and let the floods of the Rhine
swallow him up. The danger from within is not less than from without.
Yet so fond is he of his one enemy, that, when he can afford it, he
builds him a fantastic summer-house over a stagnant pool or a slimy
canal, in one corner of his garden, and there sits to enjoy the aquatic
beauties of nature; that is, nature as he has made it. The river-banks
are woven with osiers to keep them from washing; and at intervals on the
banks are piles of the long withes to be used in emergencies when the
swollen streams threaten to break through.

And so we come to Amsterdam, the oddest city of all,--a city wholly
built on piles, with as many canals as streets, and an architecture so
quaint as to even impress one who has come from Belgium. The whole
town has a wharf-y look; and it is difficult to say why the tall brick
houses, their gables running by steps to a peak, and each one leaning
forward or backward or sideways, and none perpendicular, and no two on a
line, are so interesting. But certainly it is a most entertaining place
to the stranger, whether he explores the crowded Jews' quarter, with its
swarms of dirty people, its narrow streets, and high houses hung with
clothes, as if every day were washing-day; or strolls through the
equally narrow streets of rich shops; or lounges upon the bridges, and
looks at the queer boats with clumsy rounded bows, great helms' painted
in gay colors, with flowers in the cabin windows,--boats where families
live; or walks down the Plantage, with the zoological gardens on the one
hand and rows of beer-gardens on the other; or round the great docks;
or saunters at sunset by the banks of the Y, and looks upon flat North
Holland and the Zuyder Zee.

The palace on the Dam (square) is a square, stately edifice, and the
only building that the stranger will care to see. Its interior is richer
and more fit to live in than any palace we have seen. There is nothing
usually so dreary as your fine Palace. There are some good frescoes,
rooms richly decorated in marble, and a magnificent hall, or ball-room,
one hundred feet in height, without pillars. Back of it is, of course,
a canal, which does not smell fragrantly in the summer; and I do not
wonder that William III. and his queen prefer to stop away. From the top
is a splendid view of Amsterdam and all the flat region. I speak of it
with entire impartiality, for I did not go up to see it. But better
than palaces are the picture