The Yungfrau anchored in the Downs, and Mr Vanslyperken received despatches for the Hague; King William having written some letters to his friends, and sent over to them a little English money, which he knew would be acceptable; for continental kings on the English throne have never appeared to have a clear sense of the honour conferred upon them.  England, in their ideas, has always been a parvenue kingdom; her nobles not able to trace farther back than the Conquest; while, in their country, the lowest baron will prove his sixteen quarters, and his descent from the darkest ages.  But, nevertheless, upon the same principle that the poor aristocracy will condescend to unite themselves occasionally to city wealth, so have these potentates condescended to reign over us.

Mr Vanslyperken received his despatches, and made the best of his way to Amsterdam, where he anchored, delivered his credentials, and there waited for the letters of thanks from his Majesty’s cousins.

But what a hurry and bustle there appears to be on board of the Yungfrau—­Smallbones here, Smallbones there—­Corporal Van Spitter pushing to and fro with the dog-trot of an elephant; and even Snarleyyow appears to be unusually often up and down the hatchway.  What can it all be about?  Oh!  Mr Vanslyperken is going on shore to pay his respects, and continue his addresses, to the widow Vandersloosh.  His boat is manned alongside, and he now appears on the cutter’s quarter-deck.

Is it possible that this can be Mr Vanslyperken?  Heavens, how gay!  An uniform certainly does wonders with some people:  that is to say, those who do not look well in plain clothes are invariably improved by it; while those, who look most like gentlemen in plain clothes, lose in the same proportion.  At all events Mr Vanslyperken is wonderfully improved.

He has a loose pair of blue pantaloons, with boots rising above his knees pulled over them:  his lower parts remind you of Charles the Twelfth.  He has a long scarlet waiscoat, with large gilt buttons and flap pockets, and his uniform coat over all, of blue turned up with red, has a very commanding appearance.  To a broad black belt over his shoulder hangs his cutlass, the sheath of which is mounted with silver, and the hilt of ivory and gold threads; and, above all, his small head is almost dignified by being surmounted with a three-cornered turned-up and gold-banded cocked hat, with one corner of the triangle in front parallel with his sharp nose.  Surely the widow must strike her colours to scarlet, and blue, and gold.  But although women are said, like mackerel, to take such baits, still widows are not fond of a man who is as thin as a herring:  they are too knowing, they prefer stamina, and will not be persuaded to take the shadow for the substance.