as it was novel, and very intelligibly expressed our approach to the residence of sovereignty. The single ride from Delft to the Hague would alone have repaid the trouble and occasional anxiety I experienced in getting into, and afterwards out of the country. All the principal country-houses have a wooden letter-box standing upon the margin of the canal, into which one of the boatmen, upon the treckschuyt being steered close to the adjoining bank, without stopping, drops the letters and parcels directed to the family residing there. In no part of the continent is social intercourse and communication so frequent, cheap, and certain. For keeping the dams and roads in repair, turnpikes are established at proper distances, and the care of their repair is confided to directors, who are always gentlemen of high respectability, and receive a fixed salary for their services. The principal roads are kept in good condition; and, on account of the flatness of the country, are very easy for the horses, but the bye roads are intolerably bad. In the steerage I found three very handsome and well-bred Dutch young ladies seated, one of whom spoke English very well: they all insisted upon my being an Englishman the moment I entered the boat; how they could think so, the spirit of physiognomy, if there be such a spirit, must explain; for in my best hours of health and delight, John Bull would scarcely acknowledge me for one of his family. My charming companions talked much of Shakspeare and Milton, with both of whom they seemed to be familiar. They entered with much ability on Desdemona’s wish, alluding to her passion for Othello, “that Heaven had made her such a man.” Two of the three fair disputants contended that she would have been more happy had Providence made her a man, and such a man as Othello; the other observed that was impossible, for as she was deeply in love with the Moor it would have been irreconcileable to her passion to wish to be of his own sex, by which she could have felt only friendship for him. I was so pleased with my fair voyageurs, who talked, sung, and laughed, with so much talent, taste, and vivacity, that our two hours or six miles, the distance from Delft to the Hague passed rapidly away, and tempted me not to quit the vessel to visit the village of Ryswick, which lies about half way, and is only about half a mile from the canal, and, I am told, abounds with beauty and richness of scenery. It is known to the political world for the celebrated peace concluded there at a little palace of William III. called the House of Neubeurg, after a nine years’ war, on the 20th September, 1697, between Louis XIV. and the confederate powers, called the Treaty of Ryswick. I mention this as a guide for strangers who may follow me, and who may not be fascinated as I was by my situation in the boat and content with the highly cultivated and embellished scenery around me. A man must be in