the world, since it could not
but be painful to be so excruciatingly nice.

The proprietor of the house had about half an acre of land, which
constituted his garden. It was laid out with winding walks and fanciful
plats of ground, filled with the richest-hued flowers. It contained a
pond and a canal, on a small scale; for a Dutchman would not be at home
without a water prospect, even if it were only in miniature. At the end
of the garden, overlooking the pond, there was a grotesque little summer
house, large enough to accommodate the proprietor and his family. Here,
of a summer afternoon, he smoked his pipe, drank his tea, coffee, or
beer, while his wife plied her needle, and the children played at the
door.

"What is that inscription on the house?" asked Paul, as they approached
the building.

"_Mijn genegenheid is voldam_," replied Mr. Fluxion.

"Exactly so! I understand that, and those are my sentiments," laughed
Paul; "but what does it all mean?"

"'My desire is satisfied,'" replied the vice-principal.

"He is a happy man if that is so," added the doctor.

"Many of the Dutch label their garden houses with a sentiment like
that," continued Mr. Fluxion. "I have seen one somewhere which smacks of
Yankee slang--'_Niet zoo kwaalijk_.'"

"I should say that was slang," interposed Paul.

"It means, 'Not so bad.'"

"Well, it isn't so bad, after all," added the doctor, glancing back at
the "_zomerhuis_," as they retired, with many thanks to the proprietor
for the privilege granted to them.

The hoarse croaking of the locomotive whistle, which appeared to have a
cold in its head, drummed the students together again, and the train
proceeded.

"This is the Rhine," said the doctor, as they went over a bridge.

"The Rhine!" exclaimed Paul, jumping out of his seat. "Why, it isn't
anything!"

"That is true; but you must remember that this is the old Rhine,--the
part which was dug out, robbed of the burden of its waters by the Yssel,
the Leck, and the Waal. The Rhine of Germany is quite another affair.
The mouth of the Rhine is eight miles below Leyden. It was closed for a
thousand years."

"What became of its waters? They must have gone somewhere," said Paul.

"They disposed of themselves in various small streams, and worked their
way to the ocean, or soaked into the sands. The mouth of the river was
opened in 1809, by an engineer, under the direction of Louis Napoleon,
King of Holland. But the ocean at high tid