impressive ceremony. The captain and his men stood all ready,
the captain watching the sun as it sunk on the horizon. At the instant
it disappeared he gave the word, and at one stride came the light. I
chanced at the moment to be standing between the lantern and the sea,
and I was asked to move with an earnestness of entreaty in which the
safety of a whole navy seemed to be involved. The light may be seen
forty-eight miles away. It is fine to think of all the eyes within
that extent of sea, invisible to us, caught almost simultaneously by
this point of flame.

I did not stay at Nieuwediep but at The Helder. Thirty years ago,
however, one could have done nothing so inartistic, for then,
according to M. Havard, the Hotel Ten Burg at Nieuwediep had for
its landlord a poet, and for its head waiter a baritone, and to stay
elsewhere would have been a crime. Here is M. Havard's description
of these virtuosi: "No one ever sees the landlord the first day he
arrives at the hotel. M.B.R. de Breuk is not accessible to ordinary
mortals. He lives up among the clouds, and when he condescends to come
down to earth he shuts himself up in his own room, where he indulges
in pleasant intercourse with the Muses.

"I have no objection to confessing that, although I am a brother in
the art, and have stayed several times at his hotel, I have never
once been allowed to catch a glimpse of his features. The head-waiter,
happily, is just the contrary. It is he who manages the hotel, receives
travellers, and arranges for their well-being. He is a handsome
fellow, with a fresh complexion, heavy moustache, and one lock of hair
artificially arranged on his forehead. He is perfectly conscious of
his own good looks, and wears rings on both his hands. Nature has
endowed him with a sonorous baritone voice, the notes of which,
whether sharp or melodious, he is careful in expressing, because
he is charmed with his art, and has an idea that it is fearfully
egotistical to conceal such treasures. One note especially he never
fails to utter distinctly, and that is the last--the note of payment.

"Sometimes he allows himself to become so absorbed in his art that he
forgets the presence in the hotel of tired travellers, and disturbs
their slumbers by loud roulades and cadences; or perhaps he is asked to
fetch a bottle of beer, he stops on the way to the cellar to perfect
the harmony of a scale, and does not return till the patience of the
customer is exhausted