On Tuesday, soon after leaving Nimeguen, we crossed the Waal (a branch of the Rhine) on a flying bridge, which had two or three small cabins built upon it, and masts with flags flying. We here completed our complement of passengers, and had much disputation respecting places, which a man belonging to the coach settled in a very rough authoritative manner. We were tolerably fortunate in our situation, for the carriage was a clumsy inconvenient machine, with a front, back, and middle seat, intended for nine passengers, and the roof timbers without lining. This unfortunate outset was, however, succeeded by an unexpected interesting conversation: amongst other agreeable companions, we found a professor of the university of Leyden, who advocated with great warmth the literary character of his country; and asserted, in particular, that it had produced a number of poetical works of higher merit than the world were disposed to admit of; that even his own countrymen had not duly appreciated them; but that he trusted the efforts, which were then making at Leyden, to collect and make them public, would tend to remove this stigma. As none of us were acquainted with the authors he enumerated, he remained, of course, undisputed master of the field. The professor’s wife, and their son, were also of the party; the latter was a handsome lad of fifteen, who sat in the cabriolet, and occupied himself in smoking a pipe nearly half as long as himself. We expressed our surprise at his being allowed to indulge himself in this manner, but his mother stated that he had entered the college, and therefore was of the age when it was customary to commence inhaling the fumes of this deleterious herb. “Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys, Unfriendly to society’s chief joys; Thy worst effect is banishing for hours, The sex whose presence civilizes ours.”—COWPER. But the ladies of Holland are too much used to this custom, to find it disagreeable; not only habit, but an opinion of its utility, tends to reconcile them to it. If it possesses any quality in destroying contagion, I am disposed to imagine that this must depend upon the stronger poison subduing the weaker, like Aaron’s serpent swallowing up the rest. We had also, in our party, a mild, pleasant, and well-informed Swiss clergyman, the pastor of a protestant church at Hamburgh. After dining hastily at a village on the road, we continued our journey through a country, which my friend C⸺ described as beautiful, and possessing a novel character; we passed Dry Bergen, or three hills, a place much frequented in summer by the richer inhabitants of Amsterdam and Utrecht; and afterwards a beautiful village, where there is a magnificent chateau inhabited by Moravian missionaries; although the roads were excellent, in consequence of frequently baiting our horses, we did not reach Utrecht before half after four o’clock; having occupied ten hours in accomplishing a journey of only forty-two miles.