From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn

by Henry M. Field

Rotterdam is a place of great commercial importance. It has a large trade with the Dutch Possessions in the East Indies, and with other parts of the world. But as it has less of historical interest, we pass it by, to spend a day at the Hague, which is the residence of the Court, and of course the seat of rank and fashion in the little kingdom. It is a pretty place, with open squares and parks, long avenues of stately trees, and many beautiful residences. We received a good impression of it in these respects on the evening of our arrival, as we took a carriage and drove to Scheveningen, two or three miles distant on the sea-shore, which is the great resort of Dutch fashion. It was Long Branch over again. There were the same hotels, with long wide piazzas looking out upon the sea; a beautiful beach sloping down to the water, covered with bathing-houses, and a hundred merry groups scattered here and there; young people engaged in mild flirtations, which were quite harmless, since old dowagers sat looking on with watchful eyes. Altogether it was a very pretty scene, such as it does one good to see, as it shows that all life and happiness are not gone out of this weary world.

As we drove back to the Hague, we met the royal carriage with the Queen, who was taking her evening drive—a lady with a good motherly face, who is greatly esteemed, not only in Holland, but in England, for her intelligence and her many virtues. She is a woman of literary tastes, and is fond of literary society. I infer that she is a friend of our countryman, Mr. Motley, who has done so much to illustrate the history of Holland, from seeing his portrait the next day at her Palace in the Wood—which was the more remarkable as hanging on the wall of one of the principal apartments alone, no other portrait being beside it, and few indeed anywhere, except of members of the royal family.

This "Wood," where this summer palace stands, is one of the features of the Hague. It is called the Queen's Wood, and is quite worthy of its royal name, being a forest chiefly of beech-trees, through which long avenues open a retreat into the densest silence and shade. It is a great resort for the people of the Hague, and thither we drove after we came in from Scheveningen. An open space was brilliantly lighted up, and the military band was playing, and a crowd of people were sitting in the open air, or under the trees, sipping their coffee or ices, and listening to the music, which rang through the forest aisles. It would be difficult to find, in a place of the size of the Hague, a more brilliant company.

But it was not fashion that we were looking for, but historical places and associations. So the next morning we took a carriage and a guide and drove out to Delft, to see the spot where William the Silent, the great Prince of Orange, on whose life it seemed the fate of the Netherlands hung, was assassinated; and the church where he was buried, and where, after three hundred years, his spirit still rules from its urn.

Returning to the city, we sought out—as more interesting than Royal Palaces or the Picture Gallery, though we did justice to both—the houses of the great commoners, John and Cornelius De Witt, who, after lives of extraordinary devotion to the public good, were torn to pieces by an infuriated populace; and of Barneveld, who, after saving Holland by his wisdom and virtue, was executed on some technical and frivolous charge. We saw the very spot where he died, and the window out of which Maurice (the son of the great William) looked on at this judicial murder—the only stain on his long possession of the chief executive power.

Leaving the Hague with its tragic and its heroic memories, we take our last view of Holland in Amsterdam. Was there ever such a queer old place? It is like the earth of old—"standing out of the water and in the water." It is intersected with canals, which are filled with boats, loading and unloading. The whole city is built on piles, which sometimes sink into the mud, causing the superincumbent structures to incline forward like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. In fact, the houses appear to be drunk, and not to be able to stand on their pins. They lean towards each other across the narrow streets, till they almost touch, and indeed seem like old topers, that cannot stand up straight, but can only just hold on by the lamp-post, and are nodding to each other over the way. I should think that in some places a long Dutchman's pipe could be held out of one window, and be smoked by a man on the other side of the street.

But in spite of all that, in these old tumble-down houses, under these red-tiled roofs, there dwells a brave, honest, free people; a people that are slaves to no master; that fear God, and know no other fear; and that have earned their right to a place in this world by hard blows on the field of battle, and on every field of human industry—on land and on sea—and that are to-day one of the freest and happiest people on the round earth.

How we wished last evening that we had some of our American friends with us, as we rode about this old city—along by the canals, over the bridges, down to the harbor, and then for miles along the great embankment that keeps out the sea. There are the ships coming and going to all parts of the earth—the constant and manifold proofs that Holland is still a great commercial country.

And to-day we wished for those friends again, as we rode to Broek, the quaintest and queerest little old place that ever was seen—that looks like a baby-house made of Dutch tiles. It is said to be the cleanest place in the world, in which respect it is like those Shaker houses, where every tin pan is scoured daily, and every floor is as white as broom and mop can make it. We rode back past miles of fertile meadows, all wrung from the sea, where cattle were cropping the rich grass on what was once the bottom of the deep; and thus on every hand were the signs of Dutch thrift and abundance.

And so we take our leave of Holland with a most friendly feeling. We are glad to have seen a country where there is so much liberty, so much independence, and such universal industry and comfort. To be sure, an American would find life here rather slow; it would seem to him as if he were being drawn in a low and heavy boat with one horse through a stagnant canal; but they don't feel so, and so they are happy. Blessings on their honest hearts! Blessings on the stout old country, on the lusty burghers, and buxom women, with faces round as the harvest moon! Now that we are going away, the whole land seems to relax into a broad smile; the very cattle look happy, as they recline in the fat meadows and chew the cud of measureless content; the storks seem sorry to have us go, and sail around on lazy wing, as if to give us a parting salutation; and even the windmills begin to creak on their hinges, and with their long arms wave us a kind farewell.