that they have been accuſed of having often carried the amor patriae too far, and not ſeldom of having miſtaken it: but, even their misfortunes and miſtakes, proceeding from their many public or private wars, could never vanquiſh the un⯑conquerable ſpirit of induſtry. In common with their Flemiſh neighbours, their little ſpeck of watery land, has, for ages, been fought for; and whenever the ravages of uſurpation, treaſon, or other cauſes, have laid their cities low, and their country waſte, they have rebuilt the one, and repleniſhed the other, with a de⯑gree of reſolute determination not to be ſur⯑paſſed in the arts of induſtry, whatever they may be in the arts of deſtruction.—In a word, my dear-loved correſpondent, ſince my reſidence in, and rambles about, this curious country, ſo little indebted to nature, and ſo unſpeakably obliged to art, I have, times beyond number⯑ing, reflected on thoſe delightful lines of our delicious Thomſon, where the effects of that very power (by which no leſs in our own country, than in theſe provinces, ſuch wonders have been atchieved) are traced with ſo maſ⯑terly a hand. Let me beg of you to accept them, not only with a view to their exact ap⯑plication to the people we have been treating [292]of, but to give you that pleaſure which a man of your juſt taſte muſt derive from every freſh view of exquiſite painting. I by no means wiſh to rob England of its original right to the deſcription; but, whoever viſits Holland, will have reaſon to confeſs that every line has its force, its beauty, and its truth, as applied to what will there be met with.

I muſt tear myſelf from the magic of this au⯑thor, or I ſhall tranſcribe the whole paſſage, and I know you are not, any more than myſelf, a friend to long quotations.

The United States, you know, conſiſt of ſeven provinces or counties, viz. Holland, Utrecht, Zealand, Friezeland, Overyſſel, Drenthe, and Guilderland, with the ſurrounding coun⯑tries of Groninguen, and that part of Flanders, known by the name of Dutch Brabant. Theſe provinces contribute in different proportions to the ſervice of the public. For example, if their High Mightineſſes wanted to raiſe one hundred florins (Guilders) the proportion would be as follows:

[294]Of the ſeven counties, that of Holland is the moſt powerful and flouriſhing; and accord⯑ingly the ſingle city of Amſterdam contributes for the ſupport of the States more than ſixteen millions of florins yearly. Notwithſtanding which, it holds only the fifth rank in the Aſ⯑ſembly of their High Mightineſſes, diſtin⯑guiſhed only by the privilege of ſending two deputies more than any of the other towns. So much has been ſaid of this particular pro⯑vince in my general Gleanings, of what re⯑lated to the Stadtholder and States General, that we may paſs on to the next in order, after we have noticed two points that were omitted in our former deſcriptions—the taxes and the ſtate of religion.

As to the firſt, it is certain there is not a country in the world more heavily charged with impoſts than that of the Dutch, eſpecially in the province of Holland. Bread, wine, beer, fiſh, fleſh, fowl, fruits, vegetables, fire, and in ſhort almoſt every neceſſary of life, are all onerated, and with a rigour as if they were ſo many luxuries. Theſe taxes amount to a third of the value of the commodity, to be paid by thoſe who ſell, and conſequently by thoſe who buy, as the ſeller raiſes the price of each ar⯑ticle [295]in proportion. If amongſt the cavils which were made againſt Old England, we are to reckon thoſe which proceed from taxations, it may afford the murmurers ſome conſolation to underſtand that their near neighbours are burthened yet more ſeverely than themſelves, and that it would be difficult to mention a ſingle article which has eſcaped—ſalt, ſoap, TOBACCO, one of their abſolutely neceſſaries,— tea, coffee, chocolate, maſters, ſervants, carts, coaches, horſes, aſſes, houſe, and land, all go to the maintenance of the Republic, on a principle of literally, ſtate neceſſity. The tax on houſes augments, or diminiſhes, according to their ſituation, their magnificence, and the date of their erection.

In any great emergence, their High Mighti⯑neſſes levy the hundredth, or the two hundredth, part on the whole property of the inhabitants given on the oath of each individual. The duty on all ſtamps is, in itſelf, a very great re⯑venue, and ſo ſtrictly guarded, that neither fa⯑vour nor fineſſe can find a loop-hole to creep out, and all contracts, public or private, not made upon ſtampt paper, are not only void, but the offenders puniſhed with all the rigours [296]of the law, which rigours, by the bye, are fre⯑quently put in force.

The duties on Holland, as the moſt opulent province, conſtitutes the half of what is pro⯑duced to government by the whole of the Re⯑public: and after Holland, the moſt burthened is Friezeland, then Zealand. We have been told, that during the war with England, in 1665, they raiſed double the ordinary revenue, which is allowed to be near two millions ſter⯑ling; and it has been ſaid, that on the occa⯑ſion of the laſt general war, which began in 1702, and ended in 1713, they raiſed near five millions ſterling every year, which the finan⯑ciers of the country aſſert is the utmoſt ſum of which the States are capable. The proportion between this Republic, and England, is calcu⯑lated as five to ſeven; that is, ſuppoſing the ſubject equally burthened.

But they have favoured their great ſource of trade as much as poſſible, raiſing rather by ex⯑ciſes than cuſtoms, for fear, ſays Carter, of driving ſo unſtable a traveller into other coun⯑tries. This indulgence ſhewn to what may, properly, be called their ſtaple commodity, (commerce) is according to a maxim of two [297]of their moſt illuſtrious Republicans. "In Hollandia et Zelandia, etiam nuptiis tri⯑butum impoſitum; ſed me mori quidem ibi licet impune," ſays BYNHERSHOECK.

Some articles, ſuch as ſalt, is taxed whether conſumed or not. All ſales of moveables, com⯑prehending grain, cattle, and all produce of land, pay the 80th penny; horſes the 12th; immovables the 40th.

A very ingenious writer, by way alſo of con⯑ſoling the Engliſh reader, has detailed, and with great accuracy, ſome of the taxes I have not hitherto noticed.

For inſtance. The land-tax is two florins ſixteen ſtivers per acre; the dykes two florins three ſtivers and rent about 20s. per acre.

Houſes pay as far as 40l. ſterling.

One of their moſt ſingular impoſts is what they call a collateral tax, which is a levy on in⯑heritants out of the direct line, laid in the pro⯑vince where the property, not the perſon, of the deceaſed was lodged. This is ſuppoſed to bring, [298]in the courſe of a few generations, all private property into the coffers of the public.

There is a tax of 2l. per cent. on every man's income, ſtated on oath. Wine pays an exciſe of 3l. per hogſhead. Small beer 50 per cent. another of 2 per cent. on the revenue of all offices, excepting thoſe in the army. This is called Acmpt Geldt; that on income, Famille Geldt.

Every man, appointed to an office, muſt buy ſtocks to a certain amount, and tear the bonds, which renders offices a kind of annuity, yield⯑ing to the purchaſer about 12 or 14 l. per cent. This tax is named Aempt Obligaties, or recog⯑nitions.

All manufactures, uſed in the country, pay exorbitant charges, to ſpare thoſe levied by the ſeveral admiralties; and the Dutch Eaſt-India Company pays, as a compenſation for its charter, about 36,000l. ſterling annually: but, in addition, each ſhare of 6000 florins pays 480 florins annually, whether there is a dividend or not.

The revenues, therefore, if we include what is paid to the ſeveral towns and corporations, may be eſtimated at about 24 millions of florins, [299]levied on a population of about 800,000 ſouls: ſo that, on an average, each perſon contri⯑butes about thirty florins, or two guineas and an half Engliſh, when exchange is moſt in our favour. An immenſe ſum, if we conſider place and people; yet the Republic not only ſub⯑ſiſts, and moves, but flouriſhes—not, however, without heavy ^* murmuring, as we ſhall ſee preſently. The loſſes, we are told, ſuſtained by their Eaſt India Company, ſince the year 1780, in conſequence of the rupture with England, amounted to about ſeventy millions of florins, equal to about ſix millions, one hundred and twenty-five pounds ſterling, reckoning the florin at its uſual rate.

Amongſt the different reports that are made of the religion of the States, whether eſtabliſhed or permitted, I find the following account to be the beſt, becauſe the trueſt.

The prevailing religion, is, you know, that of Calvin, though every other ſect is tolerated. Jews, Lutherans, Anabaptiſts, &c. hold their aſſemblies, without any interruption from the [300]Dutch government. Thoſe of the Catholic religion are the leaſt favoured, not that they are diſturbed in the exerciſe of their particular faith, but that they have few privileges, and thoſe few at the option, ſometimes at the ca⯑price of the magiſtrates, who, more than ſel⯑dom, exerciſe their authority with tyranny. In the little province of Drenthe, for inſtance, if a Catholic prieſt ſtays longer than one night at any one place, it is at the riſque of his life, ſo that he is obliged to hurry over his reli⯑gious duties, and adminiſter the ſacramental elements with more haſte than is conſiſtent with the nature of ſuch pious ceremonies. Even in Amſterdam, where the Roman Catho⯑lics are in prodigious numbers, they are obliged to perform their religious exerciſes in private houſes, having no public churches or chapels appropriated to their uſe in that great city, although, when they did, it is permitted for them to have burial in the ground apper⯑taining to the reformed churches. It either is, or looks rigorous in a Republic, avow⯑ing univerſal toleration, that, in ſome towns, the people of different perſuaſions are obliged to pay a very heavy tax for the free con⯑feſſion of their faith, and even in the pro⯑vinces, where they are treated with the leaſt [301]aſperity, the Dutch have an eye upon them as perſons rather ſuffered than deſired. The Ca⯑tholic prieſts are conſtrained, moreover, to wear a ſecular dreſs. In ſpiritual affairs they had been a long while governed by an apoſtolic vicar, ſent by the Pope, with permiſſion, or ra⯑ther as you may gather from what has been ſaid, with the toleration, and endurance of the States-General. The laſt of theſe vicars, was John Van Bylvelt, appointed by Pope Clement the XI. but ſince his deceaſe, which happened in 1727, they have been under the juriſdiction of a Cardinal, or an Inter-Nuncio, who is not a little put to it frequently, to ſettle the differ⯑ences which ſubſiſt either amongſt themſelves, or the Dutch prieſts.

With reſpect to the Proteſtant clergy of the Provinces, they are without any ſort of autho⯑rity in the Republic. All the miniſters amongſt them are equal, and wholly independent on each other. Neither at their Eccleſiaſtical meetings, is there any ſort of precedence, ex⯑cept that of ſeniority; in which caſe, young divines ſettled in the great towns, however popular they may be in other reſpects, are obliged to give place to the pooreſt curate of the pooreſt village, who is of longer ſtanding [302]in the church. They know nothing of the titular diſtinctions of biſhop, ſuperintendant, or director-general, in uſage amongſt other Proteſtant countries. Their appointments are fixed at ſmall ſalaries, the greateſt not exceed⯑ing two thouſand florins, but they are paid with ſcrupulous exactneſs.

In the United Provinces are admitted four Eccleſiaſtical courts, the names of which are, the Conſiſtory, the Claſſes, the Provincial Synod, and the National Synod. The three firſt conſtitute the Ordinary Aſſembly, and the fourth is the Extraordinary; which is, there⯑fore, never held but on great occaſions and emergencies. But even in the direction of all theſe, the magiſtrates of each town have very conſiderable influence, whenever they think fit to aſſert it. This, of courſe, as magiſtrates have always the paſſions, and ſometimes the weakneſſes of common men, is conſidered as another grievance, inconſiſtent with that free⯑dom of conſcience, of which every wholeſome ſtate, particularly one founded on Republican principles, ought to be jealous; leſt, therefore, you ſhould ſuppoſe from the intermeddling, or uſurpation, or authority, of theſe powerful civil magiſtrates, more deſpotiſm than is prac⯑tiſed; [303]I will ſet down the character given them, by Saint Evremond; becauſe, after very dili⯑gently watching their conduct, I can aſſure you, it is not more candid than juſt. I have, in a former letter, obſerved to you, that this writer took refuge, and became reſidentiary in Holland, to avoid the Baſtile, with whoſe pains and penalties he was threatened.

"After having lived, ſays he, in the con⯑ſtraint of courts, I feel pleaſed at the thought of ending my days in the liberty of a Republic; where, if I have nothing to hope, I have no⯑thing to fear. The magiſtrates here, deſerve what I ſhall ſay of them. You do not ſee amongſt them thoſe hateful diſtinctions which are ſo wounding to an honeſt mind, conſcious of its own dignity; no uſeleſs pomps and va⯑nities of exterior which are diſadvantageous to the true ideas of liberty, without advancing fortune. The magiſtrates here, ſecure to us the repoſe of a wiſe police, without expecting that miſerable proſtration, which ſullies the benefits we receive from many other govern⯑ments, which, indeed, ſullies our own nature. We pay even too dearly for liberty, at leaſt for ſecurity, when we purchaſe it at the price of our manly principles. This is rarely the [304]caſe with the people in power here. In the internal legiſlation they are ſtrict even to ſe⯑verity; they are proud in their treaties with other countries; but it is a pride founded on the baſis of Republican dignity; but they do buſineſs with each other, and enter into the various intereſts of their fellow citizens, with⯑out any abſurd parade, or idle expectations of ſuperfluous homage."

It hence appears, that they maintain the very difficult art of blending power with equality; an art by which, thus managed, authority may be aſſerted without inſolence, and the prerogative of magiſtracy ſupported without trenching on the honeſt privileges of the people. Every thing beyond this is con⯑fuſion, tyranny, and fraud, whether exerciſed by people, or magiſtrate. The world is filled with inſtances, which, are, indeed, co-eval almoſt with the world itſelf; and yet, my friend, notwithſtanding them all, the dreadful times before us, ſhew, that neither the magiſtrates, nor the people of Holland, or of France, have profited ſo much as they might have done from ſuch multitude of examples: or, at leaſt, have been able to prevent thoſe exceſſes which cer⯑tain daring ſpirits, mixing with a mob, are [305]daily introducing. The truth is, there is not ſuch a monſter in created Nature, as he who miſtakes the true and adopts the falſe ideas of liberty; nor one ſo capable of doing miſchief to others and to himſelf. Of this hereafter. Zealand, now commands our attention. Its extent is only ſixty miles, yet, within that narrow ſpace, is contained eight capital towns, and above an hundred villages, without count⯑ing the many, which, at different times, were deſtroyed, and ſwallowed by inundations. The government is on the footing with that of Hol⯑land. The States of Zealand aſſemble at Middlebourg, the capital. Thoſe States are compoſed of the deputies of ſix principal towns: but, though one would think they were competent to try civil cauſes belonging to their own Province, all ſuch are judged at the Hague: yet they have what is called the Council of Flanders, compoſed of nine Counſellors, a Preſident, a Fiſcal, a Collector, and a Greffier, or Secretary of the Province, reſiding at Middlebourg. In times paſt, the Zealanders diſtinguiſhed themſelves in the wars with Spain, and in various naval engagements. They are, now, no leſs remarkable for their maritime commerce, and are a very induſtrious, as well as brave people. In the iſles of this Province, [306]ſtood, formerly, the town of Rommerſwael, the very traces of which have been buried, long ſince, in a watery grave. Between the years 1551, and 1563, it was ſix times laid under water by the furious inroads of the ſea, whoſe waves have been known to riſe twelve feet above the higheſt ground, whereon the church was built. The town houſe was, by theſe re⯑peated inundations, wholly undermined. In 1634, the States of Zealand, which had, from time to time, advanced large ſums, by way of loan, to this unfortunate town, (againſt which the ocean had ſo often declared war) conſidered it as in a ſtate of bankruptcy; and, however ridiculous it may ſeem, took out a bill of in⯑ſolvency againſt its miſerable wreck; for they converted the very ſtones of the ſtreets, and a few ſeattered ruins into a ſum of money, which they appropriated as creditors; although it amounted only to 540 florins, 18 ſtivers, about eight and forty pounds; a ſlender dividend amongſt ſo many rapacious claimants!

The celebrated little port of Fluſhing, is ſituated in this county. A beautiful arm of the ſea flows through the whole town, which is, therefore, rich and agreeable; for ſhips of burthen ſail with their freights to the very door [307]of the merchant. The hiſtory of its revolution having little more than what has been the fate of almoſt every other place worth quarrelling for, I ſhall paſs over, but that you may be no loſer, ſhall dwell with fonder delay, on what will more intereſt you than a meagre account of victory and defeat.

Fluſhing is the birth place of Admiral de Ruyter, of whom I have already had oc⯑caſion to make honourable mention. Have you ever met with the following epigram written ſoon after his death, which happened at Syracuſe, in conſequence of the wounds he received in an engagement with the French, under command of the famous Abraham du Queſne, before the town of Aouſte in Sicily?

Of Abraham du Queſne, who had the honour of conquering De Ruyter, there is a curious anecdote that deſerves mention. He was a Norman gentleman, and a Proteſtant, but had, nevertheleſs, greater claims on Louis the Four⯑teenth, whom he ſerved, than moſt of the [308]Catholic Admirals of France. The number and magnitude of his ſervices juſtly entitled him to the patronage of his king, of whom he ſollicited the dignity of Mareſchal of France. Your religion, ſaid Louis, ſtands in the way of your appointment to that office. What! Sire, anſwered the Admiral, I find then, that though my religion did not hinder me from giving your majeſty my ſervices, yours prevents you from rewarding them.

As a ſalvo, the king preſented him with a very fine eſtate in one of the faireſt parts of his kingdom, and which was raiſed ſoon after to a marquiſate, bearing the name of Du Queſne.

The remains of the houſe where De Ruyter was born, is preſerved with care, and ſhewn to the traveller with triumph.

There is ſome very pretty ſcenery in Zea⯑land, that might furniſh the poets, or the painters, with good landſcapes, ‘"Live in deſcription, and look green in ſong."’ There are, alſo, ſome very fine churches and town halls, the beſt of which are thoſe of Middleburg, Trevor, and Fluſhing.

[309]The next Province in rank is Utrecht, and though one of the ſmalleſt, was, formerly, of ſuch conſequence, as to raiſe, and maintain, an army of forty thouſand able men. In that puiſſant period of its hiſtory, the Biſhops of Utrecht had it in domination, and called themſelves the Lords Spiritual and Temporal. This ſovereignty was given to the Eccleſiaſtics, by Charlemagne, the Emperor, as a reward for their having laboured the converſion of the Inſidels. The rapacious, or if you will, the victorious, Louis XIV. at the head of an hun⯑dred thouſand men, made himſelf maſter of the whole of this Province, and of the greater part of Overyſſel, Guelderland, and Holland, in 1672, in leſs than a month; which gave riſe to the following couplet.

This has been imitated in French thus.

A poetical gaſconade, which I ſhall not aid and abet by an Engliſh verſion, which to you [310]would be unneceſſary; and to unlearned readers of no uſe. I offer it to you only to ſhew how the poets of France, as well as thoſe of our own country, can proſtitute their art at the ſhrine of greatneſs; and furthermore, to obſerve, how delighted greatneſs ſometimes is with little things! It is ſaid the flattered monarch ap⯑pointed the author of theſe adulatory lines to a place in his houſehold, worth three thouſand livres a-year! The verſes are not worth three ſols.

But, what yet more ſtrongly exhibits the va⯑nity of conqueſt, and the ambitious avarice of conquerors, all theſe places ſo rapidly ſub⯑dued, were as rapidly, given up, after the ſovereign had done all the miſchief he could by demoliſhing the fortifications and impo⯑veriſhing the people! Thus it is, that the rage of plunder ſucceeds to that of blood, and that what is begun by ambition, continued by avarice, and cloſed in robbery, forms an hero, and obtains immortal honour, in military affairs, although in civil ones, any one of them would conduct a man to the gallows; and gibbet his name and memory, to after times, as an aſſaſſin and a thief!

[311]With reſpect to the capital of this Province, (which is in the beaten road of almoſt all travellers, and which has been written about by ſo many) you have, doubtleſs, often read, and heard, that, though it has not one remarkable ſtructure, except the ſteeple of the Cathedral, of which I ſend you an engraving; it has the reputation, and, perhaps, deſervedly, of being one of the moſt beautiful cities of modern Europe; that it is larger than the Hague, and diſputes with it the palm of faſhion and ele⯑gance, that it commands, from ſome of its eminences, fifty-one walled towns, all being within a day's journey, that it has to boaſt an univerſity, out of which have been given to the world ſome of its moſt uſeful and ornamental members; that it was the reſidence of the learned, pious, and humble Pope Adrian, who has, juſtly, been called the worthieſt Pontiff that ever graced the See of Rome; and who was deemed by the emperor Maximilian, the only fit perſon to be truſted with the edu⯑cation of his grandſon, Charles the Fifth. Nor can you be ignorant, that this city will for ever be execrated by Britons, on account of the Barrier Treaty; and no leſs reverenced by, at leaſt, one party of Dutchmen for the ce⯑lebrated union.

[312]Of the firſt, our Engliſh hiſtories are too full for any thing to be added, and perhaps it is amongſt the IMPOLICIES of government, which it would be as well to forget, ſince it is not without reaſon, politicians, of all countries, have attributed to this treaty many of the diſ⯑graceful difficulties Great Britain has ſince groaned under, and many which are probably in advance.

Of the latter, though not leſs known with reſpect to its exiſtence, I ſhall refreſh your me⯑mory with a few of the moſt important parti⯑culars, becauſe they may be neceſſary to illuſ⯑trate ſome of thoſe cauſes of the famous revo⯑lution which was attempted at this time, and whoſe grand object was to ſubvert every prin⯑ciple on which the union had been eſtabliſhed, with a view ‘to diminiſh, as much as poſſible, the power of the States General, to attach the privileges of the Stadtholder, to aſſert, on all occaſions, the independence of the States of Holland, and to diſregard the op⯑poſition of ſuch Members of the Union as they ſhould be unable to draw over to their intereſts.’

In One Thouſand Five Hundred and Seventy⯑nine, the Seven Provinces, harraſſed, galled, [313]and worn out with perpetual tyrannies, put an end to the deliberations of this far-famed treaty, which contained the fundamental laws of the Republic, and may be conſidered as the origin of the Conſtitution.

By one of the articles it was ſtipulated, that no truce ſhall be accorded, no peace made, no war entered upon, nor any tax, or impoſt of any kind levied, without the unanimous con⯑ſent of the Provinces.

By another, that no Province, or City ſhall be empowered to enter into any confederation, nor form any alliance with the neighbour⯑ing nations, or their ſovereigns, without the like univerſal aſſent of all the States of the Republic.

They were, moreover, to aid, and aſſiſt one another in all caſes againſt a foreign invader or enemy; they were to be allowed the freedom of a difference in their religious ceremonies, conformably to the pacification of Gand; equal adminiſtration of impartial juſtice to ſtrangers, as to natives of the country; to pay equal taxes according to the powers of each Province [314]at that time ſettled, on fair equipoiſe of divi⯑ſion, and not to alter any of the articles of the ſaid creaty without the ſolemn concurrence of all the States aſſembled.

The friends to the Houſe of Orange conſi⯑der the treaty, out of which I have taken theſe prominent features, as the ſacred portrait of the public wealth and happineſs: as that bleſſed heptarchy, which, ſo far from degenerating into anarchy, orders and ſtrengthens the links in the well-compacted chain of the Republic.

The Dutch patriots, nevertheleſs, frequently diſſatisfied, at laſt projected, and had very nearly carried into execution, their favourite alterations—the moſt important of which were "That the forms of the preſent Government ſhould continue to ſubſiſt, but that the States ſhould become, in every reſpect, completely independent of the Stadtholder, and that for this purpoſe, he ſhould no longer enjoy a ſeat in any of the colleges of the Republic. That the Reglemens ſhould be aboliſhed. That the Stadtholder's right of recommending candi⯑dates for the vacant magiſtracies in the towns of Holland, ſhould ceaſe. That the charges of the Stadtholder, and Captain-General, ſhould, [315]if poſſible, be ſeparated, and conferred on dif⯑ferent perſons; or that, at leaſt, the titles only ſhould be reſerved to the Prince of Orange; and the offices be executed as in the time of the De Witts, by Deputies choſen for the purpoſe. In general, that the Stadtholder ſhould poſſeſs ſuch powers only as might enable him to execute the orders of the State—a ſort of upper ſervant of the Republic! That the hereditary Stadt⯑holderate ſhould continue in the Prince of Orange, on his acceptance of theſe terms, but that, in caſe of his refuſal, the different States ſhould be at liberty to elect another Stadt⯑holder.

Of what this plan was productive at the time it was formed, and what it mediated yet more recently we ſhall ſee in their places.

Ah my friend, how difficult it is to preſcribe proper bounds to freedom! or rather, how eaſy it is to preſcribe, and how difficult to follow the rules, where men are determined to exact more, or ſubmit to leſs, than their na⯑tural rights. Reaſon, religion, and juſtice, ought certainly to be the active agents of all human government—"their ways are ways of pleaſantneſs, and all their paths are peace;" [316]nor does any thing more ſeem requiſite to ob⯑tain all the bleſſings of their gentle and bene⯑volent ſway than to draw the true line of diſ⯑tinction betwixt liberty and licentiouſneſs. It would be well for all perſons diſpoſed to cavil with their Governors, or with Government, to conſider what an able politician has ſubmit⯑ted to their conſideration. ‘As war, (ſays he) is one of the heavieſt of evils, a calamity which involves every ſpecies of miſery; as it ſets the general ſafety to hazard; as it ſuſ⯑pends commerce, and deſolates the country; as it expoſes great numbers to hardſhips, cap⯑tivity, and death; no man, who deſires pub⯑lic proſperity, will inflame general reſentment by aggravating minute injuries, or enforcing diſputable rights of little importance;’ and with reſpect to Liberty, it is not, as my learned and excellent friend, Mr. Potter, obſerves, ‘a ſickly exotic, raiſed in a foreign hotbed of ſedition, and watered with human blood; but like our oak, a native of our iſland, rooted in its ſoil, raiſed to its magnificent growth by the genial air of the climate, and preſerved in everlaſting vigour by our free conſtitu⯑tion.’ Nor can I, in this place, refuſe to join the virtuous ſentiments of the great and good man from whom I have gleaned this beau⯑tiful [317]image; and moſt heartily rejoice with him that the public ſpirit is now rouſed, not only to defend theſe bleſſings at home, but to re⯑ſtore them abroad. The public faith is now engaged to protect, not only our allies, but our enemies (even thoſe who bear us an almoſt hereditary hate) againſt the inſidious artifices, and hoſtile attacks of athetiſtical, ferocious, and ſanguinary ruffians, who have violated every law human and divine, and declared war againſt all mankind: ‘"Havock, and ſpoil, and ruin are their gain."’ But happily the "ſcientific principle," which hath been held out as the "polar ſtar," by which the veſſel of the State was to be guided in a bolder navigation, to diſcover, in unexplored regions, the treaſures of public felicity, is found to be a meteor whoſe baleful glare has led theſe wretched pilots to daſh it againſt a rock in a tempeſtuous ſea, where it muſt inevitably periſh, without God himſelf delivers it from the danger—the God of armies, whoſe red right arm this unhappy people ſeem particu⯑larly to have called forth. What other atro⯑cious deeds are deſtined to fill up the meaſure of their guilt, we muſt leave to that Almighty Power, who, as in the dreadful example be⯑fore [318]us, "ariſeth to ſhake terribly the earth;" and whether it is by peſtilence, by earthquakes, by ſtorm and tempeſt, or by the ſword and fierceneſs of man, we muſt adopt the creed of this degraded nation, ere we can ceaſe to be⯑lieve all theſe are delegated by an offended God: but how far the commiſſion to deſtroy extends, we cannot know. The French ap⯑pear almoſt to have exhauſted the wide and capacious powers of human invention to do evil.

But all this is anticipation. How have I been led into it? Againſt my own purpoſed intent too—of reſerving what I have to offer on theſe ſubjects to a more convenient ſeaſon, af⯑ter I have done with themes of peace. It is, indeed, difficult to do this in the midſt of con⯑tinual alarms, which threaten not only the in⯑fatuated people to whom theſe obſervations are more immediately applicable, but every other government, and all thoſe well-ordered eſta⯑bliſhments amongſt men, which the wiſdom, labour, and patriotiſm of ages have inſtituted. Return with me to the Province of Utrecht; there, at the tombs of the learned and wiſe, the great and good, let us get knowledge and un⯑derſtanding.

[319]The town of Utrecht, you know, was either the birth or burial place of many illuſtrious men, particularly the two Burmans, Graevius and Graenovius; of all whom ſtrangers are here ſhewn the ſeats, where "nobly penſive they ſat and thought;" the places where they lived, and where they now ſleep the ſleep of death. Graevius, of whom the real name was Graew, taught politicks, eloquence, and hiſtory, in this univerſity upwards of forty years. His great work (the "Treaſures of Ancient Rome, its Antiquities, &c.") is an immenſe collection of different pieces upon the laws, cuſtoms, and manners of the Romans, in thirteen volumes folio, and written in conjunction with Grae⯑novius, Profeſſor of Belles Lettres and Geo⯑graphy. Of theſe great men, as well as of their friend and ſcholar Peter Burman, our Literary Atlas, Samuel Johnſon, has ſpoken in high terms. One of the qualities, ſays the Doctor, which contributed eminently to qua⯑lify Graevius for an inſtructor of youth was the ſagacity by which he readily diſcovered the predominant faculty of each pupil, and the pe⯑culiar deſignation by which nature had allotted him to any ſpecies of literature, and by which he was ſoon able to determine that Peter Bur⯑man was remarkably adapted to claſſical ſtu⯑dies, [320]and to predict the great advances he would make by induſtriouſly purſuing the direction of his genius. On the other hand, animated by the encouragement of a tutor, ſo celebrated as Graevius, Peter Burman, by continuing the vigour of his application, fulfilled his maſter's prophecy; and it has been aſſerted that he had paſſed honourably and fairly through the claſſes, and was admitted into the univerſity, at the age of thirteen. His biographer allows this to be ſo ſtupendous a progreſs as to ſurpaſs the li⯑mits of all probability; of which, indeed, every man muſt be ſenſible, who conſiders that it is not uncommon for the higheſt genius in our country to be entangled for ten years in thoſe thorny paths of literature which Burman is repreſented to have paſſed in leſs than two. But this prodigy has been cleared up very ſa⯑tisfactorily by the following obſervation. In the univerſities of foreign countries, they have profeſſors of philology or humanity, whoſe employment is to inſtruct the younger claſſes in grammar, rhetoric, and languages; nor do they engage in the ſtudy of philoſophy, till they have paſſed through a courſe of philo⯑logical lectures and exerciſes, to which, in ſome places, two years are commonly allotted. Whereas the Engliſh ſcheme of education, [321]which, with regard to academical ſtudies, is more vigorous, and ſets literary honours at a higher price than that of any other country, exacts from the youth, who are initiated in our colleges, a degree of philological knowledge, ſufficient to qualify them for lectures in phi⯑loſophy, which are read to them in Latin, and to enable them to proceed in other ſtudies without aſſiſtance; ſo that it may be conjec⯑tured that Burman, at his entrance into the univerſity of Leyden, had no ſuch ſkill in languages, nor ſuch ability of compoſition as are frequently to be met with in the higher claſſes of an Engliſh ſchool; nor was, perhaps, at that time, more than moderately ſkilled in Latin, and taught the firſt rudiments of Greek.

The next object is Friezeland, which has always maintained a kind of rivalſhip with the province laſt conſidered. It is a ſeigneurie, containing a circuit of five-and-forty leagues. The inhabitants have been, at all times, war⯑like and jealous of their liberties. Originally they had a Roman education, which may ac⯑count for this ardent amor patriae, having ſerved under the emperors Tiberius and Nero, both [322]of whom looked on them as the beſt and braveſt ſoldiers of Germany.

It muſt be confeſſed, however, that their early hiſtory, like that of moſt other nations, is involved in fables; and they trace their princes in pretended and pompous ſucceſſion, from the time of Alexander the Great.

Their name is derived from their firſt prince, Friſon, who came from Aſia three hundred and thirty years before the birth of our Saviour.

This province was afterwards erected into a monarchy, and then under the ſway of go⯑vernors. It afterwards came, by right of con⯑queſt, to a brother of a Prince of Orange; and two years after the famous pacification of Ghent, in 1572, it was annexed, by a kind of union reſembling that of England and Scot⯑land, to the States of Holland. The firſt Stadtholder of this province was a brother of William, the celebrated founder of the Re⯑public.

Friezeland is out of the beaten and popular track of travellers, although there is not any of the ſeven provinces, my friend, which has [323]more claim to their curioſity. An Engliſhman in particular will here find himſelf at home. The face of the country, the general manners of the people, their modes of living, and their very language aſſimilates to Great Britain.

The meadow grounds, and pretty incloſures, perpetually remind an Engliſh traveller of his native grounds; and the arable land is ſo fa⯑vourable to the gifts of Ceres, that what, in theſe iron days, ſeems a poetical figure, is a li⯑teral truth in Friezeland, ‘"Where ev'ry rood of ground maintains his man."’ The ſoil is ſo grateful to the labour of the huſ⯑bandman, that it returns his corn, eſpecially his wheat an hundred fold; and it is not more re⯑markable for quantity than quality. The oats are alſo admirable; to which may, perhaps, be imputed the peculiar growth and ſtrength of the horſes that are bred and nouriſhed here.

I was gleaning this province, when warlike preparations were making for the preſent diſ⯑pute, betwixt France and the reſt of the uni⯑verſe; and an order of the States for five hun⯑dred horſe was executed, to the ſatisfaction of [324]the Commiſſioner, in eight-and-forty hours. The Friezelanders live in the moſt perfect good fellowſhip with each other, and having good houſes, good horſes, good property, and good⯑nature, are at once healthy, happy, and ſocial; and what in a province of Holland, or, now⯑a-days in any country, is not leſs remarkable, they are wholly exempt from tythes.

When you viſit this province, let me direct your ſteps to Staverin, the moſt ancient town of Friezeland, and ſaid to be built a year after the birth of Chriſt. It is indebted for its name to the idol Stavon, and is very curiouſly ſitu⯑ated upon a point of the gulph of the Zuyder⯑ſea, oppoſite to Holland. Innumerable ſand⯑banks inveſt the coaſt, inaſmuch, that when the ſea is at ebb, many of them are viſible; eſ⯑pecially one, concerning which there is an anecdote, that I ſhall commit to your credu⯑lity. This bank is called l'Vrouwenland (wi⯑dow's land) becauſe the ſuperſtition goes that a rich widow threw into this place a great quan⯑tity of corn, which ſhe had avariciouſly fore⯑ſtalled, and heaped up in a time of general ſcarcity, and which ſhe wanted the generoſity to give, or even the juſtice to ſell to her ſtarving neighbours. Now, although the grain [325]thus ſquandered away was deſtroyed, it was not, it ſeems, ſuffered to be diſſipated, even by the devouring waves; but was ordered by the power, who "rules old Ocean, and directs the ſtorm," to remain a monument of his wrath, and embarraſs the haven, where this guilty ac⯑tion was committed; ſerving, at the ſame time, as a leſſon to the hard-hearted!

About three miles from Staveren is Mol⯑quern, where they ſpeak a jargon ſcarce intel⯑ligible to the moſtexpert linguiſts of Friezeland, and where the houſes are ſeparated from each other in a manner ſo truly whimſical, that a ſtranger finds himſelf more in want of a clue, than if he were threading the mazes of Roſamond's bower. On your entrance into the town, you will be viſited by a guide, who will conduct you through the windings of this meandering town. The dreſs of the people, and the architecture of the place, leads one to ſuppoſe they are of Saxon origin.

The province of Over-yſſel, follows, in order, that of Friezeland. There is a tradition that the Salique law was firſt inſtituted in that part of Over-yſſel called Zallant,—agreeable to which pretenſion, one of the moſt important [326]articles of that law, reſpecting fiefs and land⯑tenures, is ſtill ſo religiouſly obſerved, that eſtates of the above deſcription are always en⯑tailed upon heirs male, to the excluſion of females.

I cannot recommend to you many things in this province, either curious or beautiful; but if you pay it a paſſing viſit, you will not fail to make the town of Zwol amongſt your ex⯑curſions, becauſe near it the virtuous Thomas à Kempis lived and died. I was aſſured that he there wrote his juſtly valued Imitation of Chriſt.

In the beginning of the year 1718, was con⯑ducted into Zwol a wild girl, who was found in the woods of Cranenbourg. She was about eighteen years of age, and, except a truſs of ſtraw round her waiſt, was entirely naked. She ſpoke a jargon, which neither the learned men of the province, nor the peaſants underſtood. Her nouriſhment, even after civilization, was herbs, roots, and leaves of trees. She was diſcovered by the country people many months before ſhe was caught, as ſhe ran with incre⯑dible ſpeed, and took refuge, in the receſſes of the foreſt, the moment ſhe was purſued, and was [327]at laſt taken only by ſtratagem. Nets and traps were laid and ſet for her, and in one of theſe ſhe was entangled. When caught, ſhe manifeſted a gentle and docile diſpoſition, and recommended herſelf ſo much to the perſons who had her in charge, that the magiſtrates of Zwol became intereſted for her; and in the hope of throwing ſome light on her hiſtory, advertiſed her ſhape, features, &c. with ſuch exactneſs, that it came out a widow woman of Antwerp had loſt her only child, a daughter, whoſe perſon and age anſwered to that of the wild girl of the woods. Struck with the ſimi⯑litude, the widow haſtened to Zwol, and at the firſt glance recognized her offspring, who teſ⯑tified, on her part, no leſs natural affection to⯑wards her mother, to whoſe protection ſhe was delivered, and with whom ſhe paſſed many years in filial piety, the wonder and pity of innumerable witneſſes to her ſingular fate, and as ſingular good qualities—the growth only of ſimple nature.

The Seigneurie of Groninguen was anciently a part of Friezeland, from which it is now di⯑vided, both with reſpect to government and laws. Conſidered as a ſeparate province, it is of no great extent, comprehending in its terri⯑tory [328]only the land lying between the rivers Een and Lawer. This is ſufficiently fertile, and the chief town, which gives a name to the whole county, is rich, large, and flouriſhing; in which deſcription, indeed, may be com⯑priſed the general character of the towns of Friezeland, to which may very truly be added, the beauty of the women, it being difficult to meet a Friezelander female, who has not ſome claim to admiration on the ſcore of her per⯑ſonal attractions, which perhaps derive ſome advantages from a pictureſque manner of head⯑dreſs, calculated to give an effect to an inno⯑cent and delicate countenance.

We come now to a very diſtinguiſhed part of the United States—namely, the beautiful and valuable province of Guelderland.

Geographers inſiſt that this is the country formerly inhabited by the people whom Julius Caeſar, in his Commentaries, has mentioned, under the names of the Merapii, Uſipetes, Gugerni, and Sicambri. Beſides the county of Zutphen, Guelderland conſiſts of twenty-two conſiderable t [...]wns, and more than three hun⯑dred villages. It has already been under the [329]government of Signiors, Counts, Dukes, and Chancellors.

In point of air, water, and elevation of country, it lifts itſelf pre-eminently above any of the United Provinces; and a traveller, after reſiding at the reſt, will regale himſelf in Guelderland, and gratulate himſelf on the ex⯑change. I have trod and re-trod, at different times, every part of it with pleaſure, and am again preparing to pay it a viſit; the particu⯑lars of which ſhall be in due place imparted to you.

The dutchy of Guelderland is connected with the county of Zuphen, as dependencies of the States General. Although, as I have before obſerved, the province of Holland is the moſt powerful, that of Guelderland is conſidered as deſerving to take the lead, as to elegance, health, and fertility, or rather imagery of coun⯑try. The capital towns are Arnheim and Nimeguen, of both which my promiſed future accounts will include a deſcription.

At preſent the weather relents, the world of ice yields to a genial thaw that has been gently [330]unbinding the froſt for ſome days; the ſluices once more open a paſſage for the Trechſcuyts, in one of which I ſhall to-morrow morning ſet off for Leyden, but not before I have ex⯑preſſed my hopes, that my ſtay at Rotterdam has been productive of ſome amuſement and information. The poſt awaits my pacquet, and I muſt ſay adieu.

LETTER XLIV. TO THE SAME.

AFTER being ſo long weather-bound in a town, I found a trip by water quite a re⯑lief, which was, perhaps, not a little aſſiſted by the companions of my voyage; for the ſchuyt was fertile of characters, amongſt which was a Dutch lady, who, having at leaſt twice doubled the matrimonial Cape of Good Hope, and juſt eſcaped the rocks of deſperate virgi⯑nity, was going to beſtow her hand on a per⯑ſon who ſtill thought either it, or the weight of gelt (money) it brought, an object of eſ⯑pouſal. She reſided at a village in the way to Leyden, and had been at Rotterdam to pur⯑chaſe finery for her bridals. The company were ſoon amuſed with a ſight of the articles, which ſhe diſplayed with an oſtentation that ſhewed her vanity both as to property and per⯑ſon; and it is often lucky for the poſſeſſors, that vanity, like love, is blind, otherwiſe this good lady would have ſeen, that neither her perſon or property were juſt objects of critical obſerva⯑tion; [332]the one being coarſe, and the other paltry. It would have highly delighted you, who have a correct taſte, to have been an eye⯑witneſs of this ſplendid vulgarity. The im⯑menſe bracelets, the ponderous ear-rings, the ſeven-fold necklaces, beſtudded with huge ſhining ſtones of many colours, indeed of all hues but the gentle, modeſt, and retiring ones. But far above the reſt, "ſuperior land alone," on a head made into a thick paſte, with pow⯑der and pomatum, ſhone forth a maſſy hair⯑pin, of roſe diamonds, which, inſtead of being airily faſtened, ſeemed nailed to her fore⯑head, on each ſide of which ſtuck a couple of new coquet-temple-patches, "round as a ſhield," of the ſize of an Engliſh half-crown, and ſpreading to the very eye-brow.

When you have ſufficiently admired theſe, I will call your attention to four tawdry rings, ornamenting four ugly brown fingers, which the amiable owner of them diſplayed as if they had been ſhaped by the goddeſs of ſymmetry. It is not eaſily poſſible to ſee a werſe aſſorted ſuite of decorations upon a more inelegant form; and ſtill more difficult would it be for any body to have a better opinion of either that form, or of thoſe decorations, than the fair ob⯑ject [333]to whom they belonged. How fortu⯑nately it is ordered, that our very awkwardneſſes are thus converted into objects of happineſs, by our ſelf-love, and that nothing more ſeems neceſſary to the felicity of the inelegant, than that (whatever may be another's idea of their taſte or attractions) they ſhould be upon the beſt terms with themſelves. Hence what you may contemn as vulgar, and regret as unfit for the faſhion of the hour, is appreciated by con⯑ceit, and thought to be both beautiful and becoming. A well-bred perſon, on the con⯑trary, is, for the ſake of his aſſociates, often obliged to ſacrifice even his vanity; at leaſt his vanity depends more on others than on himſelf, and cannot be gratified without the approbation of the refined part of the world; concerning which honeſt ill bred vulgarity is altogether careleſs, unleſs the applauſes of the world happen to concur with the eſtimate it forms of itſelf.

Our Dutch virgin, however, in her own adornment, did not forget to accommodate her intended bridegroom, whoſe taſte, ſhe aſſured us, ſhe had conſulted no leſs than her own (a lucky ſimilarity you will ſay) in the choice of her decorations. But to demonſtrate in a [334]more particular manner, her loving kindneſs towards him, ſhe now ſhewed her fellow-paſ⯑ſengers a curious tobacco-pipe, of the fineſt porcelain, on which was bepainted, in glaring colours, a dowdy Venus, and a ſquabby pair of Cupids, the one taking ſnuff, and the others ſending their whiffs at one another. Of this inſtrument the ſtopper was ſilver, and the chain, to which it was attached, of the ſame metal: and that the gift might be complete, our ancient maiden had bought a china ſpit⯑ting baſon, on which alſo was depicted certain emblems of her delicate paſſion. How few of our Engliſh maidens would have thus admi⯑niſtered to the accompliſhments of their lovers. A tobacco-pipe and ſpitting-box as a nuptial gift! Profit, ye votaries of the belle paſſion, by the example.

A droll fellow, who ſat on the oppoſite ſide, malignly aſſured me, that about a twelvemonth ago, he had, under the favour of Providence, got rid of the halter with which the fair Hol⯑lander was about to hang herſelf. All this time, two Dutchmen, who embraced each other at their firſt entrance into the boat, and, in token of good fellowſhip, lighted their pipes by joining the bowls, and whiffing at each [335]other, ſet in for ſerious ſmoking, while two elderly women regaled their noſtrils with a no leſs ſolid and ſolemn ſnuffing match. I do not believe a dozen words were ſpoken amongſt the four during the whole voyage.

Reſolved, if poſſible, to draw theſe mutes into converſation, I tried them on every ſub⯑ject I thought moſt likely to lead them into diſcourſe; but, as if it were a pre-determined thing neither to ſpeak to each other, nor any body elſe, all I ſaid to the two ſmokers only produced a more than ordinary whiff in my face; and in return for my courteſy to the fe⯑males, I received only the effluvia of a freſh pinch of ſnuff, which ſet me a ſneezing. I was therefore glad to let them take their own way, and indeed found their mute ſtate more ſupportable than their converſation and its ac⯑companiments. We reached Leyden at the ſtated hour, and took different ways, perhaps, mutually diſſatisfied.

Reſpecting this town, it is ſo much amongſt the common objects of deſcription, that I ſhall refer you to any one of the many books which have treated of it for the brick and mortar par⯑ticulars, as I ſhall thoſe of the ſtill greater city [336]of Amſterdam. The literary and itinerant ſhewmen of our own country have, however, left behind them rather careleſsly ſome things which the foreign travellers have gleaned, and which, deeming them worth the pains, I ſhall borrow for our ſheaf. My rule has all along been to preſent you with as much of my own wheat as I could gather; but whenever I have been able to enrich my little harveſt-home, by a few good grains, I have made no ſcruple of tranſporting them to my native ſoil.

Leyden, which is certainly a very elegant city, (and, I think, a ſtriking reſemblance of Oxford, but wanting its life and motion) has been rendered famous in hiſtory by the courage of its citizens, who, in 1574, ſuſtained a moſt obſtinateſiege, attended with all the evils of war, famine, and diſeaſe, and purely to preſerve their liberties. It is aſtoniſhing none of the Britiſh travellers have given their countrymen the detail of this memorable tranſaction. Had it happened in their own country, or in any other but Holland, which has, as I have fre⯑quently obſerved, been very unjuſtly ſlighted, an hundred biographers would have embla⯑zoned every day's proweſs during the five months that the ſiege continued.

[337]The Spaniards having been obliged to raiſe the ſiege of Alcmaer, turned their arms againſt Leyden, from whence they were driven by Count Louis, of Naſſau, brother to the then Prince of Orange. Some time afterwards, however, they returned, under a ſtrong reinforcement, to the attack. The Spaniſh general (Francis Valdey) finding it impoſſible to take the town by force, reſolved to attempt the more power⯑ful means of famine. No pen can deſcribe what the citizens ſuffered from this blockade. Reduced to the moſt dreadful extremity, they retained their heroiſm, even when there was ſcarce any thing left to ſuſtain it. They drew lots for each other, which ſhould become the victim of the day, to give ſuſtenance to the reſt; and many thinking it a more glorious act of patriotiſm, voluntarily offered themſelves up, and ſupplicated for the preference of death, to nouriſh with their bodies their fellow-ſol⯑diers or citizens. Even the women, as well thoſe of diſtinction as others, mounted the ramparts, fired the cannon, and expoſed them⯑ſelves to all the dangers and drudgery of mi⯑litary life, in imitation of a ſecond Boadicea, named Kennava, who led them on. The beſiegers were ſtruck with the regular, not rio⯑tous, intrepidity of this troop of female war⯑riors. [338]Even they too, as if jealous of the bra⯑very of the men, petitioned that they might be accepted as ſacrifices to feed the now almoſt famiſhed garriſon and citizens, many thouſands of whom periſhed for want, notwithſtanding theſe ſupplies of human fleſh. The Spaniards having learned their ſituation, once more ſum⯑moned them to ſurrender, and granted them the truce of an hour to conſider of it. They employed this ſhort ceſſation of hoſtilities to gather the general ſenſe of the people, as well ſoldiers as inhabitants, and this was their reply. "Tell your haughty general, we can never be ſaid to want the means of life, or of continu⯑ing the ſiege; while a left arm remains upon any of our ſhoulders: our right we ſhall reſerve to fight for our liberties."

To the dire neceſſity of living upon each other, they had, indeed, been long reduced; and the moment after the herald had departed, four of the burghers, after a ſhort converſation with each other, preſented themſelves at the gar⯑riſon; and after fighting vigorouſly, on the ramparts, for ſeveral hours, turned their bay⯑onets upon themſelves, and piercing their own boſoms, exclaimed, as the life-blood [339]flowed from them—"Behold, my valiant friends, your proviſion for the reſt of the day."

The famine, however, hourly increaſing, ſome of the burghers voted for a ſurrender of the place. It was on this occaſion that Adrian Van Werf, the chief magiſtrate of the city, ſet an example of conſtancy and courage, which would have merited a firſt place in the records of human magnanimity, had it not been for the above-mentioned heroiſm of the four citizens. —"My friends," cried he, ‘I deem it infi⯑nitely more ſatisfying to die for you, than for the enemy. Let me then be your next victim. Cut this body in pieces, and in ſharing it amongſt you, remember it is to give you ſtrength to continue the ſiege:—the many wounds I have received make me no longer able to take an active part. Let me not become waſte by lingering in thoſe wounds. While I can yet be of ſervice, take me to yourſelves, and may Leyden be victorious and immortal.’ Amidſt theſe ſore diſaſters of battle, the news of their ſpeedy relief was brought by ſome pigeons, to whoſe feet were tied ſtalks of corn and hemp, in the tubes of which were letters. I muſt not omit to tell [340]you, that theſe pigeons are ſtill preſerved, em⯑balmed, and to be ſeen in the town-houſe."

On the 3d of October, the banks of the Meuſe, and the Yſſel, being cut, Louis Briſſot, Admiral of Zealand, poured in to the relief of the beſieged a great number of flat-bottomed boats, armed from helm to ſtern. The Spa⯑niards, panic-ſtruck by this unexpected rein⯑forcement, abandoned their works, and made the beſt of their way into their own frontiers.

The anniverſary of this memorable day is ſtill celebrated at Leyden. The clergy are obliged to recapitulate the ſtory of the ſiege, and the almoſt miracle of the deliverance of the town. It is, perhaps, to be wiſhed, that the memory of ſimilar events were revived by ſimilar ceremonies, ſince every epoch, which commemorates the well-directed fortitude of men, or the interpoſition of Providence, can⯑not be too extenſively known: in which, in⯑deed, both religion and policy are alike con⯑cerned. We faithfully keep alive the darkeſt tranſactions—ſuch as the gunpowder plot, the revocation of the edict of Nantes, the maſſacre of St. Bartholomew, and various other inci⯑dents that ſtain the annals of hiſtory, and [341]which it is for the credit of human nature to obliviate, while we neglect thoſe happy events, and bleſſed ſudden revolutions, which manifeſt a divine power, aſſiſting mortal endeavours. Methinks, ſuch memorials are calculated to inſpire a noble emulation in the citizens to imitate their anceſtors: for virtue, like vice, is certainly epidemic. William, Prince of Orange, although, at the time, labouring under a dangerous malady, ordered himſelf to be carried, in a litter, to Leyden, to return thanks, in perſon, to the citizens, for their generous aſ⯑ſiſtance. By way of recompence, he granted to the town many privileges and immunities, and laid, with his own hand, the foundation of its celebrated univerſity.

This famous ſeminary may properly be ſaid to be erected by Gratitude, and dedicated to the courage and intrepidity of the ſons of freedom. Many truly valuable members of ſociety have been ſent into the world from hence. Amongſt others, the celebrated Her⯑man Boerhaave, of whom I made honourable mention in a former letter. His reputation, as a phyſician, was ſo great, that a letter ſent to him from Turkey, in Aſia, was addreſſed to Dr. Boerhaave in Europe; his family have [342]lately erected a monument, which I yeſterday viſited. It is in the ſpacious and beautiful church of St. Peter, where he was buried. The monument itſelf is a ſimple pedeſtal of black marble, on the ſurface of which is engraved, immediately under a buſt of the Doctor, theſe words: "Simplex ſigillum veri." On the re⯑verſe ſide is this emphatic expreſſion: "Salu⯑tifero Boerhavii genio ſacrum."

Leyden has to boaſt alſo the birth of Rem⯑brant, with whoſe life, as an artiſt, we are ſuf⯑ficiently acquainted by hiſtory: but I do not remember to have ſeen the following anecdotes of his private life and character. His ava⯑rice (rarely the vice of genius) was ſo exceſ⯑ſive, that it led him frequently to fell his own paintings, in an underhand manner, ſeveral times over: nay, he ſometimes made his own ſon diſpoſe of them, and by way of ex⯑cuſing his deception, when found out, pretend⯑ed his ſon had ſtolen them.

It is reported of this painter, that, being one day employed upon a family piece, in which every individual was to be exhibited, news be⯑ing brought to him that his favourite monkey was dead, he inſiſted upon the animal being [343]immediately laid before him, and drew him as a principal figure of the groupe: refuſing, at the ſame time, to expunge the monkey, al⯑though he loſt the ſale of the picture, and al⯑though he loved money better than any thing but the monkey and his own caprices. That money was in the next degree precious to him, may likewiſe be evinced from a trick that was played on him by one of his ſcholars, who, knowing the diſpoſition of his maſter, painted an apparently large ſum of money, in different coins, upon a pack of cards, cut into ſuitable pieces. Theſe the diſciple diſtributed on the painter's table, when Rembrant was from home. On his return, he no ſooner ſaw the counterfeits, than ſuppoſing it the price of ſome pictures ſold in his abſence, he ran to pick it up, and when he found himſelf diſappointed, forgave the ſtratagem for the ſake of the ingenuity of the imitation: for though he loved gold immoderately, he could not but be attached to genius.

But the moſt extraordinary perſonage, which the town of Leyden has produced, is the cele⯑brated fanatic, commonly called John of Ley⯑den, the true name of whom is Bucold, whoſe ſto⯑ry is really curious. From the loweſt extraction [344]he aſpired to the higheſt honours; and though born of the humbleſt parents, and intended, by his father, for a taylor, gave out very early amongſt his young companions, that ſo far from ſucceeding to his father's contemptible occupa⯑tion, he was reſolved to live, and die, a king. Let us ſee in what manner he contrived to keep his word. He ſoon broke from the ſhop⯑board, uncroſſed his legs, and, aſſociating with ſome itinerant comedians, commenced actor, and, determined on royalty, made his firſt ap⯑pearance in a princely character. His next connection was with a man as lowly born, and as highly minded as himſelf, namely with a baker of Amſterdam, who declared that he was an ambaſſador of God, to enlighten the dark⯑neſs of his fellow-creatures, and erect a new Jeruſalem. This daring ſpirit aſſumed the name of the town in which he received his birth, viz. Thomas Munſter, who had infected a great number of Germans with his contagi⯑ous doctrines, in oppoſition to the efforts of Luther, previous to his acquaintance with John of Leyden; and as religious ſeditions are always the moſt violent, it was, at length, found neceſſary to take up arms againſt this fanatic faction, every hour gaining ſtrength. Of all epidemics, that of a wild, but new [345]ſectary, is the moſt rapid and fatal. The Elec⯑tor of Saxony, the Landgrave of Heſſe, and the Duke of Brunſwick, entered into a con⯑federacy, to quell theſe inſurgents, whom they often routed, but whom they found a great difficulty wholly to ſubdue. Munſter was him⯑ſelf taken priſoner, and inſtantly beheaded. But this tragic event, ſo far from diſpiriting the party, appeared only to animate it with a more inveterate zeal and oppoſition. John of Leyden, commanding a troop of ferocious zea⯑lots, made himſelf maſter of the town of Munſter; where, after he had exerciſed the moſt horrible cruelties, he cauſed himſelf to be choſen and proclaimed King.

His prediction, as to mock-majeſty, was now fulfilled; but not the meaſure, either of his ambition or his crimes. No ſooner had he eſtabliſhed himſelf in his new government, than he iſſued edicts, and enacted laws. He permit⯑ted polygamy, and ſet the example, by taking unto himſelf twenty wives. Some authors limit the number to fourteen. He pulled down all the churches, and totally changed the adminiſtration. He next inſtituted a re⯑gular court, and inſiſted on receiving all the homage of royalty. A faithful hiſtorian of [346]his times, aſſures us, that he had all the abilities eſſential to wife and juſt legiſlation; but that his headlong paſſions, and natural barbarity, hurried him into all the practices of a lawleſs and unprincipled uſurper. Covering his ſa⯑crilege with a veil of piety, he denominated his pretended monarchy the new kingdom of Iſrael, and himſelf not only the political ſove⯑reign, but the religious high-prieſt and chief miniſter of juſtice, in the new temple of the living God. One of his wives had, by her evil communication, imbibed ſo much of his impious ſpirit, as to think herſelf inſpired; and deeming it neceſſary to eſtabliſh her cha⯑racter by ſomething worthy of ſuch a huſ⯑band, intimated her deſign of following the example of Judith, by aſſaſſinating the Biſhop of Waldeck. She was, however, ſeized in the attempt, by the good prelate himſelf, who wrenched the ſword from her hand, juſt as ſhe was about to ſtrike, and was puniſhed on the ſpot with the ſame weapon. Another of John's wives was ſlain by his own hand, for a ſlight heſitation to obey his orders. His coronation, of which the ceremony was performed in the midſt of his enormities, was accompanied by all the pomps of the eaſtern world. He always wore a crown on his head, when he paſſed [347]the ſtreets on horſeback. An hundred youths prepared the way, out of which was driven every living thing; yet he expected, that at due and awful diſtance, the ſides ſhould be crouded by the proſtrate populace. In one hand he carried a ſword, in another the Old Teſtament. For any perſon to be ſeen ſtanding, or covered, in his preſence, was an offence beyond pardon, and always puniſhed with death.

So many horrors and abominations, however, did not fail, in the end, to involve their author in deſtruction. The Biſhop of Munſter ſat down before the town, and determined on a regular ſiege, during which, John's party was reduced to the moſt dreadful extremities, in the ſore preſſure of which ſome of his faction voted for a ſurrender. Forty-ſeven perſons were be⯑headed, by their chief, as the forfeit of this propoſition. All this time they ſubſiſted on cats, dogs, and, laſtly, one another. A wound⯑ed, or reluctant man was immediately ſlain and eaten. The ferocity of the faction, and particularly of John, ſeemed to gather force by this dreadful nouriſhment, and the town was at laſt taken by ſtratagem. This phan⯑tom of majeſty, who had, however, exerciſed [348]more than kingly power, was taken alive, with many of his companions. When this deſpe⯑rate ruffian was conducted before the victorious prelate, who reproached him with his treaſon and profanation, he replied to the charges with an audacity ſcarce paralleled in the hiſtory of fallen villainy. "Spare your advice, (which is loſt upon me) and liſten to mine, which is of more value. You have made me your priſoner. I have coſt you both money and blood. I have drained your treaſuries, and depopulated your country. Having thus been your greateſt enemy, I will now put you in the way of making me your beſt friend. My death would be a loſs to you: my life may be a gain. Put me into an iron cage, carry me thus incloſed through Europe, and let a price be ſet on the ſight of me. The injuries I have done your ſtate will then be repaired, and I ſhall, by comparing your gain with your loſs, have a right to be conſidered, in the end, as your benefactor."

Part of his plan was adopted, but not that part which would, with all its ignominy, have been the moſt acceptable to him, the preſerva⯑tion of his life. As the principal author of the diſorders and iniquities, this was juſtly for⯑ſeited; [349]but the manner in which John's, of Leyden, was taken away, is almoſt too ſhock⯑ing for a virtuous conqueror, conſidering him, too, as an eccleſiaſtic, to inflict, even, upon an impious traitor. The Biſhop of Munſter or⯑dered the culprit to be faſtened to a ſtake, and two executioners to tear aſunder, ſlowly, firſt the fleſh, and then the members, with burning pincers; to let the operation be very delibe⯑rate—to avoid, for a given time, invading the vital parts, and laſtly, but not 'till himſelf, and the aſſembled multitudes, had been ſpec⯑tators of more agony than human beings ought, perhaps, to look on, for the ſake of example, he was pierced with a ſpear to the heart, and then his mangled body was thrown into a cage of iron, in which it hung, at the top of St. Lambert's ſteeple, 'till time, which deſtroys every monument of this world, whether erected to vice or virtue, mouldered it away. His accomplices ſuffered the ſame fate, except that they were not caged after death, and this ſect expired with its chiefs. Some fruitleſs at⯑tempts have been made at Amſterdam to re⯑vive it. A party, calling themſelves Memno⯑nites, (from Memno Simons, a prieſt of Frieze⯑land, who preached this doctrine in 1536) hold in abhorrence the atrocities of Munſter, and [350]if certain of theſe Memnonites entertain ſimilar tenets on the ſubjects of baptiſm and oaths, they renounce that ſpirit of ſedition, fanati⯑ciſm, and revolt, which diſgraced the adhe⯑rents of John of Leyden, and I am told are very peaceful, good, citizens. You will be ſhewn, amongſt the curioſities of Leyden, the ſhop⯑board on which this ſelf-made ſovereign worked at his buſineſs.

In your viſit to this town, I wiſh to prepare you for two matters you ought to know; the one is a ſettled and indiſpenſible ceremony of pulling off your hat, in anſwer to a moſt troubleſome civility you will receive from every paſſenger of every deſcription; it being a cuſ⯑tom throughout Holland, in general, and Ley⯑den, in particular, to make a very profound obeiſance to every ſtranger, and to expect the ſame in return: inſomuch that a traveller ought to lay his account for a hat extraordi⯑nary, in making a tour of the ſeven provinces. In the great ſtreet of Leyden, which is an Engliſh mile long, I have been obliged to bow myſelf out of half my hat, and all my pa⯑tience; and what is the more provoking, if you meet the ſame people twenty times in a walk, the like ceremony is inflicted upon you, [351]without any compromiſe being made for for⯑mer civility. "Booing, booing, booing, boo⯑ing," as Macklin's "Man of the World" ſays, all day long. Add to which, a Dutch bow is in itſelf a ridiculous and diſguſting piece of formality. The hand is lifted to the head, and the hat held up at arm's length and height, and replaced with ſo much deliberation, that you may walk fifty paces during the operation; and this is ſo frequently repeated, that the hat has ſcarce time to regain its uſual place before a freſh paſſenger ſends it off again. But the whole of this is performed with ſuch ineffable ſang-froid, that the head ſeems as inſenſible as the hat. Not a fearure appears conſcious of the ſalutation; not a muſcle moves in correſ⯑pondence with the greeting—it is altogether a mechanical act, and you have nothing for it but to take off and put on your hat, and go about your buſineſs. The ſecond article, not leſs vexatious, is the importunate intruſion of a pack of fellows who call themſelves porters, who almoſt pluck your baggage, though but a ſmall parcel in your handkerchief, out of your hand, and are more troubleſome to get rid off than Horace's Impertinent. If you refuſe their ſervices, they are ſaucy. If you accept them, they are obſequious, even to fawning. [352]Thus, almoſt every body in this town, when they intend to be polite, are ^* too civil by half.

[353]But it is time I ſhould put an end to this long letter. After having made MY bow, then, to you, and to my readers, farewell.

LETTER XLV. TO THE SAME.

AMONGST the pleaſant events of my Dutch excurſion, is to be enumerated my meeting with a friend, ^* whoſe ſocial manners, and intellectual qualities, without taking his profeſſional ſkill into the account, though to that I am indebted for the preſerva⯑tion of my health, would have made me quit the ſcene of our rencontre with regret, had it been even in Siberia, if the ſeparation had not been ſolaced by the hope of, again, meet⯑ing in England. To this accompliſhed man, who, you know, has, ſince his ſtudies, and tra⯑vels, were finiſhed, "bettered this report," to his own honour, I am indebted for ſome valu⯑able hints, reſpecting the Leyden univerſity. They will be found in the cloſe of this letter, but I will firſt glean his remarks, on the Dutch, in general; therein, fairly, giving you both ſides [355]of the picture; for our features of the coun⯑try, and people, are not exactly alike.

‘Your laudable attempt to reſcue the am⯑phibia of this aqueous region, from the charge of inhoſpitality,’ ſaid the Doctor, af⯑ter having read my account, ‘will, at all events, be a novelty. In the execution of it, you will, ſurely, fall under no ſuſpicion of plagiariſm. The intent is praiſe-worthy, and in perfect uniſon with your charitable mind. Prejudice, I am ready to allow, is a ſad bane; and its operation, on the minds of Engliſh touriſts, but too general: yet, there are, I would hope, among our country⯑men, ſome who have removed this moth from their eyes. Theſe, however, ſtill join the throng in one common opinion of this race of aquatics.’ I admitted the opinion; but not its validity, unleſs with very large ex⯑ceptions.

‘For my own part, although not yet enough a citizen of the world, to think any other country equal to our happy iſle,’ continued my friend, ‘nor ſo much a ſtay-at-home tra⯑veller, as to build my faith, wholly, on the reports of haſty journaliſts; yet I cannot but [356]confeſs, after a long reſidence among them, that I have felt myſelf inclined to enliſt with the multitude, reſpecting this prominent feature, in the character of the Dutch people. Many inſtances could I relate to you, that have come within my own obſervation, which would militate, ſtrongly, againſt the defence your benevolence induces you to plead in their behalf. On the other hand, it were but juſt to acknowledge that I have experi⯑enced ſome ſignal marks of hoſpitality in theſe provinces: but I fear you will, inflex⯑ibly, claſs me among the ſtay-at-home—the prejudiced—the ill-humoured part of our countrymen, when I tell you, that it has, only, been in ſuch Engliſh families, whoſe na⯑ture has not changed with their change of abode.’ "You have been out of luck, my dear Doctor," ſaid I. "And you," anſwered he, ‘have, ſurely, been peculiarly happy, in the ſociety you have found, ſince your arrival here, that the excellent fruit, which others have ſought in vain, ſhould ſeem to preſent itſelf, to you, as the common harveſt of the country.’ Not as the harveſt, but very good pickings, indeed, for a Gleaner, Doctor.

[357] ‘Some, I fear, ſtill firm in their faith, may be uncharitable enough to ſuſpect,’ reſumed he, ‘that the kind Mynheers, and their Vrowes, with whom you aſſociate, had received pri⯑vate intimation, that ſo able, and benevolent, an advocate had journied hither to glean them. Others, alike adhering to their former opinion, ſpeculating on the title of your in⯑tended work, will, perhaps, contend that the numerous claſs, who have preceded you, have brought to market the real crop of the country; whilſt a Gleaner, alone, from bend⯑ing, and looking nearer to the ſoil, and re⯑maining, from the very nature of his labours, longer upon it, hath been enabled to collect the few blades of hoſpitality, ſo thinly ſcat⯑tered over the land—and which, having picked up, you, ſo joyfully, bind in your valuable ſheaves.’

I ſmiled, bowed, and ſuffered my ingenious friend to proceed.

‘A friend of mine, who has ſpent more time in Holland than has yet fallen to the lot, either of you, or myſelf, has, ſometimes, ſaid to me, he could almoſt imagine, that, like their ha⯑bits, the language of the Dutch did not admit [358]of any term ſynonimous to, what is generally underſtood by, the Engliſh word hoſpitality; and this being the only part of your work I cannot ſubſcribe to, I may confeſs to you, that from the general want of candour and liberality in their dealings, and the repeated inſtances of penury and avarice, which I have witneſſed, ſince the time of my be⯑coming a reſident among them, I have, more than once, been half inclined to think ſo too.’

‘At the metropolis, of theſe ſtates, you will find a certain portion of the city appropriated to the reſidence of the Jews. This part is called the Jew's quarter of Amſterdam. Were we to judge from their uſual dealings, and mode of traffick, with equal propriety might we term the whole country of the Hol⯑landers, the Jewiſh quarter of Europe. Even you, I fear, friendly as you are diſpoſed to⯑wards them, cannot but acknowledge, that, to deal with a Dutchman, it behoves every one, to conſider himſelf encountering a Jew, who will, not only, contend as obſtinately for the laſt doight, as old Shylock for the pound of fleſh, but who will, certainly, impoſe, if poſſible, and take every unfair advantage.’

[359]Juſt as in England, with an Engliſhman, my dear friend; but individual vice, or vir⯑tue, has nothing to do with national character, ſaid I.

‘I have been ſorry to learn, that among the Engliſh, who have migrated to this coun⯑try,’ obſerved the Doctor, purſuing his point, ‘the common reported Dutch principle often proves rapidly contagious, and that, from breathing the ſame air, they ſoon im⯑bibe the infection, and degenerate into the amphibious ſons of penury and avarice.— Of theſe Dutchified Britons, ſome ſpecimens have come under my own obſervation.’

Why truly, anſwered I, if I did not "eat in memory the cuſtard of yeſterday," I partook at your table, I ſhould think ſo too.

"As to Leyden," rejoined my friend, ‘I am much intereſted in wiſhing it may abound in Gleanings. Prepare yourſelf for a long viſit; and remember, that, in the intervals, between your gleaning hours, I ſhall hope to enjoy the leaſings of your ſociety.’

‘The tedious and methodic ſyſtem of bowing, for which the inhabitants of this city have a peculiar fondneſs, will furniſh an ear or two [360]for your ſtore-houſe. In deſcription, touched by the comic quill, it would afford a facetious morſel for John Bull. To ſuch an abſurd degree do they carry this cuſtom, that it is common to ſee them bowing to the window, where an acquaintance, occaſionally, ſits, when no perſon is near it; or to a friend's coach, as it paſſes them in the ſtreet, al⯑though no one be in it.’

‘Neat and clean as are all the towns in Hol⯑land, Leyden exceeds, perhaps, the whole of them. Its ſtreets—its buildings—its canals, all combine to give it the pre-eminence. It is a place well adapted to ſtudy, for, although a large city, it is ſo ſtill and quiet, that we feel ourſelves in perfect retirement. Its uni⯑verſity, ſo much renowned, you will, pro⯑bably, find to have been ſo cloſely mowed, reaped, and raked over and over, that, in this particular, it offers but a ſcanty ſupply to a Gleaner.’

‘High as the fame of this ſchool was raiſed by the uncommon talents of the celebrated Boerhaave, it is but little wonderful that the doctrines of that great man ſhould be ſlow in their decline. In the eyes of the preſent [361]profeſſors, they have not loſt their charms. The humoral pathology has ſtill its ad⯑mirers—ſpontaneous gluten, lentor, and acrimony of the fluids, yet boaſt their advo⯑cates. In Holland, innovations in medicine are thought more dangerous, than in politics: political opinions, indeed, excepted, the Dutch have a known dread at every ſpecies of change or reform: their perverſe and ob⯑ſtinate nature compels them to plod over the old taſk, coldly refuſing all the benefits of new diſcoveries. To an elève of the Britiſh ſchools it is matter of ſurpriſe to hear a learned profeſſor ſupporting, with his ut⯑moſt eloquence, theories which he has been taught to conſider as old and exploded, and which have been proved hypothetical and abſurd.’

Talk thus, my friend, ſaid I, and you will meet no interruption, from the Gleaner, I pro⯑miſe you.

‘It ſeems within the natural courſe of re⯑volutions, that this celebrated univerſity," ſaid the Doctor, "ſhould now yield the palm to Edinburgh; which, from the great abili⯑ties, and ingenuity, of the profeſſors, together [362]with the excellent regulations, and arrange⯑ments, for the improvement of the ſtudents, is, at this period, beyond all doubt, the firſt medical ſchool in Europe.’ I bowed aſſent.

"In Leyden," continued my friend, ‘the different branches of natural hiſtory are taught with great preciſion, and with much atten⯑tion, to methodical, and ſyſtematic, arrange⯑ment. The botanic garden is, perhaps, un⯑rivalled. It is a moſt valuable acquiſition to the ſtudents, being a very extenſive, and uſeful, collection of plants, admirably, and methodically, arranged, according to the Linnaean ſyſtem.’

‘The mode of graduation, at this univerſity, may, perhaps, ſupply a few ears to an induſ⯑trious Gleaner.’ I pray you add them to my ſtore, ſaid I. "Moſt gladly," replied the Doctor. "It has, by ſome, been ſaid," rejoin⯑ed he, ‘that a ſtudent offering himſelf a candidate for a degree, at Leyden, finds little difficulty in paſſing his examinations. This may be very true, provided he be well pre⯑pared, but not otherwiſe; and, thus, the ob⯑ſervation applies, equally, to every other ſchool. The tryals, to which the candidate [363]muſt ſubmit, previous to obtaining his de⯑gree, are, perhaps, at no univerſity more ſe⯑vere, certainly, at none more general, and uſeful, than at Leyden. It may be obſerved, that the examinations, to which, in any ſchool, a ſtudent is ſubjected, on his ſeeking literary honours, are, like all ſubjects, of which we can form no diſtinct idea, very much magnified by anticipation. He knows not what he has to undergo; but he knows, and feels, powerfully, the poſſibility of fai⯑lure, and of being ſent back, in diſgrace, to his ſtudies. This is fully ſufficient to mul⯑tiply the magnitude of the taſk, in his mind, to a ſomething tremendous—to a ſomething that he feels a kind of terror at meeting. To this it is, probably, owing, that, afterwards, when the tryal is over, and he has nothing further to apprehend, he reduces it, below what he actually found it, and is led to join thoſe who have gone before him, in ſpeaking of the examination, he has paſſed, as ſlight or trivial. That this is the fact would ſeem, indeed, to be proved, by his not being able to impreſs the next that follows him with theſe feelings—nor to maintain them, him⯑ſelf, when again called to tryal.’

[364] ‘As this routine has come under my own eye, and has been the ſubject of my frequent obſervation, I will, if you pleaſe, undertake to glean it for you.’

‘The firſt ſtep, towards a graduation at Ley⯑den, is the ſtudent preſenting himſelf before the Rector Magnificus, to have his name re⯑giſtered on the books of the college. This done, he is called to an examination before the Dean; which is a long tryal, and of more general, and uſeful, tendency than is com⯑monly paſſed in other ſchools. You under⯑ſtand that I am ſpeaking of a graduate in medicine. If his reſponſes are ſatisfactory, and the Dean thinks him eligible, he is now admitted a candidate for his degree. After a few days, he is called before the Faculty of Medicine. At this meeting, the queſtions are, uſually, confined to ſome particular viſ⯑cus of the body, and relate to its ſituation, ſtructure, and functions; the diſeaſes pecu⯑liar to it; and the method of curing ſuch diſeaſes. If the replies are approved by the Faculty, the candidate is next preſented with two aphoriſms, on which he is to write com⯑mentaries, and to appear, with them, at the college; on the following day, at noon, when he undergoes a third examination, by [365]defending the expoſitions he has written, againſt the objections of the faculty. It is not until after this third tryal, that he can have the ſatisfaction of knowing whether he will obtain his degree. If, in his anſwers, he has given proof of his abilities, and his cenſors think him ſufficiently qualified, he has next to produce a diſſertation, on ſome medical or philoſophical ſubject, to be ap⯑proved by the perſon, whom, the Dean ap⯑points his promoter. Such approbation be⯑ing ſignified to the candidate, he has the pri⯑vilege of fixing the period of his fourth or final examination; when he is required to defend his diſſertation, in public, before the whole Senatus Academicus. The commen⯑taries, and the diſſertation, are written, and the whole of the examinations paſſed, in the Latin language.’

‘The number of ſtudents educated at this univerſity, has much decreaſed ſince the days of Boerhaave, but is ſtill ſufficient to add, materially, to the trade, and to the riches, of the city. They are not reſtricted to any re⯑gulations, or college rules, as in Oxford and Cambridge, but, as at Edinburgh, are left to their own induſtry, and emulation, in the pro⯑ſecution of their ſtudies.’

[366] ‘Many of the inhabitants, at Leyden, have apartments which are kept expreſsly for the ſtudents. Theſe are, commonly, diſtinguiſh⯑ed by a piece of board, hung at the window, on which is written cubicula locanda,’

A thouſand thanks, my dear Doctor, ſaid I, for theſe eſtimable remarks, about which we agree entirely; and as we only are in conten⯑tion about the ſubject of the hoſpitality of the country, you ſhall, in the firſt inſtance, give me another good dinner, and each of your Eng⯑liſh families another, by way of proving to me how far the imputed avarice of the land has been epidemic amongſt the Britiſh reſi⯑dents; and, in return, I will take you, by the hand, to as many Dutch houſes, dinner for dinner, bottle for bottle, and, then, we will, at the cloſe of the account, ſee how ſtands the balance of good-fellowſhip, and civility. "Agreed," exclaimed the Doctor, ‘and, after all, we ſhall, moſt likely, maintain our pre⯑ſent opinions.’ No doubt, ſaid I, then, all that can be ſaid, is, that I have been, in this reſpect, a fortunate—you, a luckleſs, traveller. We bade each other cordially farewell: and I, now, bid you the ſame.

LETTER XLVI. TO THE SAME.

I THANK you, my friend, for the box of Engliſh newſpapers. They are the "brief chronicles of the times," and an acceptable preſent to a Britiſh traveller, who feels an anxi⯑ous deſire to know what is doing at home, while he is roaming abroad: and who, be his ſituation what it may, caſts ‘"Many a longing, lingering, look behind."’

Indeed a man cannot traverſe any part of the Continent of Europe, without, almoſt imme⯑diately, pronouncing our country to be the moſt newſpaper-loving nation in the world. Yet it appears to be a mere national prejudice, to tell a ſtranger the city of London publiſhes more papers in a week, than the reſt of Europe in a year. On my aſſerting, at what is called a ſocietè, (club) while at Amſterdam, that the metropolis of England could diſpoſe of near twenty papers of a day, on an average of fif⯑teen [368]hundred each, that the Morning Herald, St. James's Chronicle, and ſeveral others, were productive of ſome thouſand pounds a-year, net money, to the proprietors; beſides yield⯑ing a large ſum to the revenue; I was looked on as giving my country a pretty handſome puff. A ſly, old man, who was ſmoking his pipe in the corner of a coffee-houſe, where I had made this aſſertion, obſerved, as he took his pipe out of his mouth, "Your countrymen ought to be great politicians." He then re⯑capitulated all I had ſaid on the ſubject, then reſorted again to his pipe, ſtill preſerving the ſame incredulous ſet of tones and features, marking his diſbelief of every ſentence with a whiff, ſignifying that it was ſmoke. "And ſo you ſay, Mr. Engliſhman, your city of London can ſell ſo many thouſand prints of a day!" Yes. "Whew!" replied he, "And ſome of your citizens net a thouſand, or two, of Engliſh guineas, independently of royal impoſts!" More. In anſwer to this, a drawing in of the breath, and a whiff full in my face; that ſuc⯑ceeded by another, as if intended to blind, or ſuffocate, me for the lie direct.

In deſpite of this, however, I went on. But our newſpapers are not leſs the vehicles of [369]politics, than of faſhion: they are equally adapted to the cabinet of a miniſter, as to the tea-table of a lady. (The ſmoker ſtared, and again drew in). They are the repoſitories of our dreſſes, amuſements and amours. (The breath ſtill ſucked in ſtrongly.) 'Tis a ſort of ſoleciſm in politeneſs, not to have one, at leaſt, ſerved up with breakfaſt; the aforeſaid Morn⯑ing Herald, the Oracle, Morning Chronicle, Star, Sun, Moon, Diary, Public Advertiſer, Gazetteer, or ſome other. And each coſts three ſtivers, or I believe, ſince the laſt re⯑gulations, four: but I am convinced if they coſt fourteen, the curioſity of the Engliſh nation would pay up to their price, and when taken freſh at breakfaſt, not a Dutch break⯑faſt, without tea-ſpoons, or ſugar, or bread, but with all the luxuries of the tea equipage, an Engliſhman, "has ſtomach for them all!" "Ugh!" ſaid the Dutchman betwixt a ſigh and ſuck! "Four ſtivers!" Yes, and perſons of condition muſt have ſeveral. In ſome families, as many as there are cups and ſaucers: though they never laſt longer than the hour of break⯑faſt, which furniſhes by the help of theſe hiſtorians of the morning, plenty of ſlight or ſubſtantial topics, for the reſt of the day. Love, hate, an enemy to be cenſured, a friend [370]to be praiſed, a beauty to be ſet off, a rival to be decried, a miniſter to be ſcouted, an op⯑poſitioniſt to be put into his place: a ſcandal aſſerted, denied, re-aſſerted, re-denied. In ſhort, an Engliſh newſpaper is a book of uni⯑verſal uſe, knowledge, and information, and is as neceſſary to a man or woman, of any pre⯑tenſion to taſte, as powder in the hair, or a watch in the pocket. The man of ſmoke had by this time gathered a mouthful; his cheeks inflated; and he looked as if he was taking aim.

Not continued I, careleſsly, that they are univerſally read. In private houſes, there are on an average, five overlookers to one ex⯑aminer. The females of a family only ſkim the ſcandal and amuſements, mixing a little of both with each diſh of tea—a kind of ſenti⯑mental cream, which is ſaid to give a moſt de⯑lightful flavor to the repaſt: the maſter of the manſion, betwixt every piece of bread and butter, lays a ſlice of politics, more reliſhing to him than the bread and butter itſelf, and freſh made from that prolific milch-cow, the public: and although when ſhe has yielded a brimming pail, in one column, ſhe frequently kicks it down in the next, till the ſweeteſt intelligence, [371](whether for or againſt the miniſtry) all turns four on the ſtomach, the good man would find ſomething wanting were he not to ſee a freſh ſupply ſerved up the next morning. Thou⯑ſands read only the price of ſtocks, which though contained generally in an inch of news, (here a grand puff at me) is chearfully paid for in the ſum of three or four ſtivers. Thouſands divert themſelves only with the robberies, mur⯑ders, deaths, and marriages, all of which might be packed in a walnut ſhell, and leave room almoſt for the bankruptcies. When I had gained this ſentence, through fire and ſmoke, all that my principal auditor had collected into his mouth, during the relation, was diſcharged in my face, which it enveloped in clouds. And, pray, interrogated the puffer, where do you find room for your long hiſtory of pick⯑pockets and highwaymen, for I am told, you have as many rogues in a day as newſpapers! What do you take us for, Mr. Traveller: do you recollect that we are too near neighbours, to ſwallow all this! (ſwallowing a large quan⯑tity of ſmoke, as if to imitate the action) I inſiſted upon the truth of my aſſertions, which made my ſmoker ſeriouſly angry: he ſhook ſome of the fire from his pipe, then mouthed it again; and as he walked backwards, and for⯑wards, [372]whiffed off ſeveral puffs in ſucceſſion, inſiſting that the number of papers publiſhed in Amſterdam, did not exceed a paper a day, or two at moſt, and that they contained all that was neceſſary; adding, as to amuſements, ſcandal, &c. he looked on them only as ſkim milk; and the latter ſtill worſe—ſkim milk turned ſour. But you Engliſhmen, as all the world knows, are great travellers, and ever ready to take advantage of us, poor, ſtay-at⯑home people—he, he, he!! The emphaſis on the word travellers, and the bitter irony in the laugh, aggravated by the moſt ſarcaſtic ſet of ſnuff-coloured features, in turn, vexed me, and, knowing that a fellow of this caſt is beſt pu⯑niſhed by himſelf, I raiſed my voice a pitch higher, to inform him, that every ſyllable I had uttered, reſpecting the quantity, and quality of Engliſh newſpapers was true, and that more⯑over there were tens of thouſands, in the city of London, and its environs, who took in, and paid yearly for one or more of the ſaid papers, without reading a paragraph in a month.

This, though, as you know, my friend, literally true, was a great deal too much for my ſmoke⯑dried veteran, who, throwing down his pipe, and the price of the coffee, with which he had [373]moiſtened it, and then throwing an old thread⯑bare blue cloak acroſs his ſhoulders, took off his hat with the moſt ludicrous ſolemnity, and hobbled off thanking me for my BRUSSELS Gazette Extraordinary. When he was gone ſome German gentlemen obſerved, that they ſaw I was reſolved to play on the old fellow, and that he deſerved it for his rudeneſs; and, indeed for his not ſeeing more clearly, I was in jeſt; for, added they, we live in a very large town in Germany, where the Engliſh paper comes from London, and had been told it was the beſt of the three to be had in that city.

Such are the prejudices of nations. But I perceive amongſt the bundles you have ſent me, is a Gazette Extraordinary indeed. You have marked one paragraph therein with your pen⯑cil, and archly underwrote this brief epitaph, Alas, poor Gleaner! In the very inſtant that I thus ſport with the pen, holding it lightly be⯑tween my fingers, correſponding to the light⯑neſs of my heart, which bounds with pleaſure on the receipt of your letter and parcel; and at the novelty of unclouded ſpirits, after the depreſſions of ſickneſs, I ſee that I am dead. I breathed my laſt, it ſeems at Coblentz. As I purpoſe Gleaning that city in due time, I [374]intend to pay due reſpect to the ſpot where I was buried, viſit my own grave, and write my own epitaph. Though you humourouſly in⯑form me that has been already done for me in a very handſome manner, by my friends, in Eng⯑land. This is the third time in the courſe of my life, that I have been put to death, in the newſpapers, without my conſent or know⯑ledge. ‘"Thrice they ſlew the ſlain."’ And, let me aſſure you, ‘"Thrice have I liv'd again."’ True, indeed, I was taken out of the world ſuddenly, and once went off after a lingering ſickneſs. But to ſhew that the principle of charity ſtill ſurvives in me, I forgive all thoſe who have had a hand in my death, with all my heart; and really, at this good natured moment, feel a ſort of reluctance, at the im⯑poſſibility of giving my friends this public ſatis⯑faction of knowing I am in the land of the living, without, at the ſame time, diſappointing thoſe, if any ſuch there be, who have derived any ſatisfaction in numbering me with the dead. By way of conſolation, however, I will have the kindneſs to inform them that, notwithſtanding,

I am juſt now in general good ſpirits and health, they may expect in ſomething leſs than a hundred years, to have the pleaſant intel⯑ligence confirmed. Meantime, I heartily wiſh them, and you, my friends and enemies, the comfort of being killed only upon paper, for many years to come; with the additional agré⯑ment of reviſiting the country where they died as often as they pleaſe! If it contains the lovely ſcenery which blooms round Coblentz, where I have been ſo long entombed; and which ſcenery I have in ſtore for you; their happy ghoſts, miſtaking it, perhaps, for the Elyſian Fields, might not "be fond to reſign it."

But, gracious Providence! what will not we bear, and l'on dit, thoſe two well-informed perſonages, who know every thing that has, and has not happened, ſay? Since I have been upon the Continent, I have been aſſured of ſo many events having taken place to myſelf and others, not one of which ever did, will, or can happen, in politics, in civil, or in uncivil matters, that, methinks it would be a pleaſant work to bring under one point of view, a col⯑lection [376]of l'on dits, and we hears, or the rumour book of what was ſaid to be, which was not, for the new-year. It might be publiſhed, you know, with the almanacks, and, I queſtion, whether even Mr. Newberry ever yet offered his little or great readers, a book half ſo full of pretty and wonderful ſtories.

But in another of the papers you have ſent me, I diſcover a ſecond pencil mark, accom⯑panied by requeſts thus expreſſed: "This muſt be Gleaned." You remember, it is oppo⯑ſite the little funeral tribute I paid to the death⯑devoted horſe, of my beloved friend ^*, to whom the public are indebted; and a large debt it is, for introducing the three greateſt poets of Greece into England, and in an Engliſh dreſs, as rich, graceful, and flowing, as the robes of their own country. You have a paſſage too, in your letter, importing, that the petitionary verſes of this poor ſteed, will ſerve as a very proper counterpart to the hiſtory I have given of my own aged horſe in our firſt ſheaf: and deſire to preſerve them from the fate of ſu⯑gitive papers, or the flying ſheets of the day, in our, I hope, more permanent correſpond⯑ence. Here then, in obedience to your wiſhes, I inſert,

Suffer me to connect with this, the poetical addreſs of my own old horſe, to the noble patroneſs who ſaved him from death.

I have obſerved to you that the Muſe or Sympathy gleaned theſe lines in Mr. Pope's gardens at Twickenham; but the ſame viſit, you remember, was productive of a few verſes ſacred to the delightful bard, whoſe poetic ſcenes the Gleaner was then ſurveying. This is the place to preſerve them, and you ſay they were worthy of preſervation. They were written an hour after leaving the place: and here they are.

But as the day on which theſe lines were written, was wholly dedicated to the Muſe, ſo I beg may be this letter, which ſhall be cloſed by one more home-made copy of verſes, on a heart-felt occaſion, the alarming ſickneſs of my beloved Mr. Potter. This is a Gleaning which the world will accept with ſmiles for the ſake of the ſubject.

The prayer was heard. My venerable friend yet lives, to the triumph of the Gleaner and the world.

LETTER XLVII. TO THE SAME.

NOTWITHSTANDING my avowed and inveterate quarrel with brick and mortar, I ſhould be ſtrongly tempted to woo the de⯑ſcriptive Muſe, and make a long pauſe in this charming town, till ſhe aſſiſted me to ſing the various beauties of Mr. Hope's delightful villa, but, for a reaſon ſtronger than the temptation, and yet the moſt ſimple that can be imagined, namely, becauſe it truly "beggars deſcription."

Into this little Paradiſe the worthy proprietor has contrived to bring every thing that the arts, or their happieſt votaries could furniſh, that fortune could procure, or taſte arrange. Could we ſuppoſe a man of the fineſt fortune to be at the ſame time a man of the fineſt taſte, which is, by the bye, ſuppoſing a very rare aſſemblage, and which the Gods who made him poetical commonly refuſe; and [383]could we even to theſe poſſeſſions adjoin the moſt correct judgement, the houſe at Haarlem would be the exact reſidence of ſo adorned a proprietor; ſince it actually contains and il⯑luſtrates whatever

It contains alſo, my friend, what is far better than either poetry or painting—an highly eſti⯑mable character, being, indeed, but one thing more elegant and beautiful than this villa, and that is, the heart of its owner, which is amongſt "the nobleſt works of God." Every perſon of every deſcription is the hiſtorian of Mr. Hope; and he is one of the very rare excep⯑tions of being ſpoken well of by every body, and deſerving it. Theſe univerſally-praiſed characters being, I have obſerved, nine times out of ten, the objects of determined panegy⯑ric, nobody knows why or wherefore; juſt in like proportion as thoſe whom this ſame every body has ſelected as a mark, ‘"for ſcorn to point the moving finger at,"’ is deſerving better report. I have, at this moment, the honour, and it is my pride alſo, [384]to know a man of whom all poſſible ill has been publickly ſpoken, and who merits a character where thouſands, whom he has melted by his charity, animated by his affection, or informed by his wiſdom, have written it—in their heart's core—where, long ſince, I have written your's, my friend: and this moſt excellent and moſt abuſed man is ſtill labouring under a load of accuſations that a fiend would bluſh at.

The trial of Warren Haſtings is as much the converſation abroad as at home, and it is uni⯑formly ſpoken of with wonder, generally with indignation, as the darkeſt ingratitude of his countrymen for preſerving their country! a recompenſe too often attending the publick benefactor of every country.

Although, in point of correſpondence, I have now brought you, my eſtimable friend, no far⯑ther than Haarlem; in point of travel, I have therein mingled the remarks of ſome years, and you will, all along, underſtand that whatever I offer is the reſult of my frequent viſits or re⯑ſidence as well in Holland, as other countries. The reflections, therefore, which I preſent to you, are rarely the conſequence of immediate notice at the moment of writing to you, but are ſtrong confirmations of what has been ſeen [385]and felt during the courſe of thoſe reſidences and viſits, fully reſolved to exemplify what the valuable Dr. Moore (whoſe obſervations are not more ſprightly than ſolid) has ſaid on this very ſubject, viz. "truly to know people and places it is abſolutely neceſſary to reſide in, and amongſt them, a conſiderable time."

It is then, after having, in a tour of ſome years, round and acroſs many countries (which a rapid trippiſt would have ſkimmed with a dizzy kind of ſpeed, that ſees nothing diſtinctly, and which certainly a right-on traveller might paſs in a few weeks,) that I will now give you the collected evidence of different countries, gleaned at different opportunities, on the ſub⯑ject of the proſecution ſtill, as you inform me, carrying on in Weſtminſter-Hall.

No man, who has not been abroad, can conceive the degree of aſtoniſhment, which accompanies the ſlighteſt mention of this matter to foreigners. They aſked the Gleaner for an explanation of paradoxes. ‘Why do you bring to a tribunal of public juſtice a public be⯑nefactor? Why are you making him poor, who hath made you rich? Why do the In⯑dians uniformly ſing the praiſes of the man, [386]whom the Engliſh have ſelected for cenſure, on the pretence of his having dealt cruelly by thoſe very Indians, who are the loudeſt in his panegyric?’ The Gleaner tells them, that the like queſtions are continually made (without receiving any ſatisfactory reply) by the people of England. He owns himſelf to be one of the thouſands who want ſagacity to ſolve the moſt palpable contradictions; and that, therefore, he is bewildered, like them⯑ſelves, to account for the ſuppoſed union of the darkeſt vices, and brighteſt virtues, in the ſame mind: or how the moſt melting charity and ſavage, hard-hearted avarice, the ſofteſt affections, and moſt deſpotic exerciſe of the worſt paſſions, the moſt boundleſs generoſity, with the moſt ſordid exaction, can aſſemble in the ſame boſom. But, ſay they, we under⯑ſtand that the chief conductor of theſe contra⯑dictions is a man of ſplendid talents and vir⯑tues, and that he has brought himſelf to be⯑lieve his accuſations well-founded, although he cannot but know that the exceſſes of virtue and vice in the ſame character are incompa⯑tible. That the beſt men have frailties we all admit; and that the worſt have ſome qualities leſs pernicious and deteſtable than others, is no leſs unqueſtionable; but to be at once emi⯑nently [387]diſtinguiſhed for tenderneſs, and rigour, for bounty and rapacity, for honourable deal⯑ing, and for diſgraceful tricking, are contra⯑rieties that nature herſelf forbids to meet: ‘And yet your nation has ſound them to co⯑here in the breaſt of Mr. Haſtings,’ obſerve they, ‘ſince we do not find that the moſt virulent of thoſe who are brought in evidence againſt him, deny him this ſtrange mixture of qualities. Tell us the fact?’

I muſt beg, returned the Gleaner, to de⯑cline involving myſelf and you in the labyrinths of this queſtion, the anſwers to which have, for more than three years paſt filled the preſſes of Great Britain; and the puzzle remains. But of the man thus accuſed of every thing baſe, on the one hand, and to whom has been attributed every thing great and good on the other, I will give you a little anecdote, which may aſſiſt you, perhaps, more than all that has been written, to form your own judg⯑ment. It is, indeed, a very minute incident, yet of great account as to that part of your queſtion which enquires after general diſpo⯑ſition and character. I ſhall only preſume that the truth of the circumſtance is indubitable.

[388] ‘This moſt injured and moſt excellent man, (ſays the recorder of the anecdote) was walk⯑ing at early day in his pleaſure grounds, near Windſor, when were exhibited the follow⯑ing traits of a heart replete with the nobleſt virtues, though charged with the fouleſt crimes.’

"As an unſeen ſpectator," continues the re⯑later, ‘I beheld Warren Haſtings going along a narrow path-way, in a zig-zag kind of manner, ſometimes ſtopping ſuddenly, ſome⯑times cautiouſly ſetting his foot forward, retrograde, and ſideway, as if he trod with fear and trembling: and this circumſpect movement he continued till he was loſt to my view amidſt the windings of the walk. So ſtrange a procedure, however, ſtrongly excited my curioſity, and I left the chamber in which I was then ſitting, to explore the cauſe. On reaching the ſpot, I perceived an emmet's neſt on one ſide of the walk, and the induſtrious proprietors of it called forth by the warmth of the morning, had ſpread themſelves over the path-way. The deſign of the deſtroyer of ſo many thouſands of the human race was ſtudiouſly to avoid doing any injury to theſe poor ants. I traced, with a [389]kind of benevolent joy, the Governor-Ge⯑neral's footſteps, in which crooked, irregu⯑lar, and broken, as they were, I could plainly perceive the impreſſions of the tendereſt heart, whoſe very inſtincts were bountiful. It would have touched, warmed, and melted a philanthropiſt, to trace the marks of ſuch genuine humanity along the ſand. In one place, where I had obſerved Mr. Haſtings to ſtoop down, he had been at the trouble to repair with his hands the depredations of his feet, by rebuilding the little populated hil⯑lock, whoſe ſides he had inadvertently da⯑maged; and at another part, where I had noticed him to make a large ſtride, the buſy creatures were gathered together in a kind of foraging party, which, but for that gene⯑rous ſtride, he muſt have exterminated. The feeling this gave penetrated my whole frame: but as I am of an ardent temper, I ſhould have ſet down ſome part of my emotion to thoſe conſtitutional propenſities, had not my recital, deareſt friend, of this little anec⯑dote to all orders of people, friends and ene⯑mies of the man, convinced me the feeling produced in all other minds was the ſame, and ariſing from the ſame cauſe. The heart aſked ſpontaneouſly, whether he who could thus act [390]towards a hillock of poor ants would trample under foot all the laws of humanity, and prove the ſcourge of his fellow-creatures, over whoſe lives and properties he had equal power of do⯑ing good or evil?’ The heart thus queſtioning does not receive a reply ſolely from the affec⯑tions, for reaſon herſelf gives in an anſwer. Rigorous as ſhe is in her judgments, ſome⯑times, where the ſympathiſing affections are moſt indulgent, ſhe heſitates not on this oc⯑caſion, to pronounce, that the perſon capable of ſuch an unſeen, unoſtenſible action is con⯑ſtitutionally and habitually incapable of thoſe cruelties, with which he ſtands impeached. I have here uſed the word conſtitutionally, as implicating a natural incapacity to act con⯑trary to the ruling paſſion of the man, whoſe forbearance to commit acts of barbarity may be conſidered rather as an inſtinct than a vir⯑tue; and I ſhould think Warren Haſtings might be found innocent of cruelties on the ſimple argument of moral and phyſical impoſ⯑ſibility to act the part of a tyrant. Do not, at the ſame time, ſuppoſe I am ignorant of the ſneer with which certain profound criticks would, and will, treat the important inferences drawn from theſe premiſes. Thoſe who judge of the bias of the human mind only from great [391]events, will ſmile at the conceit of honourably acquitting a State criminal on the evidence of his forbearing to cruſh a neſt of inſects, whoſe death or preſervation, ſay they, weighs nothing in the ſcale of human offences. In anſwer to all which, I ſhall only beg to refer all ſuch lovers of the ſublime to an honeſt ſcrutiny into their own hearts, where, if they have found, when alone, a diſpoſition to exerciſe undue authority over their birds, domeſtic animals, or even the flies that are ſporting on their window, in ſhort, to vex or haraſs any thing within their power, or under their protection, (I mean when they were even in that early ſtage of life, when reaſon and natural tenderneſs, or natural cruelty, for I fear ſuch things are began in their firſt diſplays and exerciſes) they will have a clear conviction of the importance of thoſe apparent trifles in the judgment which they enable us to form of human hearts, and cha⯑racters, during the reſt of life: ſ [...]ince our vices like our virtues, ‘"Grow with our growth, and ſtrengthen with our ſtrength."’ And my obſervations have never yet been able to accommodate me with an exception, to this very broad general rule, viz. as a tender hearted youth (I ſpeak not of an infant) never, even by [392]the force of ill influence and example, makes a hard-hearted man, without firſt ſuffering many "compunctious viſitings of nature," ſo a cruel diſpoſition, manifeſted in our firſt child⯑hood, is carried on to our ſecond, changing its objects, but not its tyranny.

Of the truth of this aſſertion, you are your⯑ſelf, my invaluable friend, an example, in re⯑ſpect to the firſt part. I have attended the pro⯑greſs of your being from its earlieſt dawn to its preſent full meridian. Every thing com⯑mitted to your care was the happier for it.— While yet in your babyhood, this natural be⯑nignity diſcovered itſelf. Was a lamb to be domeſticated? a chicken, ſtraying from its mother, or too weak to bear the rigours of the ſeaſon, to be foſtered? I remember well you were appointed the nurſe, and were to be entruſted with its life or death. From that hour humanity marked you for her own: and you have honoured her adoption. The objects of your benevolence have of courſe varied. To the lamb, which was to be of your houſehold, and to the chicken, which had wandered from its parent, ſucceeded the helpleſs being, who had not wherewithal to make its bed, or find a ſhelter from the ſtorm. The monarch, Paſ⯑ſion, [393]ripened into a monarch, Principle; and if in the courſe of my long, long abſence from your loved ſociety, I was to hear that you had been impeached for numberleſs high crimes and miſdemeanours, of which the baſis was inhuma⯑nity, I ſhould ſay, that if your ſenſes remain⯑ed, your kind-heartedneſs remained alſo; and that, although conſidering the imperfection of our being, you might be ſeduced into many frailties, weakneſſes, &c. &c. you muſt have been born again, and with diametrically a contraſted diſpoſition, before you could be in⯑human. And on this principle I would anſwer for your innocence, or that of any man, with my life. Thus, in caſes of tender-heartedneſs and tyranny,

Your mind will not ſimply pardon, but reve⯑rence this digreſſion, and return with me to Mr. Hope's villa.

To this beautiful place every reſpectable traveller may gain admittance. Since nothing but the living eye can do it juſtice, I truſt you will profit of this urbanity in the proprietor. In the muſic-room there is a pretty invention [394]for receiving the ſounds, without ſeeing the inſtruments, by which means you may ſuppoſe them to be aerial; and, indeed, when this ſa⯑loon is filled with beautiful women below, and harmonious inſtruments above, as is often the caſe on public nights, it requires very little enthuſiaſm, to feel, and exclaim, it is heavenly.

Four objects of very different kinds will excite the curioſity of a ſtranger in the neigh⯑bourhood and town of Haarlem, viz. the beauty of the flowers, the whiteneſs of the linen, the almoſt celeſtial ſounds of the celebrated organ, and the firſt ſpecimens of Laurence Coſter, in the art of printing.

In regard to the firſt, a floriſt may ſee his favourite paſſion carried to the greateſt exceſs and perfection, no leſs a ſum than 5000l. being given for a tulip root; and there is ſuch a rivalry in the amateurs, that a perſon has been known to deſtroy himſelf, on finding the tulip of a neighbour more beautifully ſtreaked or blown than his own.

The linen bleacheries of Haarlem are an object of real curioſity. The ſuperior whiteneſs of the cambricks, threads, &c. manufactured [395]here, has been attributed to the ſlimy water of the Meer, a vaſt lake in this neighbourhood. However that be, it is certain, the pureſt lily, in their gardens, muſt yield in colour to the linen that covers their tables. Indeed, through⯑out Holland, the article of beautiful linen, both at bed and board, is a luxury we ſhall in vain look for in every other country. The moſt ordinary inn, the cottages of the peaſantry, and even the cabins of the public boats, exhibit ſuch ſheets, towels, and table-cloths, that, if we connect with theſe, the exceſſive cleanlineſs of the floors, furniture, and kitchen utenſils, we ſhould not heſitate to pronounce in a haſty gleaning, that the Dutch were the neateſt peo⯑ple upon earth. I ſay, in an haſty gleaning, becauſe in going over the ſame ground, and its appurtenances, a ſecond time, ſome things, ſo much the reverſe of neatneſs, will be found, that the Dutch are brought upon the whole to a level with the moſt dirty nation on the face of the globe: but as every man, who ſtays long enough, will ſee, feelingly, this truth, I will paſs over the particulars, except ſuch ſpeci⯑mens as I gave in a former letter.

With reſpect to printing, Straſbourg diſputes with Haarlem the honour of that uſeful, and [396]beautiful, invention; but on comparing the pre⯑tenſions, thoſe of Haarlem appear to be the beſt founded. It is ſcarce neceſſary to remind you, that Coſter, who is ſaid to be the diſcoverer of this noble art, hit upon it as he was walking in the wood adjoining the town. For want of other amuſement, he cut the letters of his name on the bark of a tree, then ſtampt them upon paper as a ſeal, and that being ſtruck with the impreſſion, he conceived he could render it more lively by engraving the ſame letters on lead. This alſo ſucceeding, he made a third eſſay on pewter, and erected a printing-office in his own houſe.

To Haarlem then we owe the birth of a man whom literature muſt conſider as its chief benefactor and parent. After ſo many ages paſſed in the darkneſs of incommunicable igno⯑rance, the torch of ſcience was then kindled. Genius, wiſdom, and the affections, had a wider range, and at once the book, and the light of knowledge was diffuſed over the world.

The firſt ſpecimens of the art being given by Coſter, Etiennes ſoon ſpread it with im⯑provements through France; Manutius (the inventor of the Italic characters) through Italy, [397]and the Plantins through the Netherlands. Of Plantin's high degree of perfection in the art, the famous Poliglotte, of Antwerp, is a ſufficient proof.

Lawrence Coſter is one of the very few to whoſe talents public gratitude has erected a memorial. His ſtatue is in the Botanic garden of this town. I have juſt viſited the houſe he inhabited, over the door of which I glean the following inſcription, engraved in golden let⯑ters: had they been of diamond, his fame deſerves them. ‘Memoriae ſacrum. Typographia, ars artium con [...]er⯑vatio: nunc primum inventa circa annum 1440.’ Every man of great talents or atchievements makes an infinite number of poets, good, bad, and indifferent. I have been ſhewn a volume ſacred to the inventor of printing, and truly I am able to glean only the follow⯑ing couplet, deſerving your peruſal:

The Catholic religion is tolerated here, and its votaries are ſo numerous, that each Catho⯑lic family is obliged to put on the door of [398]the houſe, the letter C. that the miniſters of the reformed church, in making their viſits ex of⯑ficio, ſhould know their own flocks, and not ſtray into another man's fold.

Haarlem Meer is as dreary a body of water as can well be looked on; it is not always paſſed without hazard: of which one might glean numberleſs inſtances. Amongſt others that which follows.

The King of Bohemia having been dethroned, and driven out of the palatinate by the Empe⯑ror, took ſanctuary in Holland. He left Haar⯑lem, ſays the anecdote, towards evening, in the month of December. The night proved very dark, and the lake tempeſtuous, when a boat falling foul of that in which he was ſailing, ſunk it directly. The King ſaved himſelf by ſwimming; but his eldeſt ſon, who had been the companion and ſolace of his exile, was drowned. It is added, that the laſt words of the young prince, were—‘Ah! ſave me, dear father, ſave your ſon:’ and that thoſe of the King, in his laſt illneſs, almoſt at the moment of his death, were a repetition of this pathetic, but unavailing requeſt.

[399]A man, ſays Carter, can hardly go through a ſtreet of Haarlem, without ſeeing ſome ob⯑jects that remind him of the hiſtory of the country. This is a truth which few travellers have allowed themſelves time to be acquainted with, as Haarlem is generally looked upon to be a mere thoroughfare to Amſterdam, which is complimented with notice juſt in the degree that this town is ſlighted.

The ruins of the old caſtle here, wherein the burghers beſieged the Lord of the place for his tyranny, are ſtill to be ſeen. This ſiege would have coſt him his life, if his lady had not capitulated to ſurrender, on condition that ſhe ſhould be allowed to bring out of the caſtle as much of the valuable goods as ſhe could carry on her back. This article being agreed to, ſhe took her huſband on her ſhoulders, preſerving him in this manner from their fury, and left the place to their mercy; which by the bye they were well diſpoſed to ſhew, on account of the pleaſant device which had ſaved her lord, and put the enemy into a good humour.

There was a notable wife for you. Perhaps, wicked wits, the ſlanderers of the lovely ſex, [400]who, as Pope ſays, "libel all the fair," would inſinuate that many of our modern married dames would content themſelves with carrying out their jewel box, and leave their huſbands behind them. But wicked wits may aſſert what they pleaſe; I am ſo far from aſſiſting their ſcandal, that I can never ſuſpect this to happen, unleſs in the general hurry of ſecuring No. 1, No. 2 ſhould be forgotten: as who can anſwer for the effects of fear upon the memory; and at ſuch a time too, when you know the firſt law of nature preſſes for obedi⯑ence. No! depend on it, ſhould a huſband be overlooked in a lady's treaty of ſafety, it could only proceed from a little inadvertence, or a very laudable deſign, to leave behind what was not worth carrying away. Such opportunities, you know, do not happen often:

And this is one of them.

But Haarlem, it ſeems, was at all times po⯑pular for its gallant females. Hiſtorians men⯑tion almoſt as many heroines as heroes, who defended the town in the memorable fiege of 1573. Strada tells us, that, making uſe of the [401]invention peculiar to them, in the moment critique, they converſed with the Prince of Orange by pigeons as couriers, but which, be⯑ing diſcovered, by one of them ſettling upon a tent of the Spaniſh camp, the enemy ſhot all theſe winged expreſſes about the town, and put an end to the winged intercourſe. During the ſiege of this caſtle, the ſoldiers who fought for it within, finding it impoſſible to receive any ſuccours from without, were compelled at laſt to ſurrender, after being reduced to eat leather, graſs, and every other thing that could prevent them from either being ſtarved or vanquiſhed.

More than three centuries back, there has been eſtabliſhed, a tradition, which has the ſuffrage of ſucceſſive hiſtorians, but of which the modern reader may believe as much as he pleaſes, that a mermaid was caſt aſhore by a ſtorm near this town, and was brought to eat bread and milk, and to ſpin, and in ſhort to become a very uſeful ſervant in the houſe where ſhe was nouriſhed. It is ſaid ſhe would fre⯑quently pull off her clothes without many re⯑ſerves, as to where or before whom ſhe unmade her toilette, and run towards the water, her old element, but that ſhe would return to her new one, after having taken a ſwim for an hour or two and [402]ſeen what her friends were about at the bottom of Haarlem Lake. By way, however, of keeping this aquatic damſel, and her biographers, in countenance, authors mention a male of the ſame ſpecies to have been taken in England about the ſame time. But then this young gentle⯑man was by no means of ſo gracious a diſpo⯑ſition as the young lady, being very ſulky, feeding only on fiſh—"a moſt ſcurvy monſter," as Trinculo ſays, ſo his keeper finding him intractable, left him to his own ſullen de⯑vices, upon which he ſtole off again to ſea.

This ſtory is told with great gravity, aye, and to this hour with great gravity be⯑lieved too, by the good Haarlemites.—But, ‘by this good light, he muſt be a very ſhallow, a very credulous monſter,’ that be⯑lieves it, without ſome grains of allowance.

Yet this is nothing, my dear friend, either in point of marvel or of evidence, to a ſtory that prevails in Holland, reſpecting a Counteſs of Hennenberg, daughter of Florence the IVth, one of the ancient Counts of Zealand. This curious event, which has the antiquity and credit of more than five hundred years upon [403]it, happened at a little village about four miles from the Hague.

The Counteſs meeting one day a woman with twins in her arms, upbraided her as un⯑chaſte, becauſe, ſaid ſhe, people may ſay what they pleaſe, but I ſhall never be brought to believe a woman can have two children at once by one man. Hereupon the counteſs re⯑fuſed her charity; when the good woman hearing herſelf not only denied the alms ſhe ſolicited, but reproached at the ſame time for incontinency, wiſhed that her ladyſhip, who was then pregnant, might have as many chil⯑dren as there were days in the year. This malediction was fulfilled upon the uncharitable Margaret, who was delivered exactly of three hundred and ſixty-five children, who were all baptized by Guido, ſuffragan of Utrecht. All the males were named John; and all the fe⯑males Elizabeth; and to make the prophecy tell better, it is roundly aſſerted, that all died the ſame day, with their mother. Now, that thoſe who are of little faith, may be put into the way of enlarging it, we are informed, that one of theſe children is ſtill to be ſeen in the Muſaeum Regium, at Copenhagen, where the curious, who are diſpoſed to ſearch into this [404]prodigy, may ſatisfy themſelves, whether it be true or falſe; and as curioſity is ſel⯑dom any thing more than another name for buſy idleneſs, I cannot but think a journey of this kind to the full as laudable as that which carries a man to Grand Cairo, to meaſure a pyramid, or to any other modern reſort of tra⯑vellers on modern motives.

At the ſame time I muſt tell you, Eraſmus relates, and ſeems to give credence to this event: ſo do four other authors of diſtinction. In the village church there is a board fixed to the wall, with a long inſcription, giving an ac⯑count of the whole matter, and alſo the two braſs baſons, in which the children were bap⯑tized with this diſtich under them:

The tradition however ſerves a moral pur⯑poſe; for the event being conſidered by the common people eſpecially, as a judgment upon pride, uncharitableneſs, and contempt of the poor, I am told there has not been known a goſſip, male or female, who has ſaid a ſcandalous thing of a neighbour theſe hundred years, [405]though the pariſh regiſter gives a yearly liſt of births, exceeding the marriages in a ratio of five to one.

After all, I allow the arguments of an ad⯑vocate for this monſtrous birth, when he ſays, prodigies do ſometimes happen: and that an eminent modern writer is wrong is aſſerting abſolutely, Hunc partum poſt aliquot ſecula confictum, ad fabulas pertinere aniles, placitiſque phyſicorum repugnare. The origin of the preſent royal family of Great Britain from the Dukes of Bavaria and Saxony is remarkable enough: and its verity is inſiſted on.

Germentrude, Counteſs of Altorf, in Swabia, having accuſed a poor woman of adultery, and cauſed her to be puniſhed for having twelve children at a birth, was ſoon after delivered of twelve ſons herſelf: Her huſband, Count Iſenberg, being then abſent, to avoid the ſame ſcandal, ſhe ordered the midwiſe to carry out of the houſe eleven, and put them to death: The Count, however, happening to come home at that inſtant, aſked the midwife what ſhe had in her apron; and ſhe anſwered woelpen, that is, puppies, or whelps. Hereupon, inſiſting to ſee them, ſhe confeſſed the whole affair, and [406]the Count, in conſequence, enjoining ſecrecy, had them put out to nurſe. Six years after he invited moſt of his own and his wife's relations to a banquet, and in the midſt of their jollity, brought out his eleven ſons all dreſſed alike. The Counteſs owned her fault, and the Count was in too good an humour not to forgive her, but in remembrance of this ſingular preſerva⯑tion he ordered the children to be called Guelphs. From the eldeſt of theſe deſcended Henry Guelph, Count of Altorf, whom the Emperor, Conrad II. afterwards made Duke of Bavaria.

I juſt now recollect the well-atteſted account of a third ſea-monſter, which appeared on the coaſt of Martinico, in the year 1671, and which may be conſidered as a very good match for the Haarlem Mermaid. He had the figure of a man from the head to the waiſt, a good ſhape, large eyes and noſe, a full face, and long hair, which flowed over his ſhoulders, with a very good complexion. The lower parts reſembled thoſe of a fiſh. He ſhewed himſelf above the waves, for the firſt time, about an hour before ſunſet, and ſwam to ſhore. He then walked along the beach, and did not go again into the water till night fall. Thoſe who diſ⯑covered him, [407]aſſert, that he ſeemed to be ex⯑tremely gentle, and ſtood looking at them for ſome time, without any ſigns of apprehenſion as might have been expected. Another of the ſame kind appeared, the ſame year, near Belle-iſle.

But enough of monſters; the bell-boat in⯑forms me, the ſchuyts are ſetting off for Am⯑ſterdam, and were it not ſo, it is time to bring this long Letter to a concluſion, and bid you very affectionately Adieu.

LETTER XLVIII. TO THE SAME.

IT has but juſt ſuggeſted itſelf to me, that I have ſent you now more than two large volumes of letters, principally without dates. This would certainly be a mortal offence in commercial correſpondence, but I do not, by any means, think it unpardonable in an inter⯑courſe, ſuch as ours.

You know the places at which I am reſident. The known diſtance of theſe, and the no leſs known progreſs of the poſts and mails, allow⯑ing for "moving accidents by flood and field," are in themſelves an explanation of dates, as to weeks and months, and as to the day of the week, or the hour of the day, on which I begin to write, it is as little material, as if I was to ſend you a critical account of the time I take in writing my letter by a ſtop watch. Beſides all this whenever I ſit down to addreſs a friend, my heart is ſo full of affection, and throbs ſo ſtrongly to pour forth its effuſions, [409]with all the ardour and rapidity of Nature, that, in the outſet, I cannot ſtop to ſettle the chrono⯑logy of my correſpondence, and really as often forget the day of the month, as I remember it, and even when the latter happens to be the caſe, there is ſo little of mere mechanical authorſhip in my letters to you, that it is fre⯑quently a wonder that I allow myſelf time to tell you, by any other way than the ſubjects of the letter, where I am; and I dare ſay, it may have happened that you have received ſome of my communications without any other intelli⯑gence whence they came, than you have been able to glean from the marter treated of.

Furthermore, I have always been diſguſted with your over-exact journal travellers, the half of whoſe books are taken up with the very in⯑tereſting news of their day's journey. At ſix o'clock, in very fine or very foul weather, they left England. A ſweet or a ſour ride down to Harwich or Dover; a very ſick and ſorry paſ⯑ſage over the water; very hungry on getting to the inn; are heartily, or could not touch a morſel; reached the ſhore exactly at three quarters and three ſeconds after four in the evening; ſat down to dinner juſt as the clock had given warning to ſtrike ſix; poſt-horſes [410]were ordered preciſely at ſeven, but did not come to the door till thirty-two minutes, five ſeconds, and one-fourth of a moment, before eight; got to the next ſtage at half-paſt eleven; hurried ſupper, which came on at twelve, and was over before half after; people ſaucy; victuals bad; worſe dreſſed; bills high; beds execrable; and ſat down to write theſe obſer⯑vations on the manners and cuſtoms, as ſoon as I reached my chamber, betwixt ſleeping and waking; ſhall put this into the poſt-office to go by the returning mail; and will continue to give you an account of every thing I hear and ſee as I go along.

Here is, to be ſure, a little exaggeration, into which the ſpirit of burleſque imitation naturally hurries one; but the colouring is not very ſtrong; and I have a thouſand times been made ſick, with the like nauſeating ſcrupuloſity. What is it better than the tedious logbook of a landſman, in which every thing of no mo⯑ment is recorded, and all that affects, intereſts, touches, or informs, is omitted!

[411]Very proper certainly for the counting-houſe, and the courts of juſtice, and for all the litera⯑ture of Meum and Tuum. But what is it to my private friends, (ſuppoſing them ſatisfied that I am not in want of theſe daily comforts) or what is it to the public at large, whether I got into the coach at ſix, or at twelve; reached the boat in the morning, or in the evening; ſat down to dinner at ſeven or eight; or began to write a journal about nothing at one hour or at ano⯑ther? Away with ſuch minute chronologiſts.

For myſelf, I obſerve at leiſure, and write in haſte—I glean, ear by ear, what lies in my path, or on either ſide, I ſtoop with patient diligence, and gather whatever I think may give pleaſure or information to my boſom's friend. The intervals of weeks and months, it is true, often ſeparate one letter from ano⯑ther; but all that time I am aſſiduouſly, though ſilently, proceeding; and while (either from the richer ſheaves of another, I ſelect what is moſt valuable, from the maſs of what appears to me of no account, or to my own, I give arrange⯑ment and ſpirit) I am ſo occupied I ap⯑pear to be in a manner converſing, with you in particular, and in general with all I love and have left behind. Every particular friend, in⯑deed, [412]has his character of mind and pleaſure diſtinct and appropriate. In the ſecret of his habits, I feel frequently gratifying them as I go on. Such as delight in the repoſe of ſolitude, and ſuch as appreciate the clamour of the world take their turn in my thoughts, as I paint the ſcenes and places, (or lay up mate⯑rials for them in my note-book), which dif⯑ferently affect them. Does Nature ſpread her blooms before me, as I paſs or ſojourn in a far country—Is the eye regaled by proſpects, or the ear by melodies, before unſeen and un⯑heard—I ſoftly whiſper to myſelf, as I take out my tablets, this is imagery, which will exactly ſuit the fancy of one friend. Are my affec⯑tions aſſailed by a touch of genuine nature as ſhe works in the human breaſt—I ſtrike my penſive boſom, and ſay, this is a Gleaning that will reach the heart of another. Is my ſoul agitated by the ſublime, or torn by the tender exhibitions of finely imitated nature on a foreign theatre—How, exclaim I, will a third friend ſympathize with this Gleaning.—In a word, all the time (though months in⯑tervene) that I am going over the country, or the town, "with penſive ſteps and ſlow," I am holding "communion high and dear, with thoſe whom no abſence can obliterte; [423]nor, even, any eſtrangements can make me think of without the ſigh of an abſent friend, who cannot but remember they have afforded him many a delightful converſation, and many a bliſsful idea ſince they parted." And though, perhaps, it is a parting to meet no more—the memory

But ſee how my heart has run away with my hand. I ſet out ſimply with an apology, or rather juſtification for neglect of dates— but

I forget that I am writing from one of the moſt clamorous cities in the whole world; and that, at this very moment, cars, coaches, wheel⯑barrows, and their more noiſy attendants, are paſſing by the window at which I write; yet, ſo veritable is every word of what I have hitherto ſet in this letter, ſo ſuperior is the rapid progreſs of animating nature, to all the mechanical feelings, and impediments of art, that I have ſcarcely heard the din. Wonder not, therefore, that I overlook dates. I over⯑look in the flow of my affections, much more neceſſary things. With ſuch energy is my [414]heart filled, and ſo powerfully does it haſten to give up its effuſions, when once the pen is in my hand, that when that pen, unable to keep pace with the impetuoſity of my affec⯑tions, grows weary, or is worn out, with marking them upon paper, I do not believe, (though I have never tried), I could bring myſelf to the mechaniſm of tearing myſelf from you, to look for another, or mend that my ardour has tired, on any conſideration. And this muſt account to you for the illegibility of moſt part of my correſpondence. I mention this not ſo much in the way of excuſe for bad writing, as to exemplify the motives of it, which are really thoſe of ſincere affection. For I repeat to you, that though I glean my materials of correſpondence deliberately, I write at the fulleſt ſpeed of the heart, when thoſe materials are to be put down, and I always know the degree of love I bear a perſon, by the general handwriting of the letter I am about to tranſmit. Take then theſe almoſt undecypherable hieroglyphics, as ſo many inſtances of the energy and vivid powers of my friendſhip. If I loved you leſs, you ſhould have better writing. Every page ſhould carry all the formal ceremonies of polite indiffer⯑ence, all the freezing regularities of a cor⯑reſpondence [415]that gives and receives letter for letter: and the debt of our epiſtolary inter⯑courſe ſhould be ſettled with the preciſion, and with the apathy of a ſteward in the balance, and buſineſs of pounds, ſhillings, and pence, with the accurácy (mind I ſpeak of a faithful ſteward) of Cocker's Arithmetic. Nay, every ſyllable ſhould be as fair to your eyes, and as cold to your heart as ſnow. Methinks I hear you exclaim, ah, continue to give me what the heart dictates, though you mark to me its ge⯑nuine movements, with a ſkewer or a pot⯑hook! Well, be it ſo; for after the above honeſt confeſſion of my ſcrawlings, I know you would not forgive me were I to check the "genial current of the ſoul," by the chilling operation of mending a pen, though I thereby might ſend you a letter, (for I really can write legibly though you may not think it) fairer than copper-plate.

So now for Amſterdam. But having brought myſelf to a breathing place, and being too late for this day's poſt, I will, when I continue my letter, ſit down with a new pen; for this now in my hand, has faultered and tripped under my work, like a jaded horſe, panting to reach its goal, but almoſt deſpairing to do ſo, and [416]juſt ready to die upon the courſe. With un⯑fatigued regard, a while, Adieu.

Having thus ſatisfied myſelf that I may con⯑tinue to enjoy the perfect freedom of obeying the motions of my own mind rather than be obliged to conſtrain it to the mercantile rules of letter-writing, I proceed to give you my Gleanings of Amſterdam, of that magni⯑ficent and opulent city, which, lifting its head above the waters, aſſerts its pretenſions to a rank in the map of the world, with what Paris once was, and what London has the triumph to be at this moment. Suffer me to paſs over in ſilence thoſe ſtrong ſmells, which certainly take a traveller by the noſe, the inſtant he enters the gates, and which do not let go their hold till he is ſeaſoned to the ſcent. Peace to their contagious canals, and mantling pools. Numberleſs are the multitudes that prefer theſe, from habit and from gain, to the Citron Groves of Mexico, and the Spice Iſlands of the Orient.

Amſterdam, indeed, is, in every ſenſe of the word, an aſtoniſhing city, and as a reflecting man walks along, he may well exclaim, Is it credible that this huge pile of buildings with [417]all its buſy inhabitants, ſhould have been ſup⯑ported for ſo many hundred years on a foreſt ſtanding in a river; that in the neighbourhood of the roaring ocean, that river ſhould by the aid of human induſtry command that ocean to know its bound? Even though, in the firſt inſtance, the ocean was robbed of its ancient rights, to form the river and to rear the city, which reſts upon it, ‘"A new creation reſcu'd from his reign."’

On recollection, this image has before ſug⯑geſted itſelf to me, and been communicated to you in a former letter; but it occurs to me at almoſt every view I take; and though, like you, my friend, and every perſon of reading, the ſtreets, buildings, buſineſs, and intereſts of this mighty maſs of wood and water, have been familiar to me, ever ſince I became a traveller, even in books, and though I have actually compared the city itſelf with the various deſcriptions of it, it is the only place I ever read about and viſited, of which the impreſſions of aſtoniſhment remain unimpaired; not ſo much on account of its wealth, or beauty, but for its origin, progreſs, and ſituation. Conſider what it is for millions of living things, to have exiſted for centuries in, as it were, one [418]immenſe ſhip of merchandize! to which an hundred foreſts muſt have contributed the timber, and miriads of hands the workman⯑ſhip!—Shops, houſes, temples, &c. in an abundance, that ſeems to aſk the moſt ſolid foundations on the drieſt hills, or hardeſt rocks, ſuſtained by huge planks, which are driven into a trembling bog! And in a country, where at the time of erecting the city, the car⯑riage of materials was more difficult to be pro⯑cured, than the materials themſelves? The Hotel de Ville itſelf, repoſes on more than thirty thouſand ſtakes, or rather trees. A vaſt ark at anchor! containing almoſt countleſs beings, the greater part of which are engaged in the moſt laborious and heavy employments! Is the architecture of Amſterdam maſſive? are the edifices rude, clumſy, and inelegant? are the ornaments awkward, and without taſte? Admitted. But, what does this prove? No⯑thing more than that the grand deſign was to build a warehouſe for the world; of which the original proprietors did not ſo much conſider decoration as uſe. A light, airy city, might, perhaps, have been ſupported with all its fea⯑thered, dancing inhabitants, on the twigs of thoſe enormous trees, which were to ſuſtain this vaſt fabric of buſineſs! but would ſuch [419]an airy city have anſwered the ſolid purpoſes for which that ſtorehouſe of the world was at firſt conſtructed? No. And even could it have been raiſed to its preſent ſize, on ſlighter prin⯑ciples, the treaſuries of "either Ind," which now reſt ſafe and dry, would tumble in the water, and the airy city, with all its airy people, periſh along with them, and ‘"Leave but a wreck behind."’

Yet this great mart of commerce is not without its votaries, and manſions, of the ele⯑gant arts. It boaſts a theatre conſtructed and conducted on far more polite and liberal prin⯑ciples than any play-houſe more flouriſhing in our ſtage-ſtruck Britain. It is ſupported by the voluntary contribution of, comparatively, a few individuals, for the benefit of the public; that is to ſay, every ſubſcriber is entitled to ſuch a number of tickets as gives him the power to amuſe many of his friends, and thus the houſe is filled every evening by friendſhip and generoſity, with as brilliant and numerous an audience as I ever ſaw in any part of the world. Every perſon is at full liberty to take the range of the houſe, which is large and beau⯑tiful. Travellers have but to ſend, announcing their names and country, and tickets will be [420]preſented to them, in proportion to the party that ſolicits.

Delightful England—thou to whom I owe the balancing joys of a thouſand ſorrows, and of whom I would, and do ſpeak with grateful and juſt eulogy, preſent or abſent, whenever, and wherever, I can; put not the "frontlet on," if I thus dare to do juſtice to other peo⯑ple, whether in a land of friends or foes, of trade or elegance. And thou, John Bull, for whoſe rough honeſty and bounty I have as great a reverence as any of thy moſt ſturdy aſſociates, ſpurn not my book, which only ‘"Laughs where it muſt, and is candid where it can."’ Confeſs then that though, on a proper occa⯑ſion, thou wouldeſt give thy box ticket to the ſtranger that is within thy gates, and mount thyſelf to the one ſhilling gallery, ſo abaſing thyſelf, that thou mayeſt be exalted; confeſs that theſe Dutch neighbours of thine, living in Amſterdam, have an inſtitution, the adop⯑tion of which would not at all diſgrace thy beloved London: the more eſpecially, as thou mayeſt have heard, and art to be informed if thou haſt not, that charity, as well as pleaſure and generoſity, attends on this theatre. The magiſtrates receive the money, defray the [421]charges, and pay the actors very ſufficient ſa⯑laries. The reſidue is applied to the poor, and to the ſupport of the different hoſpitals, amongſt which latter is one ſacred to all poor travellers, without diſtinction, who are lodged, nurſed, and entertained for three nights.

If one could ſee all that was under Amſter⯑dam, ſays Carter, a greater foreſt could hardly be found on the face of the earth. Old Eraſ⯑mus facetiouſly obſerved, on his firſt viſit to this place, that he was arrived in a city, the inhabitants of which lived upon the tops of trees; and another wag tells us, that Amſter⯑dam, like Venice, has wooden legs.

But the public lions of this mighty city, of foreſt-growth, viz. the churches, ſyna⯑gogues, hoſpitals, gaſthouſes, dolhouſes, raſp⯑houſes, and ſpin-houſes; that is to ſay, recep⯑tacles for the ſick, inſane, wild, or wicked, I ſhall ſpare you the repetition of, as your me⯑mory muſt be full of them, in tours upon tours, and travels upon travels. But a few particulars that lie more out of the beaten tract of obſervation, I will glean for you next poſt. En attendant, may your felicity be pro⯑portioned to your merit; and then—how happy will you be!

LETTER XLIX. TO THE SAME.

IT has been obſerved of this place, that none of the inhabitants are idle. This is ſo true, that an indolent perſon might traverſe the city in all its parts without finding a compa⯑nion. He would thus be driven, by the very nature and miſcarriage of his ſearch, into ac⯑tion himſelf. Nay, he would ſee every eye ſo buſy, every foot ſo hard at work, and every head ſeem at leaſt ſo full, that, forgetting his natural torpidity, or remembering it with re⯑proach, he would catch the ſpirit of objects before him, and feel that it is at leaſt as good and natural for man to be in motion as at reſt. The city of Amſterdam is a hive where all the inhabitants are collecting honey from one end of the year to the other, (excepting only the repoſe of every ſeventh day) and where a drone dares not ſhew his head. If, in ſo large a Re⯑public, large with reſpect to its population, as this ſingle city is computed at 300,000 per⯑ſons, there ſhould be any unworthy members of that deſcription, they are conſtrained to lurk [423]in holes and corners, indulging their dormouſe diſpoſitions apart from the ſcenes of almoſt univerſal induſtry, where wealthy ſtores are ac⯑cumulating by inceſſant attention, and where an unwholeſome ſoil is ſo meliorated by the exerciſe neceſſary to ſuch accumulation, that the air and water, which would almoſt ſuffocate a lazy fiſh, is found very little to invade the powers of health: for it is more an ill name than a fact, that the preſidents of this city are the victims of avarice, which leads them to dig for gold in a ſoil that produces it, amidſt the droſs of diſeaſes. The florid vigour, which glows in the cheeks, and braces the limbs of the inhabitants of other places in Holland, Rotterdam, and the Brielle, more eſpecially, is not, certainly, ſeen ſo commonly in the Amſter⯑damians, but there is good general health amongſt them; and therefore, as there is no de⯑nying the atmoſphere is in itſelf "a ſoul and peſtilent congregation of vapours," it is ma⯑nifeſt that induſtry ſupplies what nature has refuſed—no ſmall motive to labour diligently in one's calling this. In like manner, it is no leſs true, that ſtagnant indolence will create a diſtemper, fatal to the ſpirits, the ſtrength, and the underſtanding, where nature has been the moſt prodigal of her bounties, and every [424]day convinces us, that, as at Amſterdam, while men grow rich, healthy, and happy, amidſt the toils of life in the moſt noxious ſituation, thoſe who neither toil nor ſpin, and who, curſed with the inverted bleſſing of an unwieldy fortune, and with either the apathy or the paſſions, which too often are in the train of hereditary wealth, conſume their beings in uſe⯑leſs inaction, and waſte themſelves by indul⯑gence, though they breathe in the pureſt air, and ſlumber on beds the ſofteſt luxury has pre⯑pared, amidſt flowers and fragrance: ‘"Die of a roſe in aromatic pain;"’ Or live only to prove, that exerciſe alone can give it a wholeſome perfume.

Thus, if labour is its own reward, indolence is its own proper puniſhment, according to the maxim of the ancients, "that acute (which to the induſtrious are rare) diſeaſes are from heaven, and chronic from ourſelves;" and in the whole circle of human truiſms, there is not one, my dear friend, more incontrover⯑tible than this, that almoſt every occupation, however inconvenient, or formidable, is happier and ſafer than a life of ſloth. Diligence, ſays Addiſon, makes more laſting acquiſitions than [425]walour, and ſloth has ruined more nations than the ſword.

It would have diverted you extremely to have been an eye-witneſs to my progreſs through the ſtreets of Amſterdam: any indif⯑ferent ſpectator, indeed, unacquainted with my habits of ſauntering, at ſome moments, and quickening my pace, almoſt into a run, at others, would have imputed my irregular motions and pauſes to a diſpoſition equally partaking the vice of idleneſs, and the virtue of in⯑duſtry.

I ſallied forth on a fair morning, with gleaning deſigns, to make a tour of the town. Convinced by experience, that at almoſt every ſtep a diligent man, who will take time to look about him, may find ſomething to carry to his ſheaf, I ſtopped almoſt at every ſhop, looked into every face as long as it remained in view; and if by good luck I could catch a knot of men of buſineſs, gathered together upon a bridge, by the fide of a quay, or at a ſhop-door, I broke ſhort my own ſtep, and ſtood fixed as a ſetting dog, while they ſtaid. If in any of the party I ſaw a face I was inte⯑reſted about more than the reſt, that I fol⯑lowed, [426]and ſtuck to it, till it was loſt in the coffee-houſes, or at the exchange. Theſe ge⯑neral reſorts I often entered, and there loſt myſelf in the croud of various affairs and na⯑tions: but even here, when it were poſſible to ſingle out a particular object, whoſe diſcourſe, manner, or appearance were inſtructive or in⯑tereſting, I ſtopped to glean him. In any other city of the world, perhaps, this would have been noted as ridiculous, at leaſt ſingular. A polite mob would have ſet it down as an offence, and corrected it as impertinence; as, in effect, though not in deſign, it might be, but at Amſterdam, either becauſe an apparent⯑ly ſaucy fellow, who has nothing better to do, was deemed too inſignificant for remark; or be⯑cauſe the people were really too ſeriouſly en⯑gaged in their own buſineſs, to attend to another man's idleneſs, they never noticed me. They took their noſes almoſt out of my ears, where I had (to come within gleaning diſtance) planted them, the hurried off on the full trot to their different concerns. I trod upon a merchant's toes, and by my anxious look, ſuppoſing he had return⯑ed the compliment with intereſt, he took off his hat, begged my pardon, and buſtled away. With reſpect to the ſubject of diſcourſe, it was uniform, with a ſingle exception. During two [427]hours I ſtening, if for every repetition of the words ducat, guilder, and ſtiver, that ſtruck my ear, I could have gathered in a tax of a doit (half a farthing) on each, I might have aſſiſted the Britiſh miniſter to liquidate the national debt. But the exception took quite another turn: I was ſetting a couple of mer⯑chants, in the heat of converſation, with a knot of the ſons of Iſrael, (one of whom was warmly defending the price that he demanded for his commodity) I will not give you the money you aſk: it would be throwing it into one of the canals, and I never threw away a ſtiver ſince I came into the world, and hope I ſhall not while I live in it. The Jew perſiſted in his price, and the merchant left him to the other chapman. A very poor and ſick looking creature, who had all the time been leaning (for ſupport more than idleneſs) againſt one of the pillars of the exchange, and who had heard this laſt unpromiſing ſentence for a man that deſigned to aſk a merchant to give away his money, now ſtepped forward, and took hold of the ſkirt of the merchant's coat; when the following dialogue literally, and, as near as tranſlation allows, unornamentedly paſſed between them.

You, Thomas! you look ſick.

Petitioner. I am: what is worſe, I am half ruined, and came from Friezeland, on purpoſe to tell you, I can pay you neither your rent, nor the money you lent me.

How ſo?

I have been burnt out into the ſtreet. My furniture, and the houſe and mo⯑ney are now aſhes. But it was God Almighty's doing, not mine. Laſt Thurſday's lightning did it at a flaſh. So tis in vain for you to be angry with me. I have been fretting ever ſince, and ſcarce are or drank; but ſeeing that only made bad worſe, whether you are angry or no, I am here to tell you.

Angry. God forbid! We will rebuild the houſe, and put ſomething in it. Meanwhile take your family into that occupied by Boormans—I ſuppoſe that is ſafe.

Yes—Boormans offered to come up to Amſterdam, to tell you my misfortune, and ſoften you, and even to lend me money.

Did you think the misfortune itſelf would not ſoften me enough. No matter, [429]Go to Boormanns—I will be down next week— dine with me to-day; and as I know you are not an idle man, lay the contents of this bag out to the beſt advantage in ſuch neceſſaries, as the misfortune has deprived you of.

It has deprived me of all, and my wife and girls too.

Then buy a little of every thing. But we have neither of us any time to throw after our misfortunes. Let us uſe it to repair them.

The petitioner took the ſack, and ran one way: the merchant another, and, though ap⯑parently always active, with more than wonted activity, for never was a point more obvious than that the pace of the firſt was quickened by the lively impreſſions of grateful joy, and of the laſt by happy generoſity.

Leſt, however, thoſe who feel within them⯑ſelves a promptitude, for certain reaſons, to diſ⯑believe there is ſuch a thing, in the world, as happy generoſity, and leaſt even you, my vir⯑tuous friend, who live in the daily practice of it, ſhould be led to ſuppoſe I have dreſſed this worthy fact in the borrowed plumage of ima⯑gination, [430]from the circumſtance of the mer⯑chant's giving his unfortunate tenant a ſack o [...] money, it is proper, you, and they, ſhould be informed, if peradventure ye already know it not, that bills of exchange, drafts, &c. &c. are paid for the moſt part in ſilver of different ſorts and ſizes; that five and twenty pounds ſterling, of Engliſh money, thus converted into Dutch coins, returns you a very reſponſi⯑ble looking bag, and that the double of this is, if paid in ſmall pieces, as much as a man can well carry; and it is not unuſual to ſee people carrying off a ſum which would, by virtue of an Engliſh bank bill, lie ſnug in a nutſhell, but which, thus Dutchified, fills a wheel-barrow. So that if the good merchant's ſack contained fifteen or twenty Engliſh pounds, which I pre⯑ſume it might, it would, though lightly borne by a man in diſtreſs, be a very dead weight to a modern beau of theſe degenerate days, unuſed to feel either the preſſure of want, or the bliſs of ſudden relief from it. Whatever might be the value of the ſum in ſilver, it was more worth, in the eye of humanity, than the gold of Ophir; and you will join me, heartily, in a prayer, that it may be returned into the worthy donor's coffers, even in this world, a million fold, and that it may add to thoſe [431]treaſures, which we are aſſured, are lent to the Lord, and ſhall be paid again! Of this heavenly recompenſe, you will think the gives yet more entitled, when you learn farther, that when he parted from the perſon aſſiſted, there were the tears of benevolence guſhing faſt to his cheek, which he hurried away to conceal.

From all theſe things, I gather that the men of buſineſs in Amſterdam, may, many of them, be men of feeling at the ſame time; and that they are, though generally, too intently fixedon their grand objects to be diverted from purſuing them, by an apparently idle ſpectator, like your friend, ſtaring them in the face, they have eyes to ſee, ears to hear, and hearts to feel for the unfortunate. Tell me, whether in an aſſem⯑bly of the gay and faſhionable, whether a ſup⯑pliant, circumſtanced like our poor Frieze⯑lander, would have had, in the politeſt coun⯑try, a better chance of having his wants re⯑lieved than he found at Amſterdam, in a coun⯑try where gain is ſaid to be the Aaron's ſerpent, which ſwallows up all other conſiderations, and particularly in the public Exchange, a place dedicated immediately to the God of riches? But a ſuperior God, to whom mere riches are but as the droſs of the earth, had [432]raiſed a temple to benevolence, and the charities, in the boſom of this merchant, who, therefore, found time to make his offerings of compaſſion ‘"Ev'n there, where merchants moſt do congregate."’ Yea, and ſuffered his ‘"Bargains and his well-earn'd thrift,"’ to wait till this devotion of his heart was per⯑formed.

This great mart of commerce, from whence I ſend you theſe Gleanings, was little more than a circumſcribed hamlet, before the thirteenth century. It roſe to the dignity of a conſiderable fiſhing town by ſlow degrees, and it was not till towards the end of the four⯑teenth, that commerce ſpread her more ex⯑panded ſails, and ſought it as her port. But after this it grew rapidly into a city, and in due time ſurmounted all obſtructions, and roſe to the power, wealth, and grandeur, in which we now behold it, inſomuch that it is with great propriety it is called the Storehouſe of Europe, into which are brought the moſt uſe⯑ful, and beautiful productions of the four quarters of the globe. I have traced the powers of its trade, with an attentive and aſtoniſhed eye.

[433]There anchor at this moment at the quays of Amſterdam, a vaſt number of veſſels which have ſailed hither from every point of the compaſs; for there blows not a wind that does not prove favourable to ſome adventurer who ſteers for this celebrated haven: Ruſſia, Nor⯑wegia, Denmark, Sweden, Pomerania, Livonia, and the Baltic, with the commerce of the Elbe, the Weſer, and the Meuſe, Great Britain, and its fair appendages, Spain, Por⯑tugal, Italy, contribute to the immenſe navi⯑gation of Holland.

As to the trade of the Levant, it was not till the year 1613, that the Dutch ſettled any in⯑tercourſe with the territory of the Grand Seignior. It proſpered beyond expectation, after the treaty was once eſtabliſhed between them. The Levant merchandize conſiſts prin⯑cipally of tea, cocoa, ginger, and thread: of Dutch, Iriſh and Engliſh cloths. In the Me⯑diterranean trade, eſpecially Smyrna, the Hol⯑lander has his ſhare. His broad bottomed veſſels are yearly fraught with ſtores, which he takes in exchange for the profitable luxuries that are brought by the Carevanzeras of Perſia; nor does the commercial ſpirit limit itſelf to theſe countries; but ſtretches onward [434]to Conſtantinople and Cairo; nor ſuffers its ambitious enterprize to be bounded by any thing but thoſe parts of the globe, which navi⯑gation has not yet explored.

But there is yet ſomething, and of a very liberal kind, no leſs extenſive at Amſterdam, than its commerce. Its perfect freedom of conſcience and ceremonies in the great article of religion. The various modes of worſhip which prevail amongſt mankind, not only find here ſocial indulgence, but religious union; and it may be ſaid, that wherever Holland has erected the ſtandard of trade, ſhe has raiſed alſo the ſignals of toleration, and invited the piouſly diſpoſed of all countries to her capital, that their ſecular and ſacred, their temporal and eternal, intereſts may be equally cultivated and protected.

Here it is, my friend, and perhaps only here, that, in matters of faith, all men are indeed free: and, as in Rome, during the liberal government of the Antonines and of Trajan, when her provinces were united by laws, and adorned by art, and when her capital was filled with ſubjects and ſtrangers, from every part of the world; the United Provinces [435]of Holland, hold out her capital as a temple ſacred to the ſpirit of univerſal concord, and though fixed on principles of everlaſting ſteadi⯑neſs, as to their own tenets, they offer to the reſt of the earth a fanctuary to adore, according to their different perſuaſions, that God

In return for this toleration, it is but fair to acknowledge that the ſpirit of religious peace, that high, and, alas! rare bleſſing, has been leſs hurt by the indulgence of the States, than from the jarring hiſtory of the world on this ſubject, might be expected. On the contrary it has been demonſtrated that much of the horrible bloodſhed which has been produced in other countries, and particularly in our own, by religious perſecution, might have been pre⯑vented, had the charitable accommodation which diſtinguiſhes this Republic been more generally practiſed. The public ſafety of the commonwealth, and the happineſs of each in⯑dividual, has rarely been found incompatible with the liberty of mind and opinion at Am⯑ſterdam.

Nothing, indeed, that I can offer, can ſhew ſo fully the extenſiveneſs of this liberty, as ob⯑ſerving [436]to you that, although there are neither convents, friars, nor abbeſſes, in the real monaſtic form, to be ſeen in Holland, there are, in this city, more than twenty churches, where the Roman Catholic religion is publicly tolerated. One of theſe, called Moſes and Aaron, is a very beautiful edifice, and magni⯑ficently ornamented. There are two orders, however, of perſons combined in religious aſſociation, that you may, perhaps, conſider as a ſort of exception to my aſſertion of there being no conventual aſſemblies. I allude to the Society of Beguines. Of whom the fol⯑lowing is, out of many, the moſt faithful Gleaning.

The houſe appropriated to this order is built like a little diſtinct town, with a wall and ditch round it, and a church within, where the Beguines are obliged to attend divine ſer⯑vice, "at ſtated hours of prayer." They wear a habit of dark brown, not unlike the hermit weeds, in which we are accuſtomed to ſee pil⯑grims on the Engliſh theatre; they receive and pay viſits, and may quit the convent, and marry, when they pleaſe. They are either unmarried women or widows, who have no children; and need no other recommendation [437]for being admitted, but a certificate of their good behaviour, and that they have a compe⯑tency to live upon, either by themſelves, or in ſociety with the other ſiſters as they think fit.

In Roman Catholic countries, you know, there are many ſuch eſtabliſhments. Their life is a kind of medium, between a ſecular and religious aſſociation; and is, in effect, no more than a ſocial retirement, for regular people. There were, and I believe are ſtill, two houſes of this kind, which I viſited ſome years ago in Flanders. They are about a mile in circum⯑ference, and conſiſt of neat little ſtreets, ſo that they deſerve the name rather of ſmall towns than religious houſes. The church or chapel is always in the centre. Every Beguine has her apartment and garden. They have a chaplain; but take no vows of celibacy, &c. The Beguines of Ghent and Bruſſels, wear black with a particular kind of round cover on their heads, plaited in the form of a roſe, and about a foot in diameter. The reſt of their head-dreſs is of cambrick. Whenever they marry, as being ſuppoſed no longer to want ſociety, they quit the order. In great eſtabliſh⯑ments of this kind, the ladies have their car⯑riages; and, in ſhort, Beguine is another [438]name for a woman to do whatever ſhe pleaſes, and I do not know what female, who is not a very happy wiſe, might not wiſh to become a Beguine.

But the moſt extraordinary ſect, to be found in this all-tolerating city, is, that of the Rhyns⯑burgains, ſo called becauſe the aſſembly of the perſons, belonging to the above ſect, is held at the village of Rhynſburg, near Leyden; and the three peaſants who were the founders of the Rhynſburgian religion lived there.

Their names were John, Adrian, and Gil⯑bert Van Code, each of whom was a rare example not only of ſkill and diligence as farmers, but of erudition as linguiſts, having as perfect a knowledge of languages as of agriculture, and cultivating both without ſa⯑crificing the one to the other. A fourth brother, (William,) aroſe to the diſtinction, (certainly not without deſerving it) of Pro⯑feſſor of the Oriental languages in the Uni⯑verſity of Leyden. Thoſe above-named, con⯑tinued to divide their labours betwixt the duties of the ſpade, and the ſtudy of divinity, and while yet in the flower of their age, be⯑came ſo celebrated as to receive viſits from [439]Prince Maurice, and Monſieur Du Maurier, the then Envoy of France. Maurice, who was himſelf a ſcholar, converſed with theſe ſelf⯑taught countrymen in Latin, Greek, Italian and French, in each of which tongues they replied with a ſpirit and readineſs, (wanting only what, every body, not natal to them muſt more or leſs want, correct pronunciation) that aſtoniſhed their auditors.

The remonſtrant clergy, being baniſhed in 1619, left their churches without a paſtor: this determined our three brothers, who were of that ſect, to ſupply the deficiency, under⯑taking to expound the Scriptures to the people. They adminiſtered baptiſm, in the manner of the primitive Chriſtians; and ſettled their modes of worſhip, on particular paſſages of the holy writings, eſpecially the fourteenth chapter of St. Paul's firſt epiſtle to the Corin⯑thians. The eſſential difference betwixt this and other Chriſtian aſſociations, is not a little honorable to their community, viz. its tolera⯑tion of every other, every perſon being at full liberty to adore God, according to his own forms of faith. Every perſon admitted to their meetings, delivers in turn his ſentiments, and offers up his prayers, without reſerve, on the [440]given text of the day, and a perfect equality prevails: the Bible is their ſole guide. They aſſemble on the Saturday, and enter into cer⯑tain preliminary diſcourſes, by way of pre⯑paration for the Sabbath, when one of the brothers diſtributes the bread and wine, humbly declaring himſelf as little worthy of that honour as the other communicants. On the Sunday evening they meet to enumerate the many motives of gratitude, which every mem⯑ber of the fraternity, has to return thanks to the ſountain of all good, and on the Monday morning, they take leave of each other, with the moſt ſervent exhortations, to perſevere in virtue and religion; and in that perſeverance to be uniform, whatever diſſimilarities may variegate their external ceremonies: for it is not uncommon for people of all modes of faith, to aſſiſt at the Rhynſburgian Aſ⯑ſemblies.

Religion and trade, however, are not the only things in this great town wherein there is unbounded freedom. They tolerate vice as well as virtue; the number of common brothels, licenſed by the States, in almoſt every large town, is enormous. They are known by the name of Muſic-houſes, of [441]which there are not leſs than five and twenty in Amſterdam. Strange as it may ſeem to you, they are no leſs the repoſitories of guilt and ſhame, than the reſorts of innocence and curi⯑oſity, as perſons of the beſt characters, and of both ſexes, are to be ſeen in them, almoſt every evening. The Muſic-Houſe, is amongſt the public places, viſited by almoſt every ſtranger: but you are to underſtand that the ſcenes thus ex⯑hibited to travellers, are no otherwiſe groſs, than as they excite ideas inſeparably connected with the ſight of ſuch a number of females, devoted by avowed profeſſion to a life of impurity. The Muſic-Houſe has always one very ſpacious apartment, where all perſons are admitted on paying at entrance, the price of a bottle of wine. Two benches, the whole length of the room, are placed for the reception of inhabi⯑tants and viſitors. There are ſeldom leſs than twenty women belonging to one houſe. Theſe aſſemble about eleven at night, dreſſed, or rather undreſſed, in all the diſguſting diſplays of their trade; an enormous pad to ſwell out the hips, a flaming red petticoat, which ſcarce reaches the calf of the leg, an immenſe pair of ſhoe-buckles, which nearly cover the foot, two broad black patches, the ſize of half-a-crown [442]piece, on the temples, and uncovered bo⯑ſoms. This, indeed, excepting only the boſoms, is the ordinary Dutch woman's ſtyle dreſs. A miſerable pair of fidlers are ſcraping in a corner of the room, which is flaringly lighted up with tallow candles; the men are, moſt of them, ſmoking on the benches, and the women dancing in the middle. Some of the dances are curious enough: one in particular, where the man turns the woman round on tip⯑toe, ſeveral hundred times together, without the ſmalleſt intermiſſion, with one hand encircling her waiſt, and elevating the other above the head, to meet her hand. The incre⯑dible rapidity with which this whirling is performed, and the length of time it continues, turns the ſpectator giddy, but ſeems to have no effect on the parties engaged in the dance. And while one couple are performing this roundabout, it is not uncommon for ten or a dozen others, to leap from their ſeats, pipes in hand, and ſeizing the girls, join in the twirl, like ſo many te-to-tums, or rather ſleep⯑ing tops; for, notwithſtanding their activity of limbs, there ſeemsin their countenances, and even in their movements, a ſort of torpor, which the ſprightlieſt pleaſure cannot diſſipate: although it ſhould be obſerved, that the Dutch [443]are much addicted to dancing, and albeit, they beat the ground with the foot, rather of a giant than a fairy, they appear to derive from their unwieldy, and ſometimes ungraceful motions, ſuch ſolid happineſs, that a good natured ſpectator, cannot but be himſelf happy, on the principle of general benevolence, to ſee an Hollander rampant.

Carter tells us, theſe Muſic-Houſes have undergone diverſity of fortune. Sometimes they have ample toleration: now and then they have inſpectors, to ſee that no indecencies are committed. At other times, in conſequence of great diſorders, they are ſhut up, and perform a kind of quarantine, before the magiſtrates ſuffer them again to be open for the reception of company. In point of number, privileges, and enormities, they certainly exceed any thing of the kind, even in Rome itſelf. What the State offers in its own defence, on this head, amounts to the ſtale maxim, that ‘"Private Vices are public Benefits."’

On the night I made this curious aſſembly my Gleaning viſit, it was crouded with people of all countries: for it was during the time of the fair, and the humours of the Muſic-Houſe, were conſidered as one of the fine ſights of the [444]fair. Amongſt the ſets of ſtrangers that attracted my notice more particularly, was a groupe of female Friezeland peaſants, dreſſed in the pictureſque habits of their Province. Bonnets made umbrella faſhion, and not much leſs as to ſize; the linings of flowered linen, of a more flaring pattern than the out of date printed cotton, for bed-furniture, and window curtains: but at the extremity of theſe, were ſnugly depoſited ſome of the faireſt faces I ever beheld, which, coloured by modeſty at the bluſhing ſight of ſo many young creatures, who diſdained covering of almoſt any ſort, appeared yet more beautiful—the beauty of virtue— from the powerful advantage of immediate contraſt, with the deformity of vice.—In the lovely eyes of one, I gleaned the tear of innocence, pitying guilt, and at the ſame time, vindicating her ſex. This gentle drop was hid from the company in general. A young man, poſſibly her lover, on whoſe arm ſhe hung, ſaw and felt it, for I perceived him preſs her hand, and whiſper ſomething that increaſed the crim⯑ſon in her face, and yet checked the tear upon her cheek, where it fixed midway, like a dew drop on the roſe-bud.

Of the muſic-girls, many are pretty featured, but carry in every lineament, the ſigns of [445]their lamentable vocation: ſodden complexions, feebly gloſſed over by artificial daubings of the worſt colour; eyes that are commanded to attempt exciting paſſion, but which, in the very attempt, ſeem diſobediently to ſhrink into the ſockets; and conſtrained merriment, which ſubſtitutes a noiſy and diſcordant laugh, and childiſh anticks, for the notes of genuine mirth and unharraſſed ſpirits. How different, my friend, the powers of modeſty, and the bluſhing honours in its train—how different from the blameleſs beings I have juſt deſcribed for you—breathing health, and blooming in beauty, the bleſſed effects of pure manners, air, and habitudes!

The inhabitants of the licenſed houſes of Amſterdam are, indeed, more unfortunately ſituated than any of their ſadly merry ſiſterhood of London. They are never ſuffered to paſs the doors, which are guarded by three or four ill-looking fellows, who literally conſider them as private property. Theſe keepers of their priſon-houſe (for it is not leſs ſo, though with leſs accommodation) abſolutely purchaſe them in the firſt inſtance. The buyer finds them in the haunts of the laſt diſtreſs, and many are [446]ſeduced by the hope of an eſcape from famine, and the idleneſs which produced it, to accede to almoſt any terms. For a few weeks, they are ſupplied, even to profuſion, with not only neceſſary comforts, but with thoſe meretricious and flaring decorations, which at once diſcover their trade and their taſte. Little do they ſuſ⯑pect that this bounty is a trap to catch them; that it is intended only to plunge them beyond redemption deep in guilt and ſlavery, ſerving the double purpoſe of dreſſing out the victim, and binding the priſoner in chains—though they ſeem of ſilk—of ſin and miſery, and diſeaſe and death.

They have not united themſelves to the wretched ſociety of the muſic houſe a ſingle month e'er they find themſelves involved in unpayable debts, ſome of three, others of five hundred guilders, for thoſe very articles, which at once increaſe the revenue of their tyrants, and aggravate their own poverty and guilt. They have literally nothing to offer but per⯑ſonal ſecurity, and as it rarely happens a gal⯑lant can be found to pay the price of their ran⯑ſom, they remain ſlaves for life, ſubject to ri⯑gours, to which no other ſlaves are liable.

[447]After I had been a ſilent ſpectator of this female jail, the hardeſt to which any culprit can be condemned, I perceived many of the pri⯑ſoners, jaded with muſic and dancing, for the charms of which they could have no reliſh, fallen into a profound ſleep, out of which their cruel owners arouſed them by the moſt brutal language, and even by blows.

Certain diſciplinarians have thought that a ſight of the hateful portraits of vice do but recommend thoſe of virtue. So far as that is true, a viſit to the muſic-houſes of Amſterdam may conduce to the intereſts of morality. Un⯑queſtionably a youth who has been trained in the principles of a pure education, and known the endearments of ſociety; when refined and ſoftened by innocent women, could ſuffer no permanent ſtain by a review of ſcenes from which, indeed, a man of the leaſt touch of pity, or ſenſe of what is due to the diſtreſſes of even the worſt of the ſex, would turn with revolt, or obſerve only with commiſeration. And hence it is, that I am inclined to think the ten⯑dereſt miſtreſs, or the moſt faithful wife would have little to fear from a lover's or huſband's inſpection of theſe diſgraceful and diſguſting receptacles. What could they exhibit but the [448]exceſſes of the groſſeſt, oppoſed to the perfec⯑tion of the moſt delicate paſſion? And, after allowing for the poſſible impreſſion of a tran⯑ſient view, and the effect it might have on hu⯑man frailty, I ſhould venture to believe that the unſullied charms of a virtuous woman muſt gain freſh honours and triumphs from the deſcent of their admirers into theſe regions of indecency, intereſt, and loathing, where all is glaring, forced, and unnatural.

A far more dangerous ſituation, my friend, is that, where, to the blandiſhments of ſeduction, are joined the ſemblances of virtue. Where female libertiniſm arrays herſelf in the robes of apparent innocence, and where the relenting heart is taken captive by temptations that almoſt perſuade it, that it is yielding itſelf up, rather a votary to virtue, than a victim to vice.

But I am upon trembling ground; and will go lightly off, while I may yet eſcape thoſe over-nice moraliſts, who are ſo wonderfully apt to miſ-interpret a paſſing reflection into a re⯑commendation or encouragement of error. By what I have thrown out on this ſubject, I give only the reſult of my own feelings, which have always aſſured me that there is not more poetry [449]than truth (and particularly in applying them to women) in theſe well-known verſes,

And, though the ſubſequent lines

may be alſo true, in a general ſenſe, it may be conſidered ſo far as an exception here, inaſmuch as the embrace itſelf is ſucceeded by an hatred of vice, and a return to virtue.

It is time, however, we take our leave of this great and populous city. You will allow it is well entitled to the latter epithet, when you are reminded that at a medium for fifteen years nine thouſand perſons have died in it annually. In Paris, for the like term of years, twice that number have deſcended to the tomb. I ſpeak of the time of the deaths of nature, ere the introduction of the dreadful guillotine—of whoſe devaſtations I am ſoon to ſpeak.

I underſtand that the bills of mortality in London, for the like ſpace, give in a calcula⯑tion of twenty-four thouſand. I ſhould ſuſpect twenty-ſix thouſand would be nearer the truth, if we include the villages and detached houſes. [450]The preſent averaged number, therefore, of the inhabitants of theſe three capitals of Europe, according to the uſual eſtimate by deaths, ſtands thus: Amſterdam upwards of 230,000; Paris, 500,000; and London, about 700,000. At Rome, no public regiſters of chriſtenings, or burials, are kept; but in 1683, M. Augout computed the inhabitants at about 125,000. In 1714, Pope Clement II. cauſed an exact ac⯑count to be taken by S. Carraccioli, which he made to be 104,300 ſouls, including ſtrangers, who are generally ſuppoſed to be 20,000.

It is aſſerted by Carter, however, that the inhabitants of the two Provinces of Holland, and Zealand, do not conſiſt of more than one million and a half, that is, little more than half an acre for every head.

Upon the whole, Amſterdam has been juſtly called the modern Tyre, for beauty, opulence, and accommodation of every kind: and the government of the city is ſo well regulated, that in five years there are not five malefactors ex⯑ecuted. In ſhort, whatever is the particular bent of a traveller's diſpoſition; whether trade, or pleaſure be the object, he explores, he may find wherewithal to gratify himſelf in this city, [451]to which we will now bid adieu, as I wiſh now to conduct you to one of the greateſt curioſities either in this or in any other country; I mean North Holland, where I have paſſed fome of the moſt agreeable days of my life, and where every thing one ſees is ſo appropriate and di⯑ſtinct, that in a quick tranſition from Amſter⯑dam, the contraſt is almoſt as great as if one were to be ſuddenly tranſported into a new world.—My friend, farewell.

P. S. I have juſt recollected a paſſage of the great author of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, on the ſubject of Roman popu⯑lation, which far exceeded the eſtimate I have juſt mentioned. The number of ſubjects who acknowledged the laws of Rome, of citizens, provincials, and ſlaves, cannot now be fixed with ſuch a degree of accuracy as the import⯑ance of the object would deſerve. We are informed that when the Emperor Claudius exerciſed the office of Cenſor, he took an account of ſix millions nine hundred and forty⯑five thouſand citizens, who, with the propor⯑tion of women and children, muſt have amounted to about twenty millions of ſouls. But, after weighing, with attention, every cir⯑cumſtance which could influence the balance, [452]it ſeems probable that there exiſted, in the time of Claudius, about twice as many provincials as there were citizens, of either ſex, and of every age; and that the ſlaves were, at leaſt, equal in number to the free inhabitants of the Roman world. The total amount then of this important calculation would riſe to about one hundred and twenty millions of perſons: ‘a degree of population (ſays Gibbon) which poſ⯑ſibly exceeds that of modern Europe, and forms the moſt numerous ſociety, that has ever been admitted, or united under the ſame ſyſtem of government.’

LETTER L. TO THE SAME.

BEYOND diſpute, the little country from whence I date this letter, is the moſt de⯑ſerving to be inſpected, as a curioſity, of any, not only in the Seven, but in the Seventeen Provinces; and yet, like many other deſerving objects in this perverſe world of our's, is the leaſt viſited by thoſe who have even no other motive of travel than to gratify curioſity. Sa⯑tisfied with ſeeing the capital, which they run over as if that time which they throw away, were really precious to them, they ſhift the ſcene with the rapidity of our ancient play⯑wrights, who, in the courſe of a ſingle act, which takes half an hour in the repreſentation, carry us from one quarter of the globe to ano⯑ther, leaping the ſpace between, though "whole oceans roll," to ſtop them, with as much eaſe as if they were ſtepping over a gutter. Inſo⯑much that a thorough-paced traveller will breakfaſt in Helvoetſluice, dine at Rotterdam, take ſupper at Amſterdam, return the next [454]morning to breakfaſt at the Hague; and write a tour, through Holland, of what he has not ſeen, in good time for the returning packet. But more ſedate perſons, as has been well obſerved, by one who deplored it, rarely viſit the province of North Holland, but turn their backs on the country, as ſoon as they have ſeen Amſterdam; thereby loſing a view of one of the moſt beautifully romantic ſpots in the whole world.

I will proceed, my friend, to juſtify this aſſertion, by gleaning for you what, on com⯑paring the given deſcriptions with the eye⯑witneſſed facts, I find to be the moſt faithful.

North Holland is another name for Weſt Frieſland, paradoxical as that may ſound. Formerly, it was a marſh compoſed of many great lakes, ſeparated from each other only by high roads or dikes; but now nothing remains of them, except their names and dimenſions in maps. With incredible toil, they have been entirely drained, and changed into the delicious place I have juſt mentioned. Even Sir William Temple, who was not apt to ſpeak too kindly of Holland, obſerved, that a once rotten marſh, the draining of which was the inceſſant labour [455]of four years; a ſpace, including highways and dikes, of no more than ten thouſand acres, is ſo well planted with gardens, orchards, and majeſtic rows of trees, as to form the moſt pleaſant landſcape he ever ſaw. ‘It was here, ſays Temple, that I met with a curioſity yet greater than the place itſelf—a poor fellow in an hoſpital (a ſuperannuated ſeaman) who proved to be the only rich man I ever ſaw in my life: for, on offering him a crown, as a reward for the trouble of ſhewing me the hoſpital, and giving me with the hiſtory of the place, the hiſtory of himſelf, as one of its moſt veteran members, in a very pleaſant manner, he abſolutely refuſed my money, ſaying he could have no uſe for it, being plen⯑tifully ſupplied with every thing neceſſary in the hoſpital.’

The manners and cuſtoms of North Holland are ſaid to differ eſſentially from thoſe in the South; but I could trace the diſſimilitude only in the articles of dreſs, and ſuperior neatneſs: for though all the Provinces are clean on the ſurface, this of Weſt Frieſland is ſo even to a painful affectation. Saardam, Alkmaar, Hoorn, Enkhuiſm, Edam, Monnikendam, Broek, Me⯑denbik, and Parmerende are the principal towns.

[456]The firſt is a village, where, inſtead of a gleaning, a traveller of curioſity may gather an harveſt. The ſingle article of windmills and woodmills would afford him a ſheaf. The number of each is really incredible. There are not leſs than two hundred and fifty of the mills to cut wood into planks, for the purpoſe of ſhip-building, of which the proceſs will prove a morning's entertainment to any man, and of which the invention is due to Corn⯑neille Van Uitguſt. I have never ſeen them even in our naval iſland, where, aſſuredly, they would prove a powerful auxiliary; or am I miſtaken? Have they been adopted by our ingenious countrymen? I recommend them, at all events to every traveller, who, like my⯑ſelf, hath never ſeen them before. Saardam, like the other towns of North Holland, is al⯑moſt entirely of wood, painted on the outſide with as much care, as to colour and figures, as our choiceſt apartments on the inſide. Be⯑fore and behind every houſe, even in this buſy, populous, and commercial town, which con⯑tains many thouſand inhabitants, are little gardens, the eighth, tenth, and even twentieth of an acre, where flowers, vegetables, ſhrubs, graſs-plots, and cockle-ſhell walks, are ar⯑ranged in ſo ſingular a manner, that they ſeem [457]rather the property, and indeed the work of fairy fingers and fairy people, than of a hardy, heavy looking, ſet of men and women, whoſe lighteſt tread or touch might ſeem to throw them into irretrievable diſorder. You cannot look at a tree of a year's growth, but its bark is painted of all hues, figures, and fancies; nor can you ſit down on a bench, without preſſing under you blue tigers, red wolves, green foxes, yellow rabbits, and white ravens. Taſte is abſolutely forbid to enter North Hol⯑land; but in lieu of it, whim is privileged to play whatever pranks he thinks proper, ſo as he makes no dirt. They almoſt quarrel with nature, whom they welcome during the ſpring and ſummer, for dropping her leaves upon their ſhell-walks in autumn. But of this more in its place.

The paper-mills of Saardam are the moſt conſiderable in Holland: for, while Louis the XIVth was making an irruption in 1672, many of the moſt ingenious paper-makers took refuge in this town, carrying with them their families, and the art by which they were ſup⯑ported.

Induſtry becomes ſtationary, where moſt fa⯑voured, and at Saardam the encouragements [458]were too great to permit a ſecond emigration. Near an hundred thouſand reams of poſt pa⯑per are annually fabricatedat Sardaam; and a like proportion of grey and blue.

The Saardam veſſels are alſo juſtly celebrated, and here it was that Peter the Great, of Ruſ⯑ſia, gained his elementary knowledge of ſhip⯑building. It is afferted, perhaps with ſome boaſt, that a ſingle ſhip-carpenter ſet a navy of twenty conſiderable veſſels on float.

But Saardam has yet other attractions, and which ſome travellers may think greater ob⯑jects of curioſity, in a country where the Cy⯑prian goddeſs is not reputed to keep her faireſt court, than any I have yet mentioned. The women of this town are generally handſome; and, notwithſtanding, on a firſt acquaintance, there is an air of diſtance, reſerve, and even coldneſs, they are all, as well as men, replete with an anxious deſire to break the ice, and when broken, make up loſt time by ſuch a flow of queſtions, and with ſuch rapidity, that you muſt be gifted with uncommon ſpeed yourſelf not to be overborne by the torrent, which hur⯑ries away with your anſwers almoſt before they can get them out of your mouth. This [459]loquacious character is, indeed, a characteriſtic mark of a Dutch woman; and yet none but a reſidentiary Gleaner can diſcover it. A firſt, ſecond, third, and even fourth viſit, does not often ſerve to thaw the inveterate and chilling air which ſeems to bind up their tongues. They hear you, at length, with a fixed, doll-like ſtare, and anſwer you in ſhort, exchanging a mono⯑ſyllable for a ſpeech, or more frequently giving only ſome nods, of which they are all prodi⯑gal, for half an hour's converſation. But when you can once make them aſſimilate, which the habit of ſeeing you will effect, by degrees, a knot of Dutch women over their ſtoves, equal, if they do not ſurpaſs, in ſport, chit-chat, and pleaſantry, with due propor⯑tions of tittle-tattle, any female convention over their tea-tables, and even that which is ſuppoſed to be appropriate to the tea-table, and indeed a part of its equipage, namely, good, ſolid detraction.

The entrance of a ſtranger, however, has the power of ſtopping them in mid career. The merrieſt of the circle would forego her jeſt; and even the moſt malicious would let her neighbour's reputation, when ſhe had juſt got it between her teeth, fall from her lips. I [460]had an opportunity to glean an inſtance of this. Some frolickſome Dutch girls ſtarted in a converſation, where, as a domeſtic friend, I was permitted to mingle, the character of a young woman, who was ſuſpected of growing more ſuddenly corpulent, than in the way of general en-bon-point, ſhe ought to do. The whole party followed the trail, and joined in the cry againſt this poor abſentee, who, by the bye, was a native of this very town of Saar⯑dam. Never was any miſerable hare more hardly hunted than this luckleſs girl's charac⯑ter. It was fairly, or rather unfairly, worried by the young and the old. At laſt, a lady, who had been hitherto the leaſt violent of the pack, caught it from her next neighbour, who had been giving it ſome hearty ſhakes herſelf, and de⯑termined upon tearing it all in tatters, exclaim⯑ed in the moſt vehement Dutch I ever heard uttered—'tis a terrible language for anger— ‘take it from me, ladies, this girl, as ſure as I am putting this fire under my petticoats, is, and always was, a moſt deſigning, for⯑ward, good-for-nothing huſſey; and if ſhe is not now big with child, I, that am the ho⯑neſt mother of two-and-twenty, am a maid— yes, take it from me, ſhe is a vile ſtrum—’ [461]—Strum-pet ſhe would have ſaid, but the huſband of one of the party leading in a ſtranger, cut off the laſt ſyllable, which fell to the ground with the remains of the mangled reputation.

The ſtranger remained till the party broke up, but, whether from the ſeverity of the diſ⯑appointment, or any other cauſe, the loudeſt and the moſt voluble groupe that ſlander ever gathered together, became the moſt taciturne and ſullen: inſomuch that the ſtranger, whom I met the next day at the coffee-houſe, aſked me, if I had ever ſeen ſuch an horrid ſilent meeting, aſſuring me, at the ſame time, that he had employed all his morning in ſending to his friends in England a true picture of a viſit to a Dutch family, where nothing was either looked or ſaid for ſeveral hours, though there were near a dozen females in company!

I contented myſelf with obſerving, that if he remained in the country long enough to be⯑come domeſtic in the family, he might poſſibly collect materials for a letter of a very different caſt: in the mean while, his friends would doubtleſs be much entertained.

"Long enough in the country," no, cried the gentleman! ‘I have had enough, and do not [462]mean to repeat my viſit, I thank you. I love ſociety, and muſt hear a little converſation, as well as ſee a good deal of beauty, which, I own, to my great ſurpriſe, I obſerved, amidſt the ſtill-life of laſt night. No, Sir, I have had enough of Dutch ladies, and ſhall go into a country where women can ſpeak, as well as hold their tongues, as ſoon as poſſible.’

As it would have been impoſſible to remove theſe impreſſions, I let them paſs; for it would have been in vain to aſſure this haſty traveller, that the fair Hollanders he had thus accuſed of being dumb, were they to exert their powers, could talk him deaf; add to which, the tradi⯑tion goes, that a Dutch wife is always the head of the houſe.

Their general complexion is clear and fine, as to a proper quantum of white and red, but the effect is loſt by the immoveable fixture of both. A ſtranger to the ſettled colours would pronounce, them artificial: the red forms one ſtrong circle in each cheek, and yields, no, not for a moment, to occurrences or to paſſions. In rage, in jealouſy, in love, in ſurpriſe, and even in fear, this rubied hue neither increaſes nor diminiſhes; the ſame [463]inflexibility holds good as to the white, which gives their countenances the air of wax-work painted. Theſe ſteady colourings are ſcarcely removed by age: I have ſeen a great many women who poſſeſſed them unmixed, and un⯑impaired, to their ſeventieth year. The old women of Liege are the only part of the ſex, who are, almoſt without an exception, of the worſt colours, forms, and features; inſomuch that had not male gallantry long ſince ſet it down amongſt the inviolable etiquettes, that a female cannot be ugly, I ſhould not ſcruple to ſay, that at Liege a race of women might be found, who reſembled rather Vulcan than Venus, both in ſhape and hue. This ſtrength of alluſion, however, being inhibited, I ſhall only obſerve, that all ranks of the ſex are, in the part of Germany above-mentioned, leſs likely to make a man ſhoot himſelf through the head, after being ſhot through the heart, than in any other country I have yet viſited. In my firſt tour through Flanders, I wiſhed, out of the ſpirit of candour that is in me, added to a ſincere love and admira⯑tion of the ſex, to vindicate the females of this town from this cenſure. To which end I ſallied forth on knight-errant principles, to do the damſels and the dames juſtice. The morning was fine, the weather was warm, and [464]the ſun had drawn every body abroad. How aſſiduouſly, how generouſly, did I follow every petticoat, and meet every apron, to diſcover pretty features and a good complexion: yea, and often diſappointed as I was, I ſtill che⯑riſhed the hope of finding, in the next comer or goer, a face that might ranſom the reſt. I could, returning at duſk, only glean a few handſome eyes, more to be admired, for their blackneſs than the teeth, which ſeemed to vie with them, as aſſerting the charms of a finer jett. Of Liege, you know, it has been ſaid, that it is the hell of women, becauſe the poor of that ſex do the work of our coal-heavers. I could not help aſſigning another reaſon for this appellation, viz. becauſe both rich and poor ^* of that large, and ancient town were —fill up the blank, my dear friend; for it cannot be expected I ſhould ſo little reſpect the laws of pre-determined politeneſs, as to inſinuate any thing about ugly as the deuce. The hell of women it is ſtill called, be the reaſon what it may: alſo the purgatory of men, becauſe they are almoſt all governed by their wives, their ſappho-faced partners,—and the paradiſe of monks, becauſe of the rich bene⯑fices. The latter, however, is juſt now a little out of repair, as the eccleſiaſtical fruits have [465]been more than once ſeized upon by the ſpoiler.

The village of Alkmaar is ſo environed by gardens, orchards, canals, avenues, and mea⯑dows, that, if we include the beautiful little wood in its neighbourhood, it may be pro⯑nounced one of the moſt highly cultivated and blooming ſpots in the world. Many Chriſtian communities aſſemble here; and you are ſhewn a ſet of buildings ſacred to age, known in Holland under the name of Hofje, the houſes of elderly women.

It is an article of admittance into this place, that the party entering renounces marriage for the reſt of her life, whether ancient virgin, or widow, and to break all ſort of intercourſe with mankind. This vow reſembles not a little that of the monaſtery, but, then, it is a little eaſier to be obſerved, ſince it is not im⯑poſed till age itſelf has made it a matter of no great difficulty.

Fruits and flowers, and groves, and fair mea⯑dows, in Holland! methinks I hear you ex⯑claim. Yes, truly, my dear friend; albeit thorough-fare travellers have aſſured us, 'tis only a collection of dykes and ditches, with a few huge rows of trees, where half the plat⯑form [466]juſt reflects the other, I again and again aſſort, that in this ſequeſtered village of Alk⯑maar, and in very many other ſweet nooks and corners, where travellers of the above deſcrip⯑tion diſdain to go, there is very beautiful ſcenery, and worth a viſit, were there no other attraction, becauſe the ornaments, the diſpo⯑ſition of the ground, the arrangement of the flowers, and the novelty of the walks, are cu⯑rious and original.

In the next town, which is a conſiderable ſea-port on the banks of the Zuyder Sea, (Hoorn) the meadow grounds are delicious. The pub⯑lic walks are extremely fine, and to variegate the proſpect of eight or ten thouſand induſtri⯑ous people at work in the docks and veſſels, you have, cloſe under your eye, upwards of four hundred gardens, in which a weed would be looked upon as an offence ſcarce leſs heinous than a morſel of dirt in any part of their houſes.

Enkhuizen, Edam, and Monnikendam, have the ſame ſort of beauties in the ſame abun⯑dance; nor is Mendenbik or Purmerind un⯑worthy notice. But the beautiful and ſingular village of Broek will command a more parti⯑cular deſcription. Mr. Peckham has with [467]great juſtice called it one of the prettieſt little towns in the world. A journey of a thouſand miles would be repaid with pleaſure, were there no other objects than ſuch as aſſemble in the village of Broek. The whole of it is a cabinet of curioſities, on which one can ſcarce gaze, without trembling, leſt ſome injury ſhould be done them even by our homage. My pen ſeems not ſufficiently delicate to deſcribe them. There is but one ſtreet through which carriages of any kind are permitted to paſs; and that, as if profaned, is but thinly furniſhed with inhabitants. Every part of every houſe, within and without, is painted with the moſt coſtly colours; and though ſe⯑parately examined, the figures and ornaments would be found to violate all laws of propor⯑tion, the general effect is really charming. Every ſtreet (the one above excepted, is, in every part, clean beyond all compariſon, and little gardens, where perennial verdure and bloom ſeems to preſide, (for not a blade of graſs, nor a withered leaf, is ſuffered to reſt on the ground) extend from one end of the ſtreet to the other; each man's proper bounds being diſtinguiſhed by fences of every ſort and kind, but all ornamented with a care that makes one rather afraid to touch them. The houſes are roofed with tiles ſo gloſſy, that in [468]the ſun-ſhine they glitter like ſpar. The pavement of the ſtreet is inlay-work, of beautifully ſmall pebbles of various forms and colours, ſquared or diamonded, croſ⯑ſed and intercroſſed, if I may ſo expreſs myſelf, agreeable to the taſte or fancy of the proprietors. Shells, pieces of glazed brick, marbles, glaſs beads, &c. are called in as auxiliaries. To tread upon them ſeems not only profanation, but perill; and indeed the in⯑habitants ſeem to be of the ſame opinion; for the greater part tread with a moſt diſtreſſing caution, and look critically at the ſhoes of every paſſenger. In ſhort, were not the age of enchantment paſt, even from the fairy land of fiction, and could one reduce the ſolid limbs and unwieldy forms of the owners of this wonder-working village, a traveller coming into it, from the city of Amſterdam, might fancy himſelf tranſported by ſome magician into a region of fairies.

As the fact is, it ſeems, on a compariſon of the place with the people, that the natives of Brobdignag have here eſtabliſhed themſelves in a town of Lilliput.

Broek is divided and ſubdivided by number⯑leſs little rivulets that ſerpentine by the ſides [469]the houſes; the paintings and ornaments on the outſide of every houſe look ſo vivid, as to the colours, as to ſeem but juſt finiſhed; yet they have, moſt of them, ſtood the tyranny of wind and weather three or four years. In ſuch pretty baby-houſes for grown, and, I am ſure, I may ſay full grown ladies and gentle⯑men, there reigns more ſimplicity than you would ſuppoſe. I ſpeak of the interior of theſe little paradiſes, where, by the bye, it is not very eaſy for a traveller to gain admittance. The North Hollanders are exceſſively ſhy at firſt ſight—at Broek more particularly—and "of ſomewhat a jealous complexion;" for if a ſtranger of a wild air, and rude manner, ap⯑pears amongſt them, they return his behaviour in kine, by ſhutting their doors in his face; and as a farther proof of diſlike or fear, order their wives and daughters into the moſt retired apartments, where they remain priſoners, till they have aſſurance of the intruder having left the place. It is, however, only impertinent cu⯑rioſity, or that air of rude command, which too often accompanies a ſtranger who refuſes to make allowances, that is thus diſappointed. While I was drinking coffee with a family at Broek, two ſtrangers paſſed the window in a diſorderly manner, peeped into the room, and were ruſhing forward without any other notice. [470]Two very pretty daughters and their mother, were put to flight inſtantly, and the maſter of the houſe ran to faſten his door, after which he came and took my hand, obſerving that although he did not keep an inn for every ſaucy or lazy fellow to come and do what he thought proper, he knew what was due to a quiet and well-diſpoſed gueſt, ſaying which, he took the opportunity of the ladies abſence to walk over the apartments, all of which, and particu⯑larly that which held his beſt bed, were, he aſſured me, entirely at my ſervice, ſo long as I thought proper to make uſe of them.

In Broek, there is a great deal of female agreeableneſs, amongſt the people of higher ranks; but the peaſant girls who inhabit the environs, are of a complexion ſo delicate, and the white and red ſo ſweetly diffuſed, and in ſuch juſt proportions, that it is worth any per⯑ſon's while to deport himſelf peaceably, were it only for the ſake of getting a ſight of them; which certainly would not be done by an hurry-ſcurry traveller, were he to remain in the town, for a twelve-month. The Dutch women ſeldom ſtir abroad, and ſcarce ever to take a walk as it is called.

[471]Peckham tells us of a ſingular cuſtom re⯑tained in North Holland, of having a door in every houſe, which is never opened, but when a corpſe is carried out: he ſhould have added the information of this door's being opened only on two occaſions—the marriage or death of ſome one of the family. There is ſomething very ſolemn in the cuſtom, and may conduce, perhaps, to ſome domeſtic morality. It is the great door in the centre of the houſe. A ſmaller one, on the left hand ſide, is that which ſerves for ordinary purpoſes.

The inhabitants of Brock are chiefly perſons who have retired from buſineſs, or who are connected with ſome commercial houſes in Amſterdam. They are extremely rich; and it is here that the practice ſtill prevails amongſt the wealthy peaſantry of diſpoſing of their children in marriage by weight of metal. A countryman dreſſed in a coarſe blue doublet is the father of a young man, who is to be ſold in wedlock: he meets the buyer, another country⯑man, who is the parent of the girl, that is to be bought. While the parties thus to be diſpoſed of, are trying to become agreeable to one another, or, at leaſt, to accommodate, the old folks are making the bargain for them, over a pipe of tobacco.

[472]Will you give your ſon to my daughter with ſo many barrels of gold?

I cannot.

She cannot be afforded for leſs.

Well, I will give it.

Then take her.—I will cart the caſh to⯑morrow.

Done. A match.

The buſineſs is done, and they are as happy, at leaſt, as money can make them.

The painful neatneſs of the houſes within, and the ſtreets without, have been productive of the following anecdote. The ancient Vicar of Broek being dead, and much lamented, his ſucceſſor tried every method that a worthy prieſt could think of, to repair the loſs, not only as to his paſtoral duty, but as to ſociety. "I would fain gain your good will and con⯑ciliate your eſteem, my dear pariſhioners," ſaid he, "How is it I fail?"

The want of confidence in the inhabitants, made the new Vicar unhappy: and yet for many months, he could get no one to aſſign a reaſon for it. At length, an old man, one of his congregation, after ſome heſitation, ſpoke as follows: "I will tell you, Mr. Vicar. You are a fine ſcholar: you talk Greek and Latin: [473]your diſcourſes are very learned; but you mount the reading deſk and pulpit in your ſhoes, after having walked through the ſtreet. Your predeceſſor always put on a pair of ſlip⯑pers, which are ſtill left for your uſe in the conſiſtory. You know, now, the cauſe of the ſhyneſs and diſaffection of the pariſh: and you know, alſo, the way to remove it."

The Vicar took the hint, and ever after adopting the ſlippers, very ſoon became as great a favourite as the good man he ſucceeded.

Peckham has noticed very exactly, the curioſity of the head-dreſs of the women of North Holland. A little hair cut very ſhort and thin, which is combed down on the fore⯑head, and powdered. The cap ſticks cloſe to their ears, and under it are two pieces of ſilver or gold, which appear at each temple, and a broad piece is under the cap on the back part of the head.

Of the ſaw-mill, his deſcription is the moſt accurate that can be given. Forty boards can be ſawed at the ſame time. The flies of the mill are fixed to a large beam, which turns on an axis; in the centre of the beam, is the grand wheel, which puts in motion another [474]immediately below it; this is likewiſe fixed on the middle of a piece of timber, which hangs on an axis; and to which four perpendicular ſaws, ten in each compartment, are faſtened; which, as the wheel goes round, are elevated, and again thruſt down. At the end of this beam are too iron hooks, which catch a wheel, and each time the ſaw goes up and down, it moves this wheel one cog, that wheel moves another, which catches into a piece of iron, and draws it towards itſelf. At the end of this iron is a croſs bar, which preſſes againſt the end of the tree, while the other end is ſaw⯑ing, and puſhes it on to the teeth of the ſaw, with a motion proportionate to the diſpatch of the ſaws.

When you compare, my friend, the effect of all this with the tedious proceſs of our com⯑mon Engliſh ſaw-pit, you will wiſh with me, that ſuch of our timber merchants as are ignorant of it, would take the hint, and con⯑deſcend to be inſtructed.

The oil and tobacco-mills are equally curious, but as their conſtruction is more generally known, I ſhall not take up your time in deſcribing them.

Upon the whole the village of Broek, is one of the greateſt curioſities of the United [475]Provinces; and, indeed, North-Holland, gene⯑rally, will be found to juſtify, even more than has been ſaid in its favour.

The village of Medemblic, which I have not yet mentioned, and which, before the building of Encheuſon and Hoorn, was the capital of North-Holland, is ſtill remarkable for its immenſe Dams, which have reſiſted the violence of the turbulent Zuder Sea ſo many centuries. The water is here much higher than the land, and in tempeſtuous weather threatens to overflow the banks, enormous as they are; by which the country would be in⯑ſtantly deluged. To prevent this dreadful event, the inhabitants cover the banks with many folds of ſail-cloth, which ſimple as it ap⯑pears, checks the fury of the waves in their moſt violent career. A million of human beings truſt their lives to this ſeemingly ſlight inven⯑tion. The above adventurous little town looks, as you approach it, to be juſt riſing out of the ocean: the ſavage roaring of the waves vainly menace it every moment. When they ſwell beſide the banks, mountain high, ladies are to be ſeen walking and children at play: while the boldeſt ſtranger would tremble for their ſafety and his own. So reconciling is the power of cuſtom. All that you have ever ſeen in your [476]own country of ſublime pier-heads, moles, &c. though they may ſurpaſs in majeſty, fall infinitely ſhort of the Dam of Medemblic, in point of the terrible, and the induſtrious. I have looked down from the heights of Shak⯑ſpeare's cliff, and from thoſe ‘"Where huge Plinlimmon lifts his awful head."’ but the ſenſation was in neither inſtance ſo full of tremendous imagery. And the contraſt, from the ſmiling and peaceful retirements of Broek, made it more impreſſive.

The character of the North Hollander, is that of phlegm and even apathy: He is certainly more ſaturnine than his countrymen farther ſouth. Slow in deciſion, perſevering in opinion, but unſhaken, as the banks of Medemblic, in a reſolve when taken. They are alſo more muſcular in their forms, and of a ſuperior ſize, but neither clumſily put together, nor coarſe in their feature. The beauty of the women as to their grand articles of red and white of nature's own putting on (though ſhe mixes them better in ſome countries) I have already ſpoken. I have, therefore, only to add, a grace which has been in and out of faſhion, many times on your ſide of the water; I mean a very high forehead. The North Holland Ladies conſider [477]this as ſo indiſpenſible, that they preſs down, and even eradicate the hair, bind it with rib⯑bons and ſillets, and uſe every other art to expand the brows. A low forehead, and an abundance of hair, near the temples is, of courſe, deemed a grand perſonal defect. The females of North Holland, have alſo a beauty, which the other Provinces rarely ſhew us; that of good teeth, which is, in any of the great towns, a rarity in either ſex, and ſeemingly one but little deſired.

Their complexion is almoſt invariably fair. A Dutch Brunette, is ſcarce to be ſeen, and when ſeen, not either envied by one ſex, or admired by the other. They partake, however, in a very high degree, the defects as well as beauty of that fine colouring—extreme in⯑dolence.

We are told that lovers are more conſtant, huſbands more obſequious in North Holland, than in any other part of the Republic, which even in general has the reputation of being under the government of the petticoat. This muſt be underſtood to extend only to houſe⯑hold affairs: In matters of public concern, the North Hollander is the moſt independent aſſerter of his rights, and the Amor Patriae is [478]here more vitally felt, and has been more ſtrenuouſly maintained, than in any other parts of the Provinces.

Enough, has now been ſaid to induce every reader of theſe our Gleanings, to make the tour of this very ſingular and beautiful little Province.

Adieu, my loved friend. Here and every where may bleſſings attend you.

LETTER LI. TO THE SAME.

YOU tell me I have too long neglected the Muſe; accept then a poetical Gleaning in the form of a Sonnet, which breathes a ſadneſs that will reach your affections. It is the effuſion of a melancholy moment, and entirely confutes the aſſertion of the ingenious bard, who ſaid

for it was written as faſt as the pen could move along the paper, and when the writer's heart was wrung with ſenſations of greater ſorrow than either verſe or proſe could deſcribe.

Grief, is not more various, my friend, in its cauſes, than in its effects upon the minds of different ſufferers. There are many who en⯑dure in a ſilence, at once dreadful and pro⯑found, the firſt ſtages of their diſtreſs, and burſt forth into the loudeſt paroxyſms in the ſecond. And there are others, who begin with violence and clamour, which, ſo far from not remaining in force, decreaſes only in ſound, but ſettles afterwards into a tremendous calm, which remains ſixed, for the reſt of life, in the melancholy anguiſh of unſpeakable deſpair. This, I know, inverts the popular idea, that the deepneſs of grief, like that of waters, [480]"makes the leaſt noiſe," but there is no aſcer⯑taining by a ſtandard the diverſified effects of agony or joy. Every human being muſt feel in his own way; and, perhaps, no two ever yet felt exactly alike, even the ſame pain or plea⯑ſure; becauſe temper, conſtitution, age, ſex, or circumſtance, with miriads of combina⯑tions, will make an alteration, ſome where or other, in the occaſion, or in the ſufferer.

I have gleaned the heart of man in many countries, my friend, and though every where, it is true,

as well as that happineſs has its general cha⯑racteriſticks, I do not remember ever, yet, to have found the effects of either—no, not even when the cauſes have been preciſely the ſame— exactly, or even, nearly, ſimilar, as to the man⯑ner of receiving them, at firſt, or bearing them afterwards, in any two human creatures.

For my own part, I have been a thouſand times ſatisfied, that our minds are yet more diſtinct and appropriate than our perſons, and that no man ever reſembled his neighbour ſo much in the former as the latter. Something [481]renders each being original; and though we are all of one ſpecies, were the diſſimilarities of each individual to be laid open, in a candid hiſtory of his peculiar ſenſations, they would be, perhaps, numerous enough for every mortal to exclaim—‘Although I am of the ſame kind, and reſemble you, neighbour, in ſome things, I differ from you ſo eſſentially in others, that 'I am myſelf alone': nor do I deny that you may lay claim to like original traits.’

I believe, with reſpect to the ordinary effects of pleaſure and pain, (I am ſpeaking of neither in their extremes) it is common for the firſt to render men voluble, and the latter ſilent. I confine myſelf to mental, not bodily pain. The reverſe happens to myſelf. In pleaſure, eſpe⯑cially if it be ſudden, I hardly know what to do with myſelf—a letter which deſcribes the health or wealth of an abſent friend, the conciliation of an enemy, or of any thing like conciliation of the latter, the view of a happy countenance, the ſound of a happy voice, the ſmiling face of general nature in the ſpring, diffuſing general felicity, on animal as well as human life, the ſight, or even the relation of a generous action, the ſoft remembrance of kindneſs re⯑ceived in years long paſt, the recollection even of places where I have ſeen, or converſed with, [482]thoſe whom, though, perhaps, I may converſe with, and ſee no more, perhaps, I may:—all theſe, and ten thouſand times ten thouſand other things, work themſelves ſo ſtrongly into the frame of my heart and ſoul, that I am for a conſiderable time bleſſed beyond talking, and am as reſtleſs and ſilent, as if I was ſpeechleſs from diſtreſs. As the pleaſurable idea takes poſſeſſion of me, I am driven about in a manner and with a rapidity, that a ſpectator, ignorant of my habits, would ſet me down as an unhappy fellow, vainly trying to run away from his miſery. I cannot ſit in my chair, nor keep out of it. I even turn from the object (if it be near) from which I derive my felicity. But I turn away frequently with a heart ſo full of tender gratitude that, even when the object is ina⯑nimate, (a fine expanſe of water or of wood, or a ſmall rivulet, or a little path way, near, or along which I have wandered, or to which I owe an agreeable image, for my muſe, or for my friend) thoſe tears which come from the ſpring of pleaſure guſh to my eyes. It is cer⯑tainly great happineſs, but I can neither tell, nor, at the moment, write about it.

[483] Yet till the firſt impreſſions are ſomewhat ſubſided, I could not put into the ſheaf of our correſpondence a ſingle wheat-ear.

How different is the influence of pleaſure on many whom I have had the delight to ſee happy, How has their felicity poured itſelf forth in ex⯑preſſion. How has it made thoſe ſpeak, who, in leſs fortunate hours, were ſo profoundly ſilent, that ‘"they quite deteſted talk."’

In grief alone it is, that I am loquacious and yet tranquil. I remain for ſome hours fixed, as if ſtatue-ſtruck, to the ſpot, where the misfor⯑tune fell upon me; but, if a friend appears, on that ſofteſt pillow for an aching heart, I lean for comfort, and explain my feelings without reſerve. If no reſource of this kind is at hand, I can, even while the anguiſh is upon my mind, force it, or, rather ſhall I ſay, indulge it, the only mode of communication which abſence allows. ‘"Heav'n firſt taught letters for ſome wretch's aid."’ Or I derive conſolement from the muſe, and have proved, in a thouſand inſtances, that "flowing numbers" are very ſuitable "with a bleeding heart." If I have ever had the power of intereſting the affections of my reader, in deſcribing any imagined ſorrow, it has always [484]been when I felt the puncture of ſome actual diſtreſs. And if I have at any time had the happineſs to ſatisfy others, by any ſtrain or ſtory, which painted fancied, or real, felicity, it has been the production of ſubſequent memory rather than of immediate ſenſation. I am made happy: the inſtant effect does what it will with me, and for ſome hours it keeps me in perpetual motion. I think and feel volumes; but I could no more uſe a pen than the gander, or gooſe, on whoſe wing it once grew. As the matter ſettles a little, I am equal to converſe, or correſpondence: the fitneſs for which I firſt gather from perceiving within me the power of talking to myſelf. With the return of my ſo⯑liloquies, returns alſo my colloquial abilities; and, after a few diſcoveries to myſelf, or think⯑ings aloud, I open upon every perſon I meet, chat with every cottager, enter almoſt every hut; and, though I am not ſo violently happy as I was, am, perhaps, more comfortable: to others I certainly am; for during my whirligig, outrageous ſtate, a cottager would be frightened at me, and a hut ſcarce hold me. Yes, my friend, it is then that I muſt ‘"Have ample room and verge enough."’

But what am I about? Much of this you know, and have humoured me both when the fit has been on and off, Into what length of [485]ſelfiſh delineation has the introduction of a little melancholy ſong betrayed me? Yet may it not have thrown ſome general light on ſome commonly received opinions? and, were it only a particular portrait of my own way of feel⯑ing, ſurely I may be indulged in a few pages, ſacred to a friend, who will pardon my egotiſm, and ſmile on my peculiarities.

Poſſibly they are not the peculiarities of any other man, and therefore can expect to find favour only in the eyes of a friend; unleſs every other man would remember, that they too have peculiarities of ſome ſort, and, perhaps, not many ſo pleaſant to themſelves, or ſo harmleſs to other people, as the Gleaner's.

It is thus, that the joyful tidings which open the lips, and put in motion the pens of others, cloſe and lay aſide mine. I talk and write, not when I am leſs happy, but, when I am in the beſt condition to relate: in other words, when I can ſit ſtill. Not a thought, not an image, however, is impaired. It is even more vivid, and aſks the brighteſt colour of language, as well as the ſpeed with which the words that compoſe ſuch language, demand. This letter, dedicated ſolely to her, who could alone read it, marked as it is with the hurry [486]that illuſtrates what I have juſt obſerved, ſhall cloſe with a truth that can never change, viz. that in every ſtate of my mind and its feelings; whether I am ſtruck dumb with happineſs, or impelled to loquacity, by ſorrow, I am, with equal affection and fidelity, it's deareſt attributes, your's.

LETTER LII. TO THE SAME.

FROM North Holland you return to this city in one of the public barges. It is a paſſage of a few hours, at the end of which you reviſit thoſe ſcenes of buſtling activity, which are in ſuch wonderful contraſt to thoſe images of general repoſe, that it ſeems almoſt as if the great ferryman of the Heathens had taken you back in his boat from Elyſium to this nether world. I allude only to the more tran⯑quil parts of North Holland; ſuch, for in⯑ſtance, as Broek.

In and about that lovely village I have for⯑got the reſidue of the cold weather weeks, and their bluſtering attendants, and awaited the [487]arrival of the ſpring, whoſe harbingers have long ſince recompenſed the fondneſs of expec⯑tation. I have almoſt a month breathed amongſt all that April has in this country to offer, from the opened violet to the unfolded roſebud: the tendereſt green covers the whole village, which appears almoſt to vegetate and bloſſom. I ſaid to it yeſterday, adieu, and yeſterday was one of April's moſt delightful offerings;

There had been four-and-twenty hours of unuſual warmth, and at length one of thoſe ſhowers fell on the earth, which ſeem to ſprinkle over it the balms of heaven. One might almoſt, without a figure, ſay ‘"Celeſtial odours breath'd around."’

On regaining this capital, I could not help exclaiming, in the vigorous language of a mo⯑dern poet, who ſeems to have had the trueſt reliſh of nature, ‘"God made the country, and man made the town!"’

The genial ſhower above-mentioned, that overſpread Brook with flowers and fragrance, had not even quieted the duſt of the traffic⯑trodden city. Man and beaſt, notwithſtanding the eternal operations of the mop and ſcrub⯑bing-bruſh [488]in this country, were "beſprent." But the clangor of induſtry, and the aſſembled powers of gain, perſonified, rendered the change intereſting to the ſpectator. It is aſto⯑niſhing how the paſſages of thoſe bards of our poetical land, with whoſe writings I have paſſed my early days, recur to my memory, and break into quotation as occaſions apply them. In an inſtant, the appoſite verſes ruſh to my lips, whatever be the ſubject, and I feel new love and admiration for the author, for aſſiſting me to illuſtrate affecting objects with more vivid language than I could myſelf ſupply. As I paſſed through the ſtreets of Amſterdam, from the quay to my lodgings, a paſſage from the poet of Nature, who painted the ſeaſons of the year in colours, inferior only to thoſe of nature herſelf, broke from me.

But ſcarce had I uttered theſe lines ere others, no leſs appoſite, from the inexhauſtible ſtores of the ſame author, followed them. They exactly characteriſe the provinces in general.

[489]Excuſe the variation of a word or two, which brings the picture nearer the truth and the life.

On my going to dine at the Table D'Hote, I met with a circumſtance which is too noto⯑rious not to deſerve cenſure, and which, ne⯑vertheleſs, Engliſh travel-writers have been pleaſed, whether from national prejudice, or falſe kindneſs, I cannot tell, to paſs over. I ſpeak of the ſhameful, but very general, prac⯑tice in ſtrangers, of defaming the country, and the government, and the people, by which they are protected, and with whom they aſſociate.

At the public ordinary juſt mentioned, there might be gathered together about forty per⯑ſons of different countries. Not leſs than twelve of theſe were Engliſhmen, chiefly young men eſtabliſhed in good commercial houſes, for the ſake of a reputable connexion in buſineſs, and for a trade-education.

I love my countrymen, for I love my coun⯑try. But I eſteem the one no longer than they do credit to the other. It is at the end of ſe⯑veral years patient and ſilent obſervation and diſguſt, that I now reſolve to mention, with [490]the moſt marked indignation, a characteriſtic, and, I am afraid, incorrigible offence to ſocial manners, and common decency, perpetually in the practice of this claſs of Engliſh reſidents, in whatever parts of the Continent they are placed.

1ſt. They are, beyond compariſon, the moſt overbearing part of the company, when they condeſcend to talk; and the moſt diſobligingly ſullen, when they are ſilent.

2dly. They get into groupes; and truſting to the ignorance of the reſt of the company in our language, uſe it as a ſort of maſked bat⯑tery, to play off the moſt illiberal obſervations on the perſon or perſons ſingled out for the ri⯑dicule of the hour.

3dly. Whatever is the ſubject of table-talk, Engliſh men, Engliſh women, Engliſh porter, Engliſh punch, Engliſh air, fire or water, is ſuperior to any thing to be found in any other place; and yet by a ſtrange verſatility, when theſe very eulogiſts get back into the country they have ſo bepraiſed abroad, they find out that it ſcarce contains any object fit to be borne by a perſon who has lived ſo long in foreign climes. The women are inſipid, the men in⯑ſufferable, [491]the porter ſtupifying, the punch vulgar, the air heavy, the fire dull, and the water worſe than that of a canal.

4thly. Where a traveller of any other coun⯑try gets into a ſcrape once, the Engliſh youths are under a dozen unpleaſant dilemmas, from indecent or intemperate behaviour. Are the Dutch ſpoken of by theſe great ſatiriſts: They are a pack of intereſted, grubbing, heavy⯑headed ſcoundrels.—The French: (I ſpeak of France as it uſed to be). They are the moſt faithleſs, fawning ſycophants.

The Italians: They are dark aſſaſſins. The Spaniards: Proud, poor, baſe, and idle. Thus, catching the popular character (which is com⯑monly the vulgar error) of each nation, and pre-determined to find the old threadbare ſlander that ſome jaundiced ſplenetic firſt gave out, they root in themſelves the habits of abuſe, and ſacrifice the reſt of the univerſe to that very old England, which, when they inhabit it, is ſacrificed, in its turn, to other nations.

It is really afflicting to ſee, my dear friend, with what boyiſh tricks, and unmanly, as well as ungrateful aſperſions, our ex-countrymen [492]of this order entertain each other. I ſat op⯑poſite to ſome of this deſcription this day, and had the mortification to hear what follows: A French gentleman offered his ſnuff-box to his next neighbour, a young Engliſhman.

"Dirty dog!" cried the latter, in a ſtage whiſper to his next neighbour, ‘I won't touch it. The French monkey may want to poiſon me for aught I can tell.’

A Portugueſe gentleman underſtanding an Engliſh youth, preſent, had juſt come from Hanover, begged to know the route— "D—n the yellow-faced fellow's imperti⯑nence," cried the Britiſh hero to his comrade, ‘I know he can't ſpeak a word of Engliſh, and ſo I won't underſtand him.’ This ami⯑able obſervation produced a loud laugh amongſt the Engliſhmen, and the Portugueſe was put out of countenance, but not out of manners. "I preſume," ſaid he, bowing, ‘that Monſieur does not underſtand my bad Engliſh; and as I have not the honour to ſpeak good French, I can only regret that I muſt loſe the benefit of his information.’ Hereupon the gentleman left the room, and the Engliſh⯑men laughed louder than before.

[493]Is it not very uncomfortable to ſee ourſelves thus generally outdone in all the conciliating courteſies of life? On my honour, I adhere to the ſimpleſt facts, when I again aſſert, that a native of this, and of almoſt every country I have paſſed, will attend to every queſtion you pleaſe to aſk—anſwer it the moſt ſatisfactorily in his power,—liſten to the moſt irrelevant and prolix converſations, in which you chooſe to addreſs him; go out of his own path to ſet you right in your's; hear the feebleſt attempts to explain yourſelf in his language; and ſo far from ridiculing your deficiency, try to ſupply, by gueſſing your wiſhes, through all the defects of your expreſſion, and be your air, manner, motions, or dreſs, the moſt obnoxious to ridicule in the world, you will never ſee or hear any odious compariſons, or national triumphs.

You know me too perfectly to believe I would inſinuate, that the reverſe of this de⯑meanour is univerſally prevailing in Britiſh travellers abroad, or reſidents at home, but it is lamentably general; and I have felt my cheek burn with indignation and ſhame at it, in various countries.

"Reform it altogether," I beg of you, my young countrymen; ſince although the good [494]breeding of thoſe you treat thus ungenerouſly prevents them from recriminating, they ſe⯑cretly feel all the contempt for you which ſuch conduct excites, and it impreſſes on their minds an indelible idea of the coarſeneſs, buf⯑foonery, and inhoſpitality of the Britiſh nation. ‘"What can they reaſon but from what they know."’ And as they may never go into England to vin⯑dicate it from theſe firſt impreſſions, and may perhaps avoid mixing with mere Engliſh tra⯑vellers, after the firſt inſults have been re⯑ceived, you are in effect a depreciator of your country, and ſcandalize it in the eyes and in the eſtimate of every other!

But enough of this: and enough of Amſter⯑dam. The lovely ſeaſon invites me to range abroad, farther a-field, and in my irregular, but, I hope, not unpleaſant way, to glean other places. My purpoſe is now to go once again higher up the country; again to traverſe the-pleaſant regions of Guelderland; to circle Weſtphalia, to penetrate into Germany, and, in all, to ‘"Try what the open, what the coverts yield,"’ I invite you to accompany me with my whole affectionate heart.

Come then, my friend, my genius, come along, and may every good and pleaſant thing attend us on the way.

LETTER LIII. TO THE SAME.

AND the way is literally ſtrewed over with flowers. A journey through Holland in that part of the year, when

is a journey, or rather a voyage, for you go by water, by the ſide of a garden, in which nature has done all the ſoil allows, and art has ſupplied her deficiencies as far as it is poſſible. But it is a very curious, and glean-worthy matter, to ſee as you go on higher land, how art declines, and nature aſſerts herſelf; I mean as to vegetable beauties. Induſtry and toil, whoſe ſtrong and ingenious hands have wrought ſuch wonders in the Provinces of Holland, Utrecht, &c. appear to be mere lookers on in neighbouring places. The flat but flouriſhing lowland, gradually riſes to an hillock, the hillock ſwells to a hill, and the hill ſpreads, as you paſs onward, to a mountain; the regular alley of trees yields to the luxuriant hedge rows, theſe give place to the ſublimer woodland, and that is ſucceeded by the almoſt immeaſurable foreſts: the ſlow [496]ſmooth canals of Holland improve into the running brooks of Guelderland, theſe expand to the ample lakes of the adjoining countries, and the various ſcene is cloſed by the ſtupendous cataracts of Switzerland. Different proſpects! and a different people! but a Supreme Being preſides over each, and has extended his benignity to all. Let us then ‘"Etch the proſpect as it lies."’

Reſpecting Dordrecht, Gorcum, Breda, Bergen-op-zoom, &c. I muſt beg leave to refer you to the numerous books, in which they are very juſtly deſcribed, and in none better than in Peckam. I am anxious to go on with you, to the faireſt poſſeſſions of the Dutch Republic, over and acroſs which, I am com⯑petent to be your guide, on the ground of long experience, having traverſed the country of Guelderland—certainly entitled to the epithet of the faireſt poſſeſſion—ſeveral times, and at all ſeaſons of the year.

We will juſt ſtop by the way, to glean an anecdote from Dordht. At that town, is a very curious, and I believe, hitherto unpubliſhed cuſtom, in regard to the German timber-mer⯑chants. Theſe men having prepared and ſeaſoned their wood, come down upon it along [497]boſoms of the Rhine and Maiſe. It forms a train of immenſe rafts, ſimply tied together, and on the ſurface of theſe planks, they erect temporary habitations for the accommodation of themſelves and families. Thus they ſwim down from the high to the low countries, to ſell their timber; for which, on their arrival at Dort, they have a certain market. This traffic is an amuſing novelty; for, in defiance of wind, waves, or weather, all ages and ſexes from the cradled infants to the great grand⯑fathers, are on float. But the beſt part of the buſineſs is, that theſe itinerant Germans, hav⯑ing vended their ſtores and converted their rafts into good Dutch ducats, ſeem to for⯑get they have any other habitation or country, ſince they generally continue to idle about till thoſe ducats, inſtead of making the tour of Germany, remain, by the medium of inn⯑keepers, in Dutch land, as if unwilling to emi⯑grate from their native country, or to tarry with the German timber-merchants, many of whom, having ſpent the laſt ſtiver in this ſtrolling way, often repair themſelves by marrying ſome pretty Dutch-woman who can pay their paſſage back to the German foreſts; where they hew timber with great induſtry, till the ſeaſon of idleneſs again arrives.

[498]Of the Duchy of Guelderland I have in a former letter given you a general character. But our particular attention is due to its prin⯑cipal towns; theſe are Arnheim and Nimeguen, whoſe environs and appertaining villages will employ the lovers of natural and artificial beauties, with many a day of pleaſant ob⯑ſervation.

The interior parts of this very agreeable Duchy, are amongſt the many things ſlighted by poſt-haſte travellers. Nimeguen, indeed, one of its capitals, as being in the direct route of Weſtphalia and Germany, forces itſelf upon the notice of the moſt rapid traveller, who, therefore, informs you that it is a rich, ancient, and populous town; that the market-place, and ſtreet to which it belongs, is remarkable for its extent, and the elegance of the ſurrounding buildings, eſpecially the church towers and ſteeples of St. Etienne, by which it is termi⯑nated. The town-houſe, alſo, being amongſt the palpable objects, is deſcribed, by the heroes of the whip and ſpur, as a magnificent ſtructure, ornamented with the ſtatues of the emperors; and laſtly, we gather from the ſame haſty authors, that the garriſon is in conſiderable force, in the beſt repair, and that it is worth a ſtranger's while, who has time to ſpare, and is [499]not fatigued with his journey, to take a ſtroll round the bulwarks, while the kettle is boiling, or the beef-ſteak dreſſing.

I can witneſs the truth of all this, but he who mounts his horſe, or throws himſelf into his carriage, with having ſeen only theſe ſtaring objects, and then daſhing right on without turning to the right or to the left, enriched as both ſides are, with charming little villages and countries, will loſe what is well worth looking for. Of theſe, however, in their place.

Nimeguen is celebrated in the hiſtory of modern Europe, for being the place where the Congreſs of Plenipotentiaries aſſembled to conclude the treaty of peace, in 1678, between Spain, France, and the United Provinces, Auguſt 10th; and between the Empire and France, and the Empire and Sweden, on the 3d of Feb. 1679. The mediators on the part of the Pope and Great Britain, were Moiſe Bevilagua, Patriarch of Alexandria, Lord Berkley and Temple. The ambaſſadors of the Emperor were the Count de Goes, Biſhop of Gurck; and the Counts de Kinſki and Straetman. Thoſe of Spain, France, Sweden, Denmark, and the United States, were men of equal rank and abilities. [500]We find the eminent name of Colbert amongſt the repreſentatives of France.

The Nimeguens, in conſequence of this meet⯑ing, had the addreſs to procure for their town more ſolid advantages than are derived from the empty diſtinction of the ſigning a treaty of peace, even though of importance to Europe. The States-General contrived to ratify the ſaid treaty by ſetting on foot a ſubſcription, which was ſoon filled by the aſſembled parties, to repair the injuries they had contributed to bring upon the town, at the ſiege which it ſuſtained a few years before. By this means, a demand of fifty-five million of florins, which this town muſt otherwiſe have paid by ſtipu⯑lation to the French, was done away.

Numerous are the readers who would be ſurprized, were I to aſſure them, that the part of the Dutch territory, known by the name of Guelderland, is replete with not only the beau⯑tiful, but the ſublime of nature, that the lovelieſt vallies are under ſhelter of the moſt magnificent hills, that theſe extend in a chain which ſome⯑times is bathed in the clouds, from one end of the Province to the other; the moſt romantic foliage and ſcenery luxuriating above, and a delicious branch of the Meuſe, or of the Rhine, [501]flowing beneath—the intermediate vallies and plains, on a dry, elevated, and plentiful ſoil, filled with flocks, herds, and game, and en⯑riched by towns, villas, caſtles, and hamlets, that, to a well-tempered traveller, would give the ſenſation of pleaſure, to perceive, with what an equal hand, the God of Nature has been the God of all; and to even a grudging traveller muſt extort a confeſſion, that it is not for Pro⯑vidence to copy the vices of ſelfiſh mortals, but for ſelfiſh mortals to imitate the bounties of Providence. For my own part, I confeſs to you, I never look at theſe bleſſings beſtowed on my fellow creatures in a foreign land, without feel⯑ing my heart at once enlarged and bettered by the view. I have a feeling on this ſubject, I anxiouſly wiſh I could deſcribe to you, but the ſenſation is too ſtrong for language; at leaſt for my powers of deſcription. In traverſing a new country, as its beauties riſe to my view, I conſider each of thoſe beauties as ſo many freſh arguments for my admiration of the great and good beſtower: I conſider a traveller as having even better opportunities than other men to become converſant with his beneficent works. Warmed with this idea, I have looked at with ardent eyes, and felt with an adoring heart, the ſurrounding ſcenes. I have all my life read and heard of the high enjoyment derived from [502]the idea of property; ſimply, and indepen⯑dently, of the real comforts, or benefits, which ſuch property affords. I have been told of the exquiſite ſatisfaction, with which a man walks over a ſpacious garden, or an extenſive mea⯑dow, from the conſciouſneſs of their being upon his own ground; and I have been informed, likewiſe, that the human heart warms with more chearing influence amongſt the flowers, fruits, and other rural charms, that are diſplayed in that ſoil where it firſt began to beat, than in any other clime. Of the truth of theſe aſſertions, I know nothing. I have never been in poſſeſſion of fine fields, or gardens, except as a mere yearly renter; and, therefore, cannot ſpeak to the wonderful delights, that are ſaid to proceed from the commanding idea, that I was Lord of the land, the fruits, the flowers, the herds, the flocks, &c. &c. Nor have I reſted long enough in the place, or nation that gave me birth; nor been ſufficiently happy in it, to make me think with ſome, (I ſuſpect affected) patriots, that even miſery and inconvenience at home, are better than comfort and accom⯑modation abroad. Yet I am not inſenſible, on general principles, to the pleaſing reflection that my countrymen reſide in a fair land, that it is juſtly celebrated for arts and arms, and protected by wholeſome laws. Neither, on [503]particular principles, am I without a fond con⯑ſolation, that the friends, from whom fate or fortune ſeparates me, enjoy all the above privileges, added to the fame and diſtinction which their own talents or virtues ſecure. But this is too broad a ſatisfaction to give me the ſenſation of having a landed intereſt in that country, and luxuriating in the idea that I am the proprietor of ſo many thouſand of its acres. I fear, unleſs I were to liberalize this ſenſation, by ſuppoſing it aroſe chiefly from the idea ſuch ample poſſeſſions gave of aſſiſting thoſe who had more cauſe to thank nature than fortune— I fear, I ſay, my dear friend, that unleſs I were to ſuppoſe this, which I doubt would be ſomewhat too candid, that to deſcend to the feeling of valuing a tree, a park, a garden, or any other natural beauty, becauſe, by purchaſe or birth-right, it was my own, I muſt very much narrow my preſent ſenſations. As it is, I aſcend the mountains at home or abroad, and ſee from them, with real joy, the ſmiles of nature, the riches of induſtry, or wonders of art, which, I hope, render tens of thouſands as happy as myſelf.

If half of them are as pleaſed with the poſſeſ⯑ſion as I with the proſpect they are delighted indeed. It never enters into my mind—theſe [504]are not mine—a thought which is enough to darken the ſun, and envelope the whole ſcene. I even derive gratification from knowing that the view which at the moment regales me, is only a ſpeck, a ſpan, in the great ſyſtem of human felicity, or, at leaſt, the materials of felicity. I paſs the boundary of this ample proſpect, but find no boundary to the felicity. Other ſcenes, another people to enjoy them, but an equal abundance of the materials. I expand my reſearch yet further, and find ſtill reaſon to congratulate human nature, and myſelf as ſpectator of the various good appointed for it. I look into a fine territory, and hail the poſ⯑ſeſſors of it. I ſurvey a majeſtic wood, and ſo far from appropriating a ſingle twig or leaf of it, I am grateful to the owner, for cultivating it. I love it for itſelf, and I love it for the God that made it ſo fair. If imagination ſome⯑times creates a foreſt, or a flower of her own, or builds me up a manſion, or (as I have ſomewhere elſe ſaid) places me a cottage in any country I am gleaning, and puts into it what furniture and what inhabitants ſhe knows her votary beſt approves, that is quite another matter, and that is certainly poetical property; but for coveting other men's goods, in any other way, or in any other place, through all the works of created nature, I never did, nor [505]ever ſhall. And I do not believe I could walk in the grounds of an enemy, ſee his flowers in bloom, or his fruits in bearing, without pluck⯑ing a canker from the one, or a ſlug from the other, if I found them in my way.

Bleſſed be your ſéjour in Guelderland, my friend. If the vapours of Holland, and her low lands ſhould have relaxed your frame, or ſeized your ſpirits, here you may brace theone, and in⯑vigorate the other. Deviate into the ſequeſtered paths and you will be delighted with cluſtering villages that make directly to the heart, by the medium of peculiar neatneſs and ſimplicity; for here nature begins to reſume herſelf; in Holland ſhe was often obliged to yield to art. If you keep the direct roads, they will guide you to many noble towns, and highly orna⯑mented countries. In either path, I repeat, bleſſed may you be.

LETTER LIV. TO THE SAME.

ONE of the main roads will take you to Arnheim; a town which rivals Nimeguen in beauty, and ſurpaſſes it in ſituation.

[506]It is a pretty curious fact, that a ſtranger cannot come into this place, or go out of it, without paying for his exit and entrance. In the ſpace of half a league, there are half a dozen bridges raiſed over as many canals. At each of theſe you pay paſſage money; the firſt takes a half-penny, the ſecond a penny, and ſo on in a riſing ſeries; the ſixth payment carries you to the great gate, at which you are ſtopped by a worthy perſon who has another demand on you: and whether on foot, or on horſeback, or in a carriage, you muſt pay your quota. As this was the firſt time I had been aſked to pay for the uſe of my legs, I thought it worth while to glean the reaſon, and was told that I had the honour to pay at all theſe bridges, for the good of the Republic, and by order of the States. I bowed and paſſed on to my hotel, where I had ſcarce time to felicitate myſelf on having contributed my mite to the Republic ere mine hoſt of the Golden Eagle, (the beſt inn of Arnheim), preſented me with a book and pen, to announce my name, quality, object of travel, how long I purpoſed to remain in town, and which of its inhabitants could ſpeak to my character. By the bye, all theſe demands are made in Dutch, and if your landlord can⯑not interpret, you muſt make it out as you can, [507]for your anſwer to every queſtion muſt be given in to the magiſtrates, early the next morning. The interrogatories here are.

De Naam?

Woonplaats?

Qualiteit of Beroep?

Van waar gekoomen?

Hoe lang blyve?

By wie hier of Elders in de Provintie bekend?

This being a pretty general cuſtom on the Continent, I ſhould not have noticed it but for the abruptneſs with which it was done; and being ſomewhat weary, I wiſhed to get a quiet diſh of tea, before I wrote down my hiſtory; unleſs, ſaid I to the landlord, you ſhould be of opinion it may be for the good of the Republic, and the States-General, that I ſhould give an account of myſelf before. The Republic, anſwered mine hoſt, is always happy to receive ſtrangers, and to know who they are, what they come for, how long they remain, and where they are going; and the ſooner the chief magiſtrates are made acquainted with all this the better. Then my information ſhall be conciſe, complete, and immediate. I come to pick up what I can find in other countries, and carry it off to my own. I have already gone [508]half the world over with the like view; and, before I get home, ſhall perhaps traverſe the other half. There was ſomething in this ac⯑count which my landlord did not like. He faſtened a ſtrong ſuſpicion on the declaration, that I was come to pick up and carry off what I could find. But in the courſe of the evening, a gentleman of the place, to whom I was known, cleared me up to the good man's ſatiſ⯑faction, and he afterwards made ample amends for his over-haſty ſuſpicions.

He told me what was worthy of remark, both in his town and neighbourhood. He ad⯑vertiſed me of a book, in which were ſet down and printed the prices of baggage, carriages, boats, and poſt-horſes, by which extortion was rendered impoſſible. He told me I was within a day's walk or morning ride of ſeveral very beautiful villas, and he ordered his little ſon to write me down, as well a direction to, as a deſcription of theſe: ‘When you have got out of the town-gate,’ ſaid the little fellow, ‘you will ſee a long avenue of trees, which you muſt walk under, and when you get to the end of this long avenue, you will ſee two roads, you muſt take the left, and when you have walked another quarter of an hour, you will ſee a fine inn, and on the other [509]ſide of this fine inn you will ſee Claarembeck, and then another quarter of an hour, and you will ſee Angleſtein; and when you have got to Angleſtein, then go ſtraight forward till you come to Ronſindale, where there is another good inn, from whence you have but a ſhort walk to Belljoen; and when you ſee Belljoen, you ſhould go to the inn called the Brouverye, and there you will learn the way to Backheuſen, which is the moſt beau⯑tiful of all.’ My inſtructor was but eight years old; and though his account was ſome⯑thing like, "Walk in, gentlemen, and ſee what you ſhall ſee," it was done with ſo hearty a good⯑will, and ſo many apologies for bad French, and ſo well-natured an offer of his little ſelf, to prevent my ſuffering by his ignorance, that it abundantly atoned for the behaviour of his father on my firſt coming into the houſe.

My young director, however, who had more of the French courteſy (I ſpeak of France when it was a nation) than of the French lan⯑guage, made a ſmall miſtake in putting the word gauche, where he ſhould have written droit, by which I was carried a good hour's walk out of my track, and for which I return him my hearty thanks, being thereby con⯑ducted into ſome of the moſt delightful bye⯑walks, [510]nooks, and corners of nature. I might have driven along the main road for a month together, without ſo much as ſuſpecting thoſe ſweetly-ſequeſtered beauties were ſo near at hand.

And now, my good reader, if, peradventure, thou art, like myſelf, maſter of thy time, and a deliberate traveller, let me ſuggeſt to thee the ſupreme ſatisfaction of now and then loſing thy way; ſince to ſuch accidents thou wilt ſometimes find, at every devious ſtep, a rich reward for thy wanderings. Indeed I would adviſe thee (where the general courſe, ſitua⯑tion, and proſpect of a country inſures thee a beauty of nature go were thou wilt) to ride or walk, contrary to the inſtructions thou mayeſt have received, incontinently turning to the right when thou art deſired to keep the left, and vice verſa. If thou haſt never tried, there is no convincing thee of the enchanting ſcenes which a dull regular right-on journey makes thee paſs. For my own part, being, as thou haſt ſeen, in the courſe of theſe gleanings, in the habit of holding long and audible conver⯑ſations with myſelf, when perhaps there is neither an human creature, nor the habitation of one within a league of me, and when warmly engaged in the queſtion and anſwer of ſuch [511]ſelf-ſuſtained dialogues, I often take the left for right, and the right without knowing it. My diſcourſe, however, being uſually on the beauties of nature, I loſe none of them by theſe errors, but am upon the whole a gainer. It is true I have frequently been benighted, but then I have found an inn, a public houſe, or a private one, or a cot, and all theſe have commonly been prolific of adventures either for good or evil, or a mixture of both: new ſcenes have preſented themſelves; new charac⯑ters; in the courſe of the next day I have got by ſome other cut (which is another novelty) into the main road. I glean every inch of the way, and on coming home, add ſomething to my ſheaf: Or, if you ſhould ſtray very far out of the beaten path, you will always meet ſome⯑body good-natured enough to ſhew you the way back. For inſtance: by the miſdirection of my little guide, I deviated a league. I heard the ſound of an axe in the middle of a foreſt, juſt at the opening of four different great roads cut through the ſaid foreſt. I took that from whence the ſound ſeemed to come. But the ſound ſoon led me through numberleſs verdant difficulties, and leaſy la⯑byrinths, which, though far from being un⯑pleaſant, conveyed me to the thickeſt parts of [512]the wood. On a ſudden, the ſound of the axe ceaſed, and I was without any guide at all;

I wandered about for ſome time, before I re⯑collected that could I occaſion a ſound, as well as the axe. I raiſed my voice to its extent. Had I whiſpered, it muſt have been heard, for, within a few paces, the woodman who had been felling timber was ſitting upon a tree he had juſt cut down; and converting it both into a ſeat and table, was eating his mid-day meal: this conſiſted of very dark brown bread, a bunch of radiſhes, and a lump of cheeſe; of all which he invited me to partake, and in a manner that to refuſe would have been churliſh. Beſides, I had rambled about, like the babes of the wood, till I was hungry. After my repaſt, the hoſpitable forreſter, with an urbanity that would have thrown luſtre on the dweller in a palace, conducted me to the ſide of the wood; and there, not having ſufficient confidence in his explanations, or in the ſpecimens I gave of a knowledge in his language, he took my cane, (which, however, he returned with a bow almoſt in the ſame moment, as if ſenſible he had, in a manner, committed an outrage on his former courteſy) then uſing his fingers as [513]a compaſs, he drew a correct map of my route upon the ſand; by means of which I was as perfect a maſter of the geography of my in⯑tended excurſion, as if Cooke, Kitchen, or Sanby, thoſe celebrated mappiſts, had made out my chart.

There was ſo much natural good-will, and good-breeding in the ſervices of this man of the woods, that as he drew the lines of direc⯑tion, my heart warmed towards him. I gave my hand to raiſe him from the ground, on which he kneeled to draw his inſtructions; and as I bade him adieu, I felt that comfort⯑leſs ſenſation which has ſo often accompanied me in my journey through the world, when I have taken leave of the kind and courteous, whom accident has thrown into my path, but whom the chances are againſt my ever meet⯑ing again. The longeſt paſſage of life is ſhort, and one ſees, in travelling it, many objects, and catch glimpſes of many perſons, en paſſant, to whoſe countenances, converſe, and other charms, we muſt bid, moſt likely an eternal, farewell, juſt as they begin to intereſt and de⯑light us. But the pleaſure of ſuch encounters, tranſitory as they are, have a ſweetneſs that ſoftens the regret of our not being able to [514]enjoy it long. My advice, therefore, is, in caſes of travel, the reverſe of that given in caſes of morality. In the latter, we are very properly admoniſhed to reject the crooked paths which lead to vice, even though ſtrewed with roſes, and to perſiſt in the ſtraight road which conducts to virtue, though ſurrounded by thorns. But in a journey purely to ſee the world, "and all that it inherits," my exhor⯑tation is, that you quit the broad right-on way, and take the winding one. For inſtance, hadſt thou, my friend, in the deviations of half a day, met nothing more than the man of the wood, would he not have more than paid thee for thy wanderings.

Certainly I have, in my perambulations of this day, received as much vernal pleaſure, and in as great variety, as the moſt ardent lover of nature could defire. I performed the tour, my obliging little guide had deſcribed, infinitely to my ſatisfaction; and, on my regaining Arnheim, was juſt as fatigued as is conſiſtent with a ſound and quiet reſt.

I roſe with all the freſhneſs of the morning; and yet I feel myſelf at a loſs how to make you a partaker of my gratified heart; having, [515]as you know, a ſettled diſlike to all formal ac⯑counts: ‘"Where pure deſcription holds the place of ſenſe."’ And yet it is impoſſible to paſs over a ſeries of very beautiful ſcenery, without ſaying ſome⯑thing.

Firſt, however, you are to obſerve, that the country itſelf (I mean this part of Guelder⯑land) does not admit of thoſe elevations or deſcents which character the land betwixt Nimeguen and Utrecht. You meet, in the en⯑virons of Arnheim, no cataracts, which, im⯑patient of controul, burſt their way through a thouſand fiſſures of the rocks: you perceive no mountains which give you all the changing ſeaſons as you aſcend them. At their baſe, the ſoftneſs of the ſpring, in their centre a glowing ſummer, and on their ſummit a rigo⯑rous winter. But you have abundance of thoſe graceful riſings and fallings, that, by the help of a little art, afford you many charming landſcapes. Travellers of every deſcription will, in the walk I have taken, find amuſement and delight, from the riſing even to the ſetting of the ſun: here are pictures for the painter and the bard. In each of the places is the happieſt diſpoſition of the evergreens, and the whole view is enriched by cottages, convents, [516]churches, mills, and turrets: huſbandmen and women at work; children ſpread over the ground in ſport, ſheep at paſture: bloſſoms of all colours, flowers of all fragrance; the Rhine flowing on one ſide, the Maeſe on the other, with numberleſs intermediate ſtreams, brooks, and rivulets, meandring through the verdure. To theſe the poet would be able to deſcribe, in his numbers, what cannot be ſo forcibly impreſſed by the maſter of the pencil; the harmony of nightingales, which are even in flights throughout Guelderland. Indeed, they are here too numerous for poetry; for they echo each other in ſuch rapid reſponſes, and the charm is ſo inceſſant, that a young votary of the muſe would have more Philomelas than he knew well how to manage. Indeed they are, in this country, in too great quantity for a proſeman; for the note of one runs into that of a ſecond, the ſecond into a third, and ſo on, that they put each other out of tune, and produce rather a clamour than a concord. I think, verily, I heard in this little tour as many of theſe cele⯑brated ſongſters, as would have added a nightingale to half the groves of Great Britain. Nor would travellers, of a tender complexion, fail to find ſomething in keeping with their feeling. There are bowers of moſs, arbours of the thickeſt verdure, and hermitage of the [517]profoundeſt ſequeſtration: and if, peradven⯑ture, as in parties of pleaſure ſuch painful things occur, any two perſons, whether of the ſame or of a different ſex, whether ſingle or married, wiſh for the relief of a little abſence from each other, it is but taking the right path, when the other goes to the left, (for they are very artfully connected, ſo as to render the ſeparation unperceived) and I will enſure to both the felicity of at leaſt an hour's reſpite from the ſmalleſt hazard of their coming near each other.

In this general deſcription I include the general beauties of the ſeveral places, already mentioned as the objects of my ambulation, viz. Clarembec, Roſindale, Belljoin, and Bac⯑heuſen. A few particulars muſt, however, be noted. The dwelling-houſe of Roſindale (whoſe other beauties are ſo manyfold, and in ſuch good taſte) has its foundation in water, not a running ſtream, not a flowing river, but a filthy, diſcoloured, ſtanding pool—a fault common to the very beſt houſes, and even pa⯑laces of the Republic: and what is ſtranger ſtill, conſidered as an advantage. I might mention, too, as a counterpart to this, the miſ⯑ſhapen and outré paintings of gods and god⯑deſſes, fiſh and game, fruit and ſhell-work, in [518]one of the moſt ſpacious pavilions of the ſaid Roſindale. This pavilion is alſo ornamented, or, if you pleaſe, onerated with urns and vaſes, and ſtatues ſo ill afforted, and ſo cloſe together, that it has rather the air of a ſtone-maſon's or ſtatuary's ſhop and warehouſe, than of a nobleman's ſummer-houſe. But, indeed, all Dutch embelliſhments exhibit a falſe taſte and clumſy genius. At Bacheuſen, however, are objects that would find their way to your "heart of hearts." From a path almoſt open to an extenſive country, you enter into a grove of evergreens, which, by a very ſkilful gradation, take a deeper hue in your progreſs. The firſt five or ſix hundred yards the foliage is of young fir, which gives a tender kind of ſhade, at the end of which the path begins to darken, the trees (which are ſtill of fir, but of greater age) being more lofty and venerable. Pre⯑ſently you come to a double, then a treble, row of theſe on each ſide. About a quarter of a mile farther on, the ſhade becomes ſo thick, that twilight overtakes you. You are alarmed; your ſtep is awed; you liſten. The wind blowing through the firs, in ſuch a place, gives the ſound of heavy, human ſighing, when, urged by a wiſh to regain the day, and preſſing onward, you are precipitated into an abyſs ſo profound, and are ſurrounded by ſuch [519]melancholy foliage, as wraps you in almoſt utter darkneſs, even in the noon of day. The trees, in this part, are cypreſs, the growth of ſeveral centuries, and the underwood below is of the dunneſt ſhrubs, ſo interwoven, as to ex⯑clude the light. You are thus in "the dark⯑neſs that may be felt," from which, however, a few minutes walking relieves you. You come into a path, where the ſame artful ar⯑rangement of foliage, which had excluded the ſun-beams, is uſed to reſtore them. The greens are at firſt only ſomewhat leſs dark, the livelier ſhades ſucceed—the tints ſoften apace, the day returns, and you are touched by an emotion too mighty and ſingular for the pen, at leaſt for that of your affectionate friend.

LETTER LV. TO THE SAME.

TO the beauteous country, which in⯑cludes theſe attracting ſpots, I ſhould tell you, that you may be conducted by land or water, each of which has its peculiar charm. Your route by the former is Harwick, Helveotſluice, Rotter⯑dam, and Nimeguen. By the latter, you em⯑bark [520]at Rotterdam, and are carried on the boſom of the Maeſe, even to the places de⯑ſcribed; your paſſage to which in the ſummer⯑time is replete with beautiful ſcenery: but let me apprize you of the neceſſity there is to go by the public barges, and not in one of the private bye-trading boats. It is the more eſ⯑ſential for you to know this, as there are per⯑ſons at the water's edge lying in wait to lite⯑rally take you in, under pretence of their ſailing directly. Your being ſeduced, by this appear⯑ance of accommodation, may ſubject you to numberleſs inconveniences; beſides paying for them double the money, which, in the vulgar boats, would be demanded of you for the beſt treatment.

Having mentioned Rotterdam, I will here offer you two circumſtances, which, though gleaned long ſince, were omitted, when I gave you a particular account of that populous place.

I was there on the 8th of March, the day which is commemorated as the anniverſary of the Stadtholder's birth. If external ſigns were always expreſſive of the fact, a tra⯑veller would preſume that the Prince of Orange is beloved of his people beyond any other potentate of the earth, taking the [521]ſhew of his natal day as a proof of it. For, beſides the common ceremonies of firing guns, and other compliments of courſe, civil or military emblems of loyalty were diſplayed, wherever invention, and even whim, could hang them out. All the veſſels were full dreſſed, fore, aft, and midſhip, in their holiday finery: the feſtival literally went off with fly⯑ing colours. The orange ribbon was not only in every hat, cap, and bonnet of his Highneſs's human ſubjects, but extended to all the beaſtial train that have the honour to breathe in his and their High Mightineſſes Republic. The horſes' heads, tails, manes, cheſts, and fet⯑locks, were decorated with it; nay, the figure of the Prince is crammed in little, into the buttons of the coats, and flags are hoiſted on every ſteeple: even the venerable figure of Eraſmus, which ſtands in the market-place, is moſt ridicuiouſly be-oranged. A filleting of that colour is wreathed round his hat, or rather cap, and faſtened by an orange-ſtring under his noſe, into the noſtrils of which is ſtuffed orange-peeling: the ſaſh that ties the robe is fringed with it; the very ſleeves of his gown are filled with real oranges, and his ſhoe⯑ſtrings are drawn into orange-bows. Some⯑body, either out of zeal or waggery, has ſtopped up the ſage's mouth with more of the [522]orange-peeling, and a capacious offering of that fruit covers the opened folio book which he holds in his hands: Whether it is that vo⯑lume of his works which contains the cele⯑brated treatiſe on Folly, I am not able to inform you; but, whatever may be due to the honours of the day, it would be a pity ſo noble a ſtatue ſhould be thus caricatured more than once in the year.

It is, however, a pleaſant ſight, to ſurvey from the water in a tour round the canals, the barges of pleaſure, and thoſe of trade, all dreſ⯑ſed in their beſt array: the arms and emblems of the Republic, and the colours of the Pro⯑vinces that conſtitute it, brought under one point of view; many of the pendants reaching from the top gallant maſt head to the river.

How far theſe appearances are real indica⯑tions of an happy or contented people, is not now the queſtion: Permit me yet a little while to amuſe you with more peaceable ſub⯑jects.

To return to Dutch Guelderland.—No one but an humble Gleaner would ſtoop to pick up an obſervation on a warming-pan, and yet two different kinds of theſe in the two different [523]provinces of Utrecht and Guelderland, have entertained me more than any thing in which the affections are not engaged, ſince I left England.

In the former place as in the latter, the ſe⯑vere weather which gloomed on my firſt viſit to theſe fine Provinces, made a warm bed amongſt the neceſſaries of life: but a warming⯑bed-pan in the Engliſh faſhion was not in general uſage, and the ſubſtitute was whimſical enough —an open earthen pan, full of living aſhes, was placed in an earthen platter, this again put into a large wicker cover, baſket form, not unlike a magpye's cage. This complicated machinery was placed in the bed, where it remained about twenty minutes, during which I was to freeze in expectation. A ſimple warming-pan would have anſwered a better end in half a dozen turns; for the pertinacity of inſiſting on its ſtaying its uſual time, againſt all the arguments I could uſe with the chamberlain, was puniſhed by his ſcorching the ſheets, which induced mine hoſteſs of Utrecht to give in to that monſtrous machine, as ſhe called it, an Engliſh warming-pan.

Farther up the country I was treated with a yet greater curioſity; this was no other than a [524]Seltzer water-bottle filled with boiling mate⯑rials: What was to be done with this, doſt thou ſuppoſe, my ingenious reader? Why it was to make the tour of the bed in a very regular progreſs, beginning at the head, and ending at the feet: an operation that took up at leaſt twenty minutes alſo, and with good attendance, for the bottle was to reſt little and be rolled much. The night following, in the hope of ſhortening the labour, I ordered three warming⯑bottles, and the chambermaid being a good⯑natured girl, complied ſmilingly with my de⯑mand. One was placed at the head, a ſecond in the middle, and a third at the feet. I was going to exult over the ignorance and barbarity in which the country had been ſo long involved, when the middle warmer, which happened to be a common wine bottle, loſt its cork, which dire event not being perceived till I had ſent away the maid, telling her I ſhould be ſome time undreſſing, and would carefully take out the bottles, when they had done their duty, my⯑ſelf. By this manoeuvre the bed was inundated juſt as I ſtepped into it, with the additional agrément of my being in the dark; for that nothing might interrupt the repoſe I promiſed myſelf, I had previouſly put out my candle. This was a worſe calamity, to me, at leaſt, than the ſcorched ſheets; but putting both together, [525]you feel the difficulty which a traveller from the comfortable realm of Great Britain has to prevent being burned or drowned in his bed; ſince he is thus nightly in danger betwixt fire and water.

But the beds themſelves are objects of as humorous ſpeculation, as the machines by which they are warmed. There is a ſcale of incon⯑venience and abſurdity in them. In Holland they are indifferent, in Guelderland they are worſe, in Weſtphalia they are very hard upon you, and in Pruſſia they are not to be endured, ſcarcely even by thoſe who

Aid me, ye powers, who pity aching bones, to deſcribe them! Beſides the delightful cuſtom of frequently cramming a family, with the agreeable circumſtance of now and then intro⯑ducing a ſtranger to keep you company in the ſame room, (this is really frequent in Ger⯑many, and you may think yourſelf well off if they do not put a being you never ſaw before into your bed), and that room ſeldom a large one; it is no abuſe of a traveller's privileges to aſſure you, that three of their beds put together do not more than make up what in England [526]would be conſidered as a decent bed for a man and his wife. Matter of fact will ſanction me to deſire you will read four inſtead of three, if you penetrate far into the Auſtrian country. Nor is their breadth leſs ſcanty than their length. So far from being at your eaſe, ſtretched out into your natural dimenſions and proportions, that you muſt contract yourſelf into one half of your natural ſize, and ſometimes to curl your⯑ſelf up like the curs of the country. In the Palatinate, I was once abſolutely thruſt into ſuch a crib that a well grown cat would have been only handſomely accommodated: and for me, I was compelled to fold myſelf up like an eel; or if I were even to lie lengthways, from ſide to ſide, the matter would not have been much better, as even in that caſe I muſt have tucked myſelf into a double, as if tied neck and heels for execution: you flounce againſt the foot or ſideboards at every turn; and if, to be relieved from committing this outrage and aſſault on yourſelf, you take away either of theſe bar⯑barous pieces of wood, which ſlide up and down, you incontinently fall out of bed: And that all the paraphernalia of the bed may be uniformly uncomfortable, the quilts, blankets, and ſheets, are neither broad or long enough to keep you decently covered through the night, except you bundle and pack yourſelf up in the [527]aforeſaid manner, and are beſides a very ſound and quiet ſleeper indeed; the leaſt reſtleſsneſs, though but in a dream, would deſtroy the whole oeconomy of your bed, and on waking you would find yourſelf in a ſtate of nature, though in ſleep you had ſuppoſed yourſelf arrayed in a birthday ſuit.

You have it, nevertheleſs, in mind, that I ſpeak generally of Table D'Hotes, Taverns, and what in theſe countries are, with too much compliment, called good private lodgings. In private houſes you occaſionally find in theſe countries, as in others, good rooms, good fare, good beds, and good company. But thoſe are not properly ſo much the objects of information to a traveller, who requires paſſing accommodations, at the public-inns, and private lodgings. Theſe merit the cha⯑racter I have given them. Indeed, in all which are juſtly called the comforts of life, Holland, Guelderland, Pruſſia, Germany, and other countries, are ſo many hundred years behind us, that we have juſt cauſe to be at once proud and grateful: proud of our happy iſland, and grateful for the benign government, under which it flouriſhes. But more of this in its place.

[528]I ſhould entertain you very much about the ſtorks to be ſeen in the United States of Hol⯑land, as that how they are lovers of Republics, and to be ſeen only in countries where freedom is enjoyed, and, as how, they are even there, only birds of paſſage; viſitors, not natives: and, as how, they hold conſultations with one another throughout all the Republic, having as many deputies as the reſpective Provinces; and, as how, it is ſettled at a ſolemn Synod, that theſe winged high mightineſſes, (for when erect they will meaſure to the ſtature almoſt of a man), are to quit Holland, on a certain day and hour, of a certain month, when the ſtorks of each Province, aſſiſt at the general aſſembly, held on ſome palace barn, or church ſteeple, previous to their departure; and how, the invalids, and ſuperannuated parts of the flocks of theſe liberty-birds, being unable to travel, and againſt the laws of the long-legged convention that they ſhould be left behind, are very heroically, but unmercifully, put to death, by their fellow-creatures, and by them left unnaturally (ſo cruel a thing is a too great love of freedom,) to moulder in a foreign land, while their murderers ſet off, and go the Lord knows whither; and, as how, in the laſt place, theſe ſagacious tribes, make their flight back, after a few months abſence, and eſtabliſh the [529]hour and moment of their return, by the ſame decrees and formalities, juſt as if their town houſes were in one Republic, and their country ones in another. Of all theſe things, I ſay, and a great many more, which many redoubted travellers have inſiſted on, I ſhould certainly give you my confirmation, but for one of the ſimpleſt reaſons: ſuch as how, there is as much truth as will lie in a nutſhell, and more falſehoods than could be crouded into a buſhel, reſpecting theſe feathered gentry: The fact is, ſome go out of Holland, and ſome ſtay in it all their lives. As a proof of the latter part of my poſition, I refer you to the confeſſion of half a dozen of theſe learned perſonages, who, (if they are as honeſt as good Republicans ſhould be) will tell you have never left the Hague; nor, perhaps, that part of it y'clept the fiſh⯑market theſe many years: in that ſpot I have ſeen them ſwallow down their long ugly throats, as good a ſmall fry as would have ſub⯑ſiſted a family: for theſe are amongſt the ſeveral birds protected by ſuperſtition in Holland. I have, likewiſe, ſeen the ſaid Re⯑public-loving birds in Pruſſia, and in other deſpotic ſtates, and even in ſome, where they are knocked on the head with as little cere⯑mony [530]as crows and ſparrows. I had, more⯑over, an intimate acquaintance with a whole family of them, in one of the little German territories, governed by a petty Prince, who was as inveterate a tyrant, both to man, fiſh, and fowl, as was ever ‘"Dreſſed in a petty, brief authority."’

Another claſs of the privileged birds of Holland are the quails. Theſe, more eſpecially in Guelderland, are preſerved with even a reli⯑gious care: there is one or more, in almoſt every family, but by no means in Republican ſitua⯑tions. They are caged, and hung at the ſides of the houſes, where they tweedle their plain⯑tive notes, not as Thompſon calls them to their "running mates," but to their ſlaviſh fellow priſoners, rather as if they mourned the loſs of their freedom, than as if they ſung the Io Paeans of Liberty.

A yet more favoured tribe are the ſwans, to kill or even maim which, is not only an offence of a private kind, but of public cognizance. A ſwan feaſt, ſuch as is partaken now and then in England, would by the magiſtrates be deemed treaſon, and by the mob ſacrilege; and here it is that this proud bird might, [531]indeed, ſing while dying, according to poetical fiction, to think that he had paſt ſo comfortable a life.

But of all the race that wing the air, a Nimeguen raven is the moſt diſtinguiſhed. In that town, this croaking creature is of mighty importance to the inhabitants, who hold their very charter on a ſingular cuſtom concerning it. It is neceſſary, for one or more of theſe ravenous birds to be maintained at pub⯑lick expence in great luxury. They are placed in a large wooden cage, which is but the outlet or balcony of a more ſpa⯑cious inner apartment, ſituated on the quay, which faces that part of the Maiſe that looks to Arnheim. You never paſs without ſeeing ſome very nice fowls hung up for their repaſt, and picked for them as clean as if it had been for the table of the Burgomaſter. I muſt own, I have often wiſhed ſome of this good fare would have fallen down at the feet of many a poor, pulletleſs, wretch, whom I have ſeen caſt up a longing look at the cage;—but all this luxury is to be eaten in an eternal priſon, in the midſt of a Republic that is boaſting of its freedom. Did the charter-ravens know, however, what blood and miſery the ſtruggles for this freedom have coſt the people of Holland, [530] [...] [531] [...] [532]and what miſery and blood may yet flow to maintain it, they would have more occa⯑ſion to congratulate themſelves, perhaps, on being priſoners for life, than to CROAK, like many of the Citizens of the Republic, after more liberty. Adieu.

LETTER LVI. TO THE SAME.

WITH regard to the general hiſtory of this country, for many revolving ages, it reſembles the general hiſtory, alas, of almoſt every other nation in the habitable globe; a rubric picture of battles loſt and gained, cities ſacked or beſieged, villages buried, burned, or deſolated, the fury of man contending with man, and the diſaſters of human nature, aggra⯑vated by the ambition and weakneſs of human creatures.

From the very foundation of the Republic, to the year 1715, the ſtory of Holland, and its beautiful dependencies, is nothing but a tiſſue of difficulties and diſputes, foreign or domeſtic. [533]The inhabitants had ſcarcely time to breathe from one battle, and bind up its wounds, or bury its dead, ere another called them to the field. A war of years againſt Spain, for ſecur⯑ing the independence of the States, was ſuſpended by a twelve years truce, it is true, but it was partial, and did not extend to their Indian poſſeſſions. The peace obtained in 1648, laſted only four years, after terrible bloodſhed. The firſt war with Great Britain, continued to 1654. And juſt as they began to reliſh the ſweets of peace, they had to cope with three great powers at the ſame time, viz. Denmark, Portugal, and Sweden. Their hoſtilities in the North continued to 1660, and in the South to 1661. Then began their ſecond conteſt with Great Britain, and did not end till their pacification treaty at Breda, in 1667, and the very next inſtant, they were invaded by Louis the XIVth. of France. A deceitful ſort of calm then took place for three years, when they were attacked unpreparedly, (indeed they appear never to have been prepared) by ſea and land, by the formidable and united forces of France and England. It was not till after a carnage of ſix years more, that the peace of Nimeguen, was concluded in 1678. Even that was not enjoyed without alloy; for Louis, [534]amongſt other exactions, inſiſted on their fur⯑niſhing troops againſt Spain. This was the epoch, when the liberty, endangered by James the Second, invited the Prince of Orange, as an auxiliary for freedom. This memorable expedition was undertaken in 1688, and what⯑ever were its effects to Great Britain, involved the Dutch in a war, that laſted within a year of that of the ſiege of Troy. The peace of Ryſwick, was ſcarce concluded, when the diſputes about the Spaniſh ſucceſſion opened another ſcene of combat. This war even ſur⯑paſſed in duration that of the Trojans, laſting eleven years. The peace of Utrecht, indeed, gave the government time to lay down, or rather reſt on its arms. But as if this little Republic was fated to have no undiſturbed repoſe, fre⯑quent and bloody ruptures broke out betwixt the Dutch and the African Corſairs, which made it neceſſary for the former to keep a ſtrong armament in the Mediterranean.

Thus, my friend, you ſee that in a courſe of 147 years, which revolved from their firſt taking up arms in 1566, to the peace of Utrecht, in 1713, the inhabitants of this— what ſhall I call it? little floating iſland—this molehill of land in a world of waters, did not enjoy, in pacific intervals, more than thirty [535]years And when all theſe public hoſtilities were at an end, and in reſpect of foreign tumults, the Republic was bleſſed with a more ſolid tranquillity, than it had ever known ſince its political exiſtence, their diſputes, quarrels, and Revolutions amongſt themſelves, again involved them in a ſucceſſion of troubles, triumphs, ſucceſſes, and miſcarriages, which filled up the reſt of their time, and which, con⯑tinue, in a great degree, to this very day.

Adieu.