the cathedral, a large but not handsome building,
quaint in construction, and surrounded with low
houses. Leaving you in the church, an old
sexton goes off to find the organist and his assistant.
Their fee amounts to rather more than a
guinea—about three and twenty shillings
English—but is not by any means too much for the
enjoyment which any one with any taste for music
must feel in listening to this magnificent instrument.
Its swell in some of the fine passages of
Handel's music is most magnificent. The
Hallelujah Chorus seems as if it had been composed
especially for the Haarlem instrument. Next
comes the incantation scene from Der Freischutz,
a wonderful performance. The thunder rolling
overhead is imitated so perfectly, that you find
it difficult to persuade yourself that a real storm
of thunder and lightning is not raging without.
I have heard the same music performed on the
great organ at Freiburg, in Switzerland, to
which, in one respect, I should give the
preference. The voice-pipe at Freiburg is clearer
and sweeter than that in the Dutch organ; it
is, in fact, a closer imitation of the softness
and sweetness of the human voice. Many
comparisons have been instituted between the
relative merits of these two organs and that of
Birmingham; the latter, from the vast additions
and improvements made in it when that town
became the meeting-place for the triennial
festival, is now, perhaps, not much inferior to
either of the foreign instruments.

With the extraordinary history of the tulip
mania a great deal of fiction is, no doubt, mixed
up, but it is still amazing after a liberal deduction.
In one case, it is related that a landed
proprietor gave a furnished country-house, a
well-stocked garden, and a couple of cows, for
an especially rare root; in another, a carriage,
a pair of fine grey horses (and perhaps the
coachman and footman, into the bargain), were
exchanged for a similar treasure. One rich
merchant gave his pretty daughter to a penniless
man whom he detested—and whom, as a necessary
consequence, she dearly loved—to acquire
a tulip which no other man had. In another, a
cook, having mistaken a precious tulip root for
an onion and cooked it accordingly, was seized
with such remorse on discovering the mistake,
that he instantly committed suicide.

For some probably unknown, and certainly
unjust, reason, the word Dutch was once often
employed in our language as a term of
disparagement. "I'd as soon be a Dutchman," was
a frequent phrase. The term "Dutch courage,"
meaning pugnacity induced by drinking, is
equally unjust, for no people ever fought better,
and few abuse drink less, than the Hollanders.
There is no more respectable nation in the world
than the Dutch—using that adjective in its best
and truest sense. They have not been engaged
in barbarous oppressions or cruel conquests,
any more than in bubble-schemes or
disreputable projects; though it is true, on the
other hand, that they are a nation of Ichabods,
whose glory is departed. With the solitary
exception of the rich and beautiful island of Java,
nothing now remains to them of their once vast
Oriental dominions; all have successively passed
into English possession. The Great Cape colony
has also fallen into our hands, and one-third
only of the rich settlement of Guiana now
remains an appendage of the crown of Holland.

The proportion of military to civilians in
Holland is the greatest of any country in
Europe, being at the rate of one soldier for
every fifty-nine inhabitants; that of Great
Britain and Ireland is the smallest excepting
Portugal, being in the proportion of only
one soldier to every hundred and ninety-five
civilians. The Dutch national debt presses
sorely on the resources of the nation, its
capital amounting to twenty-two pounds six
shillings and tenpence, and the interest
thereon at the rate of fourteen shillings and
tenpence per head throughout the state. Next
to its half-sister kingdom of Belgium, the
population of Holland is greatest—three hundred
and nine individuals to the square mile.
Although much praiseworthy economy prevails
at the Dutch court, the government in itself
is the most expensive in Europe, the
average contribution of each inhabitant for state
purposes being two pounds eight shillings and
sevenpence, whilst with us it is two pounds six
shillings and one penny per annum.

The public works are of vast extent, and
absorb an enormous amount of revenue. In no
country but Holland could such a work as the
draining of the Lake of Haarlem be undertaken.
The language is certainly not euphonious. One
would say it has not much to be proud of, either
in respect of sound or looks. The words are
something between German spoken by an
Englishman, and English spoken by a German.
For instance: "Is the company (theatrical)
good?" "Is de troop goed?" Again, "Bring
me the bill." "Bring mig de rekening." "How
deep is the river here?" "Hoe diep is hier de
rivier?" "How late is it?" "Hoe laat is
het?" It is needless to say that the Englishman
must be but a dull Englishman who cannot
soon master enough of the language for all ordinary
purposes. But it should be added that it
is by no means indispensable either for travelling
or for society, the Dutch—a highly-educated
people—speaking English, French, and German
almost universally; the first from a liking for us
as a nation; the second from the Dutch having
been so long under the dominion of France; the
last from their vicinity to the most fruitful
provinces of Germany, a large portion of whose
products finds its way to the ports of Amsterdam
and Rotterdam, whence it is embarked for
England, America, and India.

There is no more curious place than
Amsterdam. That such a city ever came to be
thought of at all, I should place first among the
wonders of the world; and that it exists still, I
should place second. Everything about it is
different from other towns in even Holland, like
as all the rest are to each other. Above all
things, it looks odd by moonlight, when the
stranger is confusedly sensible of there being so