idler, and his brother across the sea the useful ally of man,
is an ethnological problem: the reason lying not with the animals but
with the nations. The Flemish and Dutch people are essentially humble
and industrious, without ambitions beyond their station. The English
are a dissatisfied folk who seldom look upon their present position as
permanent. The English dog is idle because his master, always hoping
for the miracle that shall make him idle too, does not really set his
hand to the day's work and make others join him; the Netherlandish
dog is busy because his master does not believe in sloth, and having
no illusions as to his future, knows that only upon a strenuous youth
and middle age can a comfortable old age be built. Countries that have
not two nations--the idle and rich and the poor and busy--as we have,
are, I think, greatly to be envied. Life is so much more genuine there.

England indeed has three nations: the workers, the idle rich who
live only for themselves, and the idle rich or well-to-do who live
also for others--in other words the busybodies. The third nation
is the real enemy, for an altruist who has time on his hands can
do enormous mischief between breakfast and lunch. It is this class
that would at once make it impossible for a strong dog to help in
drawing a poor man's barrow. The opportunity would be irresistible
to them. The resolutions they would pass! The votes of thanks to the
lieutenant-colonels in the chair!

It was on this little journey to St. Jacobie Parochie that I saw
my first stork. Storks' nests there had been in plenty, but all were
empty. But at Wier, close to St. Jacobie Parochie, was a nest on a pole
beside the road, and on this nest was a stork. The Dutch, I think,
have no more endearing trait than their kindness to this bird. Once
at any rate their solicitude was grotesque, although serviceable, for
Ireland tells of a young stork with a broken leg for which a wooden
leg was substituted. Upon this jury limb the bird lived happily for
thirty years.

The stork alone among Dutch birds is sacred, but he is not alone in
feeling secure. The fowler is no longer a common object of the country,
as he seems to have been in Albert Cuyp's day, when he returned in
the golden evening laden with game--for Jan Weenix to paint.

St. Jacobie Parochie on a fine Sunday morning is no place for a
sensitive man. The whole of the male population of the village had
assembled by the church--not,