Another “Ja!”
“What do they call it?”
A shake of the head.
“That will do, good night,” said I, as I saw the bright lights gleaming from the small diamond panes of an old Flemish window; “I am much obliged to you.”
“D——n your eyes!” said my friend, taking off his hat politely, and making me a low bow, while he added something in Flemish, which I sincerely trust was of a more polite and complimentary import, than his parting benediction in English.
As I turned from the Fleming, I entered a narrow hall, which led by a low-arched door into a large room, along which, a number of tables were placed, each, crowded by its own party who clinked their cans and vociferated a chorus, which, from constant repetition, rings still in my memory—
“Wenn die wein ist in die maun,
Der weisdheid den iut in die kan.”
or in the vernacular—
“When the wine is in the man,
Then is the wisdom in the can.”
A sentiment, which a very brief observation of their faces, induced me perfectly to concur in. Over the chimney-piece, an inscription was painted in letters of about a foot long, “Hier verkoopt man Bier,” implying, what a very cursory observation might have conveyed to any one, even on the evidence of his nose,—that beer was a very attainable fluid in the establishment. The floor was sanded, and the walls white-washed, save where some pictorial illustrations of Flemish habits were displayed in black chalk, or the smoke of a candle.