To have taken no notice of the Dutchman’s heavy wit would have been, I confess, a mark of stupidity, but no one but a Turk could have laughed like that.  It may be said that a great Greek philosopher died of laughter at seeing a toothless old woman trying to eat figs.  But there is a great difference between a Turk and a Greek, especially an ancient Greek.

Those who laugh a good deal are more fortunate than those who do not laugh at all, as laughter is good for the digestion; but there is a just mean in everything.

When I had gone two leagues from Amsterdam in my posting-chaise on two wheels, my servant sitting beside me, I met a carriage on four wheels, drawn like mine by two horses, and containing a fine-looking young man and his servant.  His coachman called out to mine to make way for him.  My coachman answered that if he did he might turn me into the ditch, but the other insisted on it.  I spoke to the master, begging him to tell his coachman to make way for me.

“I am posting, sir,” said I; “and, moreover, I am a foreigner.”

“Sir,” answered he, “in Holland we take no notice of posting or not posting; and if you are foreigner, as you say, you must confess that you have fewer rights than I who am in my own country.”

The blood rushed to my face.  I flung open the door with one hand and took my sword with the other; and leaping into the snow, which was up to my knees, I drew my sword, and summoned the Dutchman to give way or defend himself.  He was cooler than I, and replied, smiling, that he was not going to fight for so foolish a cause, and that I might get into my carriage again, as he would make way for me.  I was somewhat interested in his cool but pleasant manner.  I got back into my chaise, and the next night reached Amsterdam.

I put up at the excellent inn “L’Etoile d’Orient,” and in the morning I went on ’Change and found M. Pels.  He told me he would think my business over, and finding M, d’O——­ directly afterwards he offered to do me my sixty bills and give me twelve per cent.  M. Pels told me to wait, as he said he could get me fifteen per cent.  He asked me to dinner, and, on my admiring his Cape wine, he told me with a laugh that he had made it himself by mixing Bordeaux and Malaga.

M. d’O——­ asked me to dinner on the day following; and on calling I found him with his daughter Esther, a young lady of fourteen, well developed for her age, and exquisite in all respects except her teeth, which were somewhat irregular.  M. d’O was a widower, and had this only child; consequently, Esther was heiress to a large fortune.  Her excellent father loved her blindly, and she deserved his love.  Her skin was snow white, delicately tinted with red; her hair was black as ebony, and she had the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.  She made an impression on me.  Her father had given her an excellent education; she spoke French perfectly, played the piano admirably, and was passionately fond of reading.