By the best chance in the world here, too, we fell in with a fête on the river. Some great Burgomaster had married himself, and all the world of Haarlem came forth in boats, decorated with colors, and bands of music in procession up the river to pass in review before the Princess of Orange, an elderly-looking woman. She sat in the window of a summer house overlooking the river, and the festive procession assembled before her. It was a lovely evening, and nothing could be more gay and animating than the scene. We this morning at 6 quitted Haarlem in the boat in which I am now writing as comfortably as in my own room, the motion scarcely perceptible, about 5 miles an hour; by good luck few passengers, and those above looking at a man who is at this incessant Dutch employment of painting. The boat is as clean as a china dish, but possibly it may not have been painted since last week. Edward has just daubed his hand by looking out of the window. I am rather puzzled in getting on here. Very little French is spoken; among the common people none, and we converse by signs. ...Their money, too, is puzzling beyond measure. My stock consists of 5 franc pieces (French), upon which, exclusive of their not always understanding what they are, there is a discount; this, of course, adds to the confusion, and now I despair of understanding the infinite variety of square, hexagon, round coins of copper and silver and base metal which pass through my hands. We passed two hours at Leyden as actively employed as a Foxhunter. We found a man who spoke French, told him our wishes, gave him a list of what was to be seen in the town, and then desired him to start, following him on the full trot up and down churches, colleges, Townhalls, &c. These towns are so much alike, that having seen one the interest is considerably lessened. Leyden, however, has the honour of possessing one of the finest streets in Holland; though capable of accommodating 65,000 souls, there are not more than 20,000, which gives it a melancholy appearance. In one part there is an area of about 3 or 4 Cheshire acres planted with trees and divided with walls, which in 1807 was covered, like the rest of the town, with good houses, but it happened that a barge full of gunpowder passing through the canal, blew up, killed 200 people, including a very clever Professor Lugai, and destroyed all the houses. It was a sad catastrophe, to be sure; but now, as it is all over, and all the good people's mourning laid aside, I think the Town may be congratulated as a gainer. I could fill up my letter with the anatomical preparations of the celebrated Albinus; but though I am very partial to these sights, I doubt whether you would be amused by a description of dried men, with their hearts, lungs, and brains suspended in different bottles. The town is full of booksellers' shops, in which capital Classics might be procured and divers others old books. The windows were also well filled with new works translated into