t raising their eyes from the table or
lifting their hands from their glasses. It is very rare to see among these
heavy faces a lively, piquant physiognomy like that of Erasmus, which many
consider the true Dutch type, though I am not of their opinion.

The friend who opened the door of the club to me presented me to several
of its habitues. The difference between the Dutch and the Italian
character is especially evident in introductions. On one occasion I
noticed that the person to whom I was introduced scarcely bowed his head,
and then remained silent some moments. I thought my reverend face had not
pleased him, and felt an echo of cordial dislike in my heart. In a little
while the person who had introduced me went away, leaving me tete-a-tete
with my enemy. "Now," thought I, "I will burst before I will speak, a word
to him." But my neighbor, after some minutes of silence, said to me with
the greatest gravity, "I hope, if you have no other engagement to-day, you
will do me the honor of dining with me." I fell from the clouds. We then
dined together, and my Amphytrion placidly filled the table with bottles
of Bordeaux and champagne, and did not let me depart until I had promised
to dine with him again. Others, when I would ask information about various
things, would hardly answer me, as if they were trying to show me that I
was troublesome, so that I would say to myself, "How contemptible they
are!" But the next day they would send me all the details neatly and
clearly written out, and minute in a higher degree than I desired. One
evening I asked a gentleman to point out to me something in that ocean of
figures that goes by the name of _Guide to European Railways_. For some
moments he did not answer, and I felt mortified. Then he took the book,
put on his spectacles, turned over the leaves, read, took notes; added and
subtracted for half an hour, and when he had finished he gave me the
written answer, putting his spectacles back into their case without
speaking a word.

Many of those with whom I passed the evening used to go home at ten
o'clock to work, and to return to the club at half-past eleven, after
which they would remain until one o'clock. When they had said, "I must
go," there was no possibility of changing their minds. As the clock
struck ten they left the door; at half-past eleven they stepped over
the threshold. It is not surprising that with this chronometrical
precision they find time to do so many things