orifice by which the travellers descend. The second compartment is the cabinet, called in Dutch the roef, which is entered through folding doors. This second cabin is small, but fitted up with some degree of taste. The win dows, four or six in number, are glazed, and have red or white curtains, according to the season. In the centre is a table with a copper vessel containing fire, and another smaller one to receive cigar-ash, both cleaned and polished in a manner only found in Holland. Add to this, to complete the furniture, a mat, a looking-glass, and, in winter for the ladies, a footwarmer, called the stoof, containing a small earthenware vessel, with two or three lumps of lighted peat in it. Along two sides of this cabin run cushioned benches, on which the travellers sit down opposite to each other. Sometimes there are on a shelf a few volumes belonging to the boat, and forming a floating library at the service of the studious passengers. The whole national character is revealed in this simple and minute attention to comfort. At the bows, the space not occupied by the cabinet is filled with merchandise, bales, and barrels; while the poop is left to travellers who wish to take the fresh air, and the helmsman, who steers and smokes the while with the regularity of a steamer.

The master of the trekschuyt is a worthy Dutchman, with an honest and placid face, who receives the fares from the passengers in a leathern purse. In the front of the boat stands the mast, which is lowered at each bridge, and to the top of which a long rope is fastened, the other end being on the bank. This rope is fastened to the horse that pulls the boat, on which the postilion (het jagertje) is mounted. This driver, who is generally a young fellow, wears over his shoulder, in some parts, a buffalo horn, which he blows, either to give the signal for starting, or to have the bridges raised, or else to warn boats coming in the opposite direction on the same canal; but generally he contents himself with giving the warning by shouting. When the trekschuyt passes through towns, the horse is unfastened, and it is propelled by poles through the tangled web of boats. The Dutch boatmen are neither turbulent nor quarrelsome, and it is a pleasure to see them working in silence upon the silent waters.

The boats are, with the mills and the headdress of the women, the characteristic types of Dutch manners. At times they only go short distances, as, for instance, from the Hague to Delft, and are in that case water omnibuses. When the journey is long, each establishes himself in the cabin as in his room, and carries

on his business; for it is the nature of the Dutchman to economize the stuff of which lifeis made. People write, eat, and sleep; the ladies produce their needle-work, the elder ones their knitting. From one town to another is with them the distance of half a stocking. It is not rare for an organist to be present in the front cabin, who whiles away the fatigue of the journey by playing. On Sunday, especially toward evening, young girls are fond of singing in chorus; and this song of the waters has some-thing simple and soft about it which is affecting.

On the trekschuyten floats Old Holland, with its language, manners, and conscientious and powerful originality. On the railways it is rare for a traveller coming from France to meet fellow-passengers who do not understand him; in the barges, on the contrary, it is very rare to meet Dutchmen who understand or speak French. It is generally believed that, to identify yourself with a foreign nation, you must speak the language; the principle is true, but some restrictions must be made. In Holland, where there is candour in the relations of life, you are often less of a stranger because you speak the language of the country more or less incorrectly. The necessity of understanding each other by a word, the language of symbols, the medley of sounds badly pronounced, or misunderstood-all this creates a species of sympathetic current whence arises a sort of intimacy. There are some trekschuyten in which you pass the night; at about six in the evening, in the event of the master being polite (and we never met any who were not so), he invites you to take tea. You then see a little cabinet produced, containing cups, sugarbasin, and tea-pot of black earthenware, which is not inelegant. The kettle is placed on a species of stove, covered with Chinese designs, and containing a vessel filled with burning peat. At night the roef is divided into two parts-a saloon, and a small sleeping room, of which the curtains are raised. A common bed, occupying the entire width of the cabin, and on which men and women sleep honestly side by side, invites you to take your share of the universal calm and rest of nature. This bed is composed of a mattress and counterpane, and you lie down on it full dressed. During this period the boat continues its noiseless voyage through the waters, which divide in a silvery furrow on either side the prow.

On the railways, steam effaces everything through its speed; in the boats you enjoy at your ease the scenery, and the physiognomy of the towns and villages you pass through. Seated near the helm, you allow your eyes to