petticoat— the old silver helm upon her heat
catching the sun like a reflecting mirror—and
clatter off to her little conventicle: taking all
these matters in, as I look up and down
lazily from the bow window, I hear the
sounds of music afar off, borne to me on a
Dutch breeze—a Dutch temperance band, most
likely, patrolling noisily on the Sabbath;
which sets me off upon the speculation, comic
enough, that, had the late excellent Father
Mathew or the worthy Manchester Alliance
taken on themselves to crusade it among my
Dutch friends, what issue conceivable would
have come of it? Would Mynheer have
been able to grasp the notion of teetotalism
at all? He might have taken his long pipe
from his mouth and blinked his round eyes
and upheaved his huge figure, striving
painfully to see what the tea crusaders wanted
of him. Not to drink? Then why not to
eat? As well one as the other. Was it
suicide or wholesale destruction of the human
family that Father Mathew and the
Manchester Alliance were insanely bent upon?
The schout, or policeman, might be useful
here; but for that temperance-band (so I
call it, from the quality of the music, which is
strained) which I hear afar off from the bow
window of the Goode-Haan (the Noble
Bird being the name of my hostel) what
possible?

Now it does just occur to me that the
fine old Hoogen mogen would have set their
faces utterly against such street music on a
Sunday. They would have made no bones
about it, as the phrase is, but have
incontinently helped the big drum and the ear-
piercing fife, without respect of person,
to strong lodgings for the night—which
would have been only proper on the part
of their high mightinesses; such profane
Sunday entertainment being clearly contra
bonos mores, in every age and country. But,
alack! how are their high mightinesses
fallen! They have no heed for such
concerns now. None of their rough, stern action
appears to be left to their successors.

I call loudly for Jan, seeking to be better
instructed as to the temperance music; and
there appears to me, as though out of a
trap, a complete little man, in a little coat,
with his hair cropped quite close to his head.
In years, I do believe he was no more than
a boy; and yet he had sered with distinction
in many hotels of quality at La Haye and
such places. There he stood, however, fresh
landed from the trap, with his little old face,
and his little old manner, awaiting orders.
I fancy that we two were the only folk left
at that time in the house.

I prayed of the little man to expound to
me the secret of the temperance music.

"O! O!" says the little man, flourishing
his napkin, excitedly. "Great feast! such
a great feast! Music, dancing, and the
drinking! Every body will go to the music
and the drinking! O, such drinking! O,
the schnaps!" And the little man drew in
his yellow cheeks, succulently, as though he
were dried up and consumed with a raging
thirst.

"Where and when?" I ask.

"Out beyond the town, say a mile. Taking
the road straight from the Goode-Haan or
Noble Bird, follow the first canal to the
right, and it would bring me there in good
time. O, the drinking! Two o'clock in the
afternoon would be ample time; then the
sports and amusements begin, at the Tivoli
Gardens."

"But the temperance music?"

"Well, here was how it was exactly: This
was for a charity. Did Mynheer see?"

"Perfectly."

"The poor of a neighbouring district were
in great straits,—had suffered from a
conflagration, that had consumed, it would be
hard to say how many houses! Terrible
thing, that fire. Does the Mynheer follow
my meaning?"

"Perfectly."

"Well, then, certain munificent gentlemen
had organised this festival; and, in the noblest
manner, a certain amateur band, which had
attained extraordinary celebrity, had ridden
ventre à terre (as the French have it) to
play at the Tivoli Gardens. O, the drinking!
O, the dancing! I am to go; the fille de
chambre is to go; the commissionaire is to
go; the master had said it, and sworn it,—on,
his pipe! Hark to them now. O hark!"

And the little man shot down suddenly,
through his trap, utterly unable to restrain
himself further.

I take my hat and run out, for the
temperance music seems to be now braying
under the window. Divine worship is clearly
over; for the street is full. Full of men and
women,—full of the fat father o' family's,
again,—full of my chubby little
Dutchwomen, again,—full of the unnatural children,
again,—full of the bursting books of family
prayer,—full of the red, white, and blue
chequering under the bright sun (with
three cheers for those colours, according to
the song, "Britannia, the pride of the ocean,"
and the rest of it),—full of the many twinkling
feet all over again. In short, it was
as if there had been the cry behind the
scenes of, "All-on-the-stage!" and that,
whereas before there had come forth from the
practicable door that little woman tripping on
to her conventicle, so now there was to come
the great market scene, peopled with all
manners of gay and fluttering figures, passing
and repassing, colours crossing, and variegating,
and harmonising with prodigious effect.
Neither is there lack of music in the
orchestra. For, as I thread my way through
the market scene,—jostling a stray father
o' family, as I go,—I can see afar off at the
bridge, that the crowd has gotten into a
clump, and that it is there that the music is
discoursing. There is a great crowd. There