“The shops and warehouses are of a surprising neatness and magnificence, filled with an incredible quantity of fine merchandise, and so much cheaper than what we see in England, I have much ado to persuade myself I am still so near it.  Here is neither dirt nor beggary to be seen.  One is not shocked with those loathsome cripples, so common in London, nor teased with the importunities of idle fellows and wenches, that choose to be nasty and lazy.  The common servants and the little shopwomen here are more nicely clean than most of our ladies; and the great variety of neat dresses (every woman dressing her head after her own fashion) is an additional pleasure in seeing the town.”

The claims of business have now thrust aside many of the little refinements described by Lady Mary, her description of which has but to be transferred to some of the smaller Dutch towns to be however in the main still accurate.  But what she says of the Dutch servants is true everywhere to this minute.  There are none more fresh and capable; none who carry their lot with more quiet dignity.  Not the least part of the very warm hospitality which is offered in Dutch houses is played by the friendliness of the servants.

Every one in Holland seems to have enough; no one too much.  Great wealth there may be among the merchants, but it is not ostentatious.  Holland still seems to have no poor in the extreme sense of the word, no rags.  Doubtless the labourers that one sees are working at a low rate, but they are probably living comfortably at a lower, and are not to be pitied except by those who still cherish the illusion that riches mean happiness.  The dirt and poverty that exist in every English town and village are very uncommon.  Nor does one see maimed, infirm or very old people, except now and then—­so rarely as at once to be reminded of their rarity.

One is struck, even in Rotterdam, which is a peculiarly strenuous town, by the ruddy health of the people in the streets.  In England, as one walks about, one sees too often the shadow of Death on this face and that; but in Holland it is difficult to believe in his power, the people have so prosperous, so permanent, an air.

That the Dutch die there is no doubt, for a funeral is an almost daily object, and the aanspreker is continually hurrying by; but where are the dead?  The cemeteries are minute, and the churches have no churchyards.  Of Death, however, when he comes the nation is very proud.  The mourning customs are severe and enduring.  No expense is spared in spreading the interesting tidings.  It is for this purpose that the aanspreker flourishes in his importance and pomp.  Draped heavily in black, from house to house he moves, wherever the slightest ties of personal or business acquaintanceship exist, and announces his news.  A lady of Hilversum tells me that she was once formally the recipient of the message, “Please, ma’am, the baker’s compliments, and he’s dead,” the time and place of the interment following.  I said draped in black, but the aanspreker is not so monotonous an official as that.  He has his subtleties, his nuances.  If the deceased is a child, he adds a white rosette; if a bachelor or a maid, he intimates the fact by degrees of trimming.