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are choice regiments enough, belonging to
the regulars, foot and horse, who are
unexceptionable in drill and raiment. Those dancing
officers, savouring so suggestively of the
footlights, may, perhaps, be thought to do well
enough for your mere traders at such places
as Amsterdam. Such may be the conviction
at the Dutch Horse Guards. But we must
have another dispensation within the sphere
of royal influencesfor your people of
qualityhandsome, resplendent uniforms, for
your young counts to show themselves in at
court. Guides regiments, royal hussars, and
aristocratic corps.

Shift the scene, then, gently to that royal
town of the Hague, where the traveller has been
set down, newly discharged from the top of the
Spoorweg; and, looking curiously about him,
walks leisurely towards the city. It was on
a bright Sunday evening, and the brightness
of all things within that town,—men, women,
and houses for background,—can scarcely be
conceived. Churches were then pouring out
their congregations; streaming them from
under old porches. It looked like a scene in a
play, with practicable houses by Grieve and
Telbin. Every house low, and with a special
shape of its own. Some higher, some lower,
some white, some red, some gabled, but all
bright and lightsome. At which sight the
traveller gazes with infinite pleasure; and,
taking the first bridge, without knowing
whither it will lead him, finds himself of a
sudden in a new scene. Harlequin's wand
has stricken the earth, and lo! with a Hi!
presto! all things are changed to green.
Green woods; green sward rolling in
undulating green paths and winding waters. No
gradual dwindling off of houses to break the
change; but the town stops short abruptly.
O those green woods of La Haye! Aisles
upon aisles of trees, planted thickly; through
which may be seen flitting open caleches in
files; myriads of men and women, fine ladies
and fine gentlemen dressed like Parisians, all
to be seen passing and repassing through
those tree-aisles.

So, the traveller stood on the banks of the
ornamental water, and watched the green
wood from afar, and the ceaseless population
glittering like a serpent's back. Tradition
has it, that at one remote period, those woods
stretched away as far as Amsterdam, beautifying
the country the whole way. Still the
files of population pour out of the town, to
lose themselves in that green wood; those
beautiful ladies in Parisian bonnets, with
officers of the Guards beside them. Other
ladies, other bonnets, with other officers, in
endless file. Sweet tongues, not discoursing
gutturals, but French, most musical. Open
caleches again, with gorgeous liveries and
matchless horses, and officers of the Guard
Royal seated vis-a-vis. More parties on foot,
streaming on, to be seen coming down the
bright sunlit street, turning a corner, to be
engulfed in the green woods. Soft French
everywhere. And those officer cavaliers
how different from those Terpsichoreans of
Amsterdam! Exquisitely trimmed
moustaches, marvellous waists like French
militaires; capacious trousers, all pocket, like
French militaires; perhaps stayed and braced
like French militaires. Then to follow in
the stream, and be drawn into the shady
aisles. Everything so cool and fragrant.
Hum of voices far and near. And see,
but a few steps on, a long, low pavilion, or
cafe in the wood! All in the shade in the
heart of the aisles, with little tables and
chairs in hundreds, disposed about it;
where are seated the men and the women
the Parisian ladies over again, the officers
of the Guard Royal over again, sipping
coffee and cool drinks. The dark green
grove is closed in overhead; so the Parisian
tints and colours are mellowed away in cool
shadows. Then to get lost in the alleys
and diverging walks; to meet stray parties
wandering at hazard; lovers in pairs; pretty
Dutch children dressed Parisianly; and
so come out suddenly on the green sward
near to the edge of the winding water, just
taking a sweep yonder round the corner.
To note the royal ducks paddling up to be
fed by the biscuit of the stranger. Then,
too, let him look back sharply at the
low-lying houses, red and white, within a stone's
throw; at the white-paved causeways,
opening out here and there; at the old black
cupolas, rising far and near; the heavy
tenements, standing as they stood a couple of
centuries back; the old-fashioned look over
everything; the chequered motley aspect
of everything; to look at all these things,
and the wandering man must own it to be
the most charming contrast he has as yet
encountered. Then to turn back and be
suddenly in the town once more. To take
turn after turn,—sharp to the right, sharp
to the left,—quaint corner, quainter gables;
now in a square of low houses, round, with
exit through an archway, now brazen
statue, now old fashion, now new fashion;
canals, red brick, painted stone, royal palaces,
and gay population, mingled and commingled
together, making garish and most cheerful

Let him, as he strays about, go back in
thought, and ponder well how up such a
bye-street dwelt note-worthy refugees, famed
in politics and letters: how Bayle and other
giants have clustered here and given busy
work to free presses: how, too, in the days
when the States General were of some
account and could give the law, high
commissioners would be gathered here from divers
countries, and billeted up and down in some
one or other of those short, red brick
tenements, planning treaties and triple alliances
for weeks together. It was here, in such a
square, that his Excellency Sir William
Temple rested, when come on matters of
secret negotiation. At the time of the