into that room."

"O, no," replied her husband. "If it was any thing that it was intended
we should see, the door would be open. The fact that the door is shut is
notice enough that, we are not to go in there."

"I'm convinced there are some choice pictures in there," said Mrs.
Parkman; "something that they do not show to every body. Mr. George, I
wish you would see if you can't find out some way to get in."

"Certainly," said Mr. George, "I will try."

So Mr. George walked along towards one of the attendants, whom he saw in
another part of the room,--putting his hand in his pocket as he went, to
feel for a piece of money. He put the piece of money into the
attendant's hand, and then began to talk with him, asking various
indifferent questions about the building; and finally he asked him where
that closed door led to.

"O, that is only a closet," said the attendant, "where we keep our
brooms and dusters."

"I wish you would just let us look into it," said Mr. George. "Here's
half a guilder for you."

The man looked a little surprised, but he took the half guilder,
saying,--

"Certainly, if it will afford you any satisfaction."

Mr. George then went back to where he had left the rest of his party,
and said to Mrs. Parkman,--

"This man is going to admit us to that room. Follow Him. I will come in
a moment."

So Mr. George stopped to look at a large painting on the wall, while
Mrs. Parkman, with high anticipations of the pleasure she was to enjoy
in seeing what people in general were excluded from, walked in a proud
and stately manner to the door, and when the man opened it, saw only a
small, dark room, with nothing in it but brooms, dust pans, and lamp
fillers. She was exceedingly abashed by this adventure, and for the rest
of that day she did not once ask to see any thing that was not
voluntarily shown to her.

After visiting all the places of note in the town, the coachman was
ordered to drive to the watering place on the sea shore. It was a very
pleasant drive of about three miles. Just before reaching the shore of
the sea, the road came to a region of sand hills, called _dunes_, formed
by the drifting sands blown in from the beach by the winds. Among these
dunes, and close to the sea shore, was an immense hotel, with long wings
stretching a hundred feet on each side, and a row of bath vans on the
margin of the beach before it. The beach was low and shelving, and it
could be traced for miles in either