ses, by the high windmills, whose black tops and white wings were
outlined against the blue sky, and still more by an air of repose and
simplicity never seen in any other northern town.

I examined a Dutch ship attentively.

Almost all of the vessels which are crowded in the canals of Rotterdam
sail only on the Rhine and in Holland. They have only one mast, and
are broad and strongly built. They are painted in various colors like
toy boats. The planks of the hull are generally of a bright grass
green, ornamented at the edge by a white or bright-red stripe, or by
several stripes which look like broad bands of different colored
ribbons. The poop is usually gilded. The decks and the masts are
varnished and polished like the daintiest drawing-room floor. The
hatches, the buckets, the barrels, the sailyards and the small planks
are all painted red, and striped with white or blue. The cabin in
which the families of the sailors live is also colored like a Chinese
joss-house; its windows are scrupulously clean, and are hung with
white embroidered curtains tied with pink ribbons. In all their spare
moments the sailors, the women, and the children are washing,
brushing, and scrubbing everything with the greatest care; and when
their vessel makes its exit from the port, all bright and pompous like
a triumphal car, they stand proudly erect on the poop and search for a
mute compliment in the eyes of the people who are gathered along the
canal.

Passing from canal to canal, from bridge to bridge, I arrived at the
dyke of the Boompjes, in front of the Meuse, where is centred the
whole life of this great commercial town. To the left extends a long
line of gay little steamers, which leave every hour of the day for
Dordrecht, Arnhem, Gouda, Schiedam, Briel, and Zealand. They are
continually filling the air with the lively sound of their bells and
with clouds of white smoke. To the right are the larger vessels that
run between the different European ports, and among them are to be
seen the beautiful three-masted ships that sail to and from the East
Indies, with their names, Java, Sumatra, Borneo, Samarang, written on
them in letters of gold, bringing to the imagination those far-off
ports and savage nations like the echo of far-off voices. In front,
the Meuse is crowded by numbers of boats and barges, while its
opposite bank is covered with a forest of beech trees, windmills, and
workshop chimneys. Above this scene is a restless sky, w