safely depart from the common routine of travels, containing, as they strictly do, only the imperfect observations or conclusions of a single mind; and might venture to give the systematized results of study, as well as observation.
In the present papers, however, I limit myself to the easier and simpler task of extracting from my note-book an account of what I have seen or observed for myself, and of the reflections or explanations naturally appertaining thereto; omitting not only the reference to individuals, by name, but also passing by the graver matters of politics and government. And as the entrance into the heart of Holland from the sea is the best possible introduction to the peculiarities of the country, I begin with that.
In proceeding up the British Channel, the voyager is warned of his approach to the Netherlands, by indications not to be mistaken. Between Dungeness and Dover, you pass the meeting of the tides, so well known to mariners. It is a remarkable and well-defined line in the sea, separating the deep blue waters of the Western Ocean, which enter the Channel below, from the whitish, clay-colored water of the North Sea. The causes of this peculiar phenomenon it is easy to understand. The flood-tide sets to the southward, along the western coast of Norway, from the North Cape to the Nare, and thence onward along the eastern coast of Great Britain. Scotland takes it first, and at length it reaches Dover. Meanwhile, the tide has also been setting up the Channel, between the Lizard and Ushant, and thus brings the waters of the Atlantic up to Dover, where, in the narrow strait between England and France, the two opposing currents come in contact, and thus present a line of demarcation, in which the color and quality of the two seas are singularly contrasted. Off against Dover, you leave the coast of England, and steering a north-easterly course, you pass the cliff of Calais, and stretch forward toward the islands of Zeeland. And here the voyager will not fail to observe the dark and squally aspect of the sky, for which the North Sea is noted. But long ere he gains a view of the low flat shore to which he is bound, he will discern the fishing-boats on the Flemish banks, or encounter the small vessels of the Dutch and Flemish pilots, and perhaps merchantmen of a larger size. All these are highly characteristic of the people to whom they belong, and seem the more striking to an American, from being the very opposite of our own style of naval construction. This remark is particularly true of the fishing and pilot-boats, with their round stem and stern, their short, thick, ungainly hulls, so different in appearance from the sharp, slender, and bright-looking craft, which meets the eye along the shores of the United States.
Obtaining a view of the low, sunken coast of the island of Walcheren, you feel that you have reached the Netherlands, indeed. This island belongs to a group situated at the mouth of the river Scheldt, which together compose the province of Zeeland. Its name, which is simply sea-land, is most significant of its situation. In the time of the Romans, its territory formed a portion of the main-land, but was broken up into fragments by the ramifications of the Scheldt and the assaults of the sea, from which its inhabitants are now protected only by immense dykes, which surround every island like a wall. The soil is in
