I could not help pondering over the mysteries of the commercial mind, which narrows itself down to considerations of profit and loss.  M. d’O——­ was decidedly an honest man; but although he was rich, he was by no means devoid of the greed incident to his profession.  I asked myself the question, how a man, who would consider it dishonourable to steal a ducat, or to pick one up in the street and keep it, knowing to whom it belonged, could reconcile it with his conscience to make an enormous profit by insuring a vessel of the safety of which he was perfectly certain, as he believed the oracle infallible.  Such a transaction was certainly fraudulent, as it is dishonest to play when one is certain of winning.

As I was going home I passed a tea-garden, and seeing a good many people going in and coming out I went in curious to know how these places were managed in Holland.  Great heavens!  I found myself the witness of an orgy, the scene a sort of cellar, a perfect cesspool of vice and debauchery.  The discordant noise of the two or three instruments which formed the orchestra struck gloom to the soul and added to the horrors of the cavern.  The air was dense with the fumes of bad tobacco, and vapours reeking of beer and garlic issued from every mouth.  The company consisted of sailors, men of the lowest-class, and a number of vile women.  The sailors and the dregs of the people thought this den a garden of delight, and considered its pleasures compensation for the toils of the sea and the miseries of daily labour.  There was not a single woman there whose aspect had anything redeeming about it.  I was looking at the repulsive sight in silence, when a great hulking fellow, whose appearance suggested the blacksmith, and his voice the blackguard, came up to me and asked me in bad Italian if I would like to dance.  I answered in the negative, but before leaving me he pointed out a Venetian woman who, he said, would oblige me if I gave her some drink.

Wishing to discover if she was anyone I knew I looked at her attentively, and seemed to recollect her features, although I could not decide who she could be.  Feeling rather curious on the subject I sat down next to her, and asked if she came from Venice, and if she had left that country some time ago.

“Nearly eighteen years,” she replied.

I ordered a bottle of wine, and asked if she would take any; she said yes, and added, if I liked, she would oblige me.

“I haven’t time,” I said; and I gave the poor wretch the change I received from the waiter.  She was full of gratitude, and would have embraced me if I had allowed her.

“Do you like being at Amsterdam better than Venice?” I asked.

“Alas, no! for if I were in my own country I should not be following this dreadful trade.”

“How old were you when you left Venice.”

“I was only fourteen and lived happily with my father and mother, who now may have died of grief.”