| “Night, sable goddess, from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o’er a slumbering world.” |
Even the stars are slumbering, or their sparkle has been engulfed by this all-devouring darkness. The light of my candle seems out of harmony with the peaceful repose around me: with a half-guilty feeling I extinguish it, and wrapping myself in sheets of Holland linen, am soon slumbering with the rest of the world.
In the morning, when seated at the breakfast table, my first question to our host is as to the reason for such all-pervading darkness, and the absence of the townspeople from the streets at night. He tells me that it is so rare for any one to be abroad after nine o’clock in the evening, that the street lamps, of which there are but few, are never lighted. At ten o’clock every one is supposed to be at home and in bed.
The women and girls of this and the neighboring towns are thrifty and industrious. When resting after their daily labors, whether at noon or in the evening, they will invariably take from their deep side-pockets a ball of thread or yarn, and with the short knitting needle, or the long ones of steel, continue their work on an unfinished stocking, cap or other article of wearing apparel.
The prevailing foot-covering for men, women and children is a heavy woolen stocking; this fits the foot snugly, and protects it from the hardness of the clumsy wooden shoe or clog as it is called. These shoes are carved from a single block of wood: when they are worn and shabby they are painted black, and a strap is placed across the instep. They are of all sizes, but only one style or pattern. In the larger cities, however, such as Rotterdam, one can obtain from the manufacturers a painted wooden shoe, with buttons and stitches carved upon it as ornaments. But this variation is found only in men’s shoes. In Holland the ordinary American slipper is frequently worn by both men and women.
The clatter of the wooden shoes is at first an unpleasant sound, especially when several persons are walking together, but the ear soon becomes accustomed to it, as to all other odd noises. There is a young man in this place, who walks with a peculiar shuffle, all his own. He is so strange looking altogether that I snap my camera on him one day as he innocently passes by me. The peculiar sound of his walk has taught me to know that he is coming long before his figure is visible. I sometimes feel like telling him in the words of Byron, that
| “He has no singing education, An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow.” |
The streets and sidewalks are kept scrupulously clean, as the women of each household scrub not only their sidewalks, but half-way across the street in front of their dwellings. One may thus imagine what a charming and inviting place this is for the pedestrian.
In this peaceful town where the golden rule is not simply a precept to frame and hang upon the wall, it is not necessary to employ officials with such high sounding but meaningless titles as “Street Commissioner,” “Director of the Highways,” etc., etc. No, here each individual possesses sufficient honor and self-respect to accomplish his own share of municipal work, to the benefit and comfort of the whole community.