we Enjoy the Pleasures of
Horticulture." Now and then a fine black-and-white cow, lying on the
bank on a level with the water, would raise her head quietly and look
toward the boat. We met flocks of ducks, which paddled off to let us
pass. Here and there, to the right and left, there were little canals
almost covered by two high hedges, with branches intertwining overhead
which formed a green archway, under which the little boats of the
peasants darted and disappeared in the shadows. From time to time, in
the midst of all this verdure, a group of houses would suddenly come
into view, a neat many-colored little village, with its looking-glasses
and its tulips at the windows, and without a sign of life. This profound
silence would be broken by a merry chime from an unseen steeple. It was a
pastoral paradise, a landscape of idyllic beauty breathing freshness and
mystery--a Chinese Arcadia, with quaint corners, little surprises, and
innocent artifices of prettiness, all which seemed like so many low
voices of invisible beings murmuring, "We are content."

At a certain point the canal divides into two branches, of which one
hides itself amongst the trees and leads to Leyden, and the other
turns to the left and leads to the Hague. After we passed this point
the _trekschuit_ began to stop, first at a house, then at a
garden-gate, to receive parcels, letters, and verbal messages to be
carried to the Hague.

An old gentleman came on board from a villa and took a seat near me.
He spoke French, and we entered into conversation. He had been in
Italy, knew some words of Italian, and had read "I Promessi Sposi." He
asked me for particulars in regard to the death of Alessandro Manzoni.
After ten minutes I adored him. He gave me an account of the
_trekschuit_. To appreciate the poetry of this national boat it is
necessary to take long journeys in company with some Dutch people.
Then they all live just as if they were at home; the women work, the
men smoke on the roof; they dine all together, and after dinner they
loiter about on the deck to see the sun set; the conversation grows
very intimate, and the company becomes a family. Night comes on. The
_trekschuit_ passes like a shadow through villages steeped in silence,
glides along the canals bathed in the silver light of the moon, hides
itself in the thickets, reappears in the open country, grazes the
lonely houses from which beams the light of the peasant's lamp, and
meets the boats