would be wanting to that account of my travels which I was preparing to lay before the public. And why, said I to myself, should I not write it in the Treckschute? And I set about it accordingly.

PREFACE:

IN THE TRECKSCHUTE.

EVERY man, on setting out on his travels, should divest himself as much as possible of national prejudices. If he departs with that extreme partiality and love of country which is so peculiar to the untravelled Englishman, scarcely a single object, in his eyes, ever wears its natural appearance—all is uniformly wrong. His narrative, if he publishes any, is evidently tinctured by it; and if any one endeavours to set him right, he considers it as arraigning his want of taste.

Now, this is a matter to which the literary traveller, above all others, should be particularly attentive. He who means to give his observations to the world should be careful not to mislead. To guard against this, let him not allow himself to be deceived: let him view the people whose character he means to delineate, with an inquiring but philosophic eye; and if he discovers any thing in their manners which may particularly excite his disgust, let him not examine into the state of their atmosphere, but into their polity and mode of rule.

I have been led into this reflection, by observing that the Hollander is usually represented as rude and boisterous in his manners, because he lives in 52 degrees north; and the Italian soft and effeminate, because he happens to be a few degrees to the southward of him.

Speculative men are very apt to cherish this mistake. Nothing, however, can be more erreonous than the

generally received opinion, that the manners of a nation. are to be attributed altogether to climate. Do we not find in the Polar regions the same degree of barbarism that marks the inhabitants of the torrid zone? And is not their form and order of government, in many instances, equally arbitrary and unjust? Why, then, should we talk of climate?-It is absurd. The customs and habits of individuals will evermore depend either on education or the laws of their country-on moral, not on physical causes.

To resume my subject

But while I would particularly caution the traveller against the appearance of an extravagant fondness for his own country, there may be some little danger of his running into the opposite extreme. The fine gentleman, for example, is eternally unhappy, lest he should be considered by his acquaintance as a mere John Bulla terrible stigma! We, therefore, find him, in all companies and on all occasions, desirous of having it recorded, "that he has skimmed the cream of France, Italy, Germany, and the North;" in fine, "that he has seen enough of other countries, to induce him heartily to despise his own."

This latter character, however, is much the most faulty of the two; for what can be so insufferable as the coxcomb of nature confirmed by the tour of Europe?

With respect to the traveller of taste-the man whose time is wholly taken up in describing edifices, statues, and gardens-I can scarcely hazard a syllable in his favour. A very elegant writer, speaking of the uses of foreign travel, says, "I remember to have read, that Socrates had never stirred out of Athens; and that when his admirers would sometimes ask him, why he affected this singularity, he was used to say, 'that stones and trees did not edify him.' Intimating, I suppose, that the sight of fine towns and fine countries, which the voyagers of those days, as of ours, made a matter of much

vanity, was the principal fruit they had reaped to themselves from their fashionable labours."

It must be acknowledged, however, that "a dull detail of statues and pictures" is not without its uses.

Having said so little of the traveller of taste, I shall content myself with barely mentioning the virtuosothe mere virtuoso: he, I mean, who quits his country for no other purpose than to form a cabinet of medals, stones, and butterflies. The truth is, I should have passed him over entirely, had it not been that almost every traveller will be found to rank in one or other of the following classes:

The literary traveller; or he who inquires into the state of men and things.

The gentleman traveller; or he who has nothing in view.

The traveller of taste; or he who gives a catalogue of churches and pictures.

The virtuoso; or he who travels in search of rarities. And thus the circle is complete. "Well, Schipper, when shall we get to the Hague ?" "In less than five minutes." Then here I finish my Preface.

THE APOLOGY.

HAGUE.

No man cares to have his wit, his judgment, or even his good-nature called in question. Speak of him as a drunkard, or the betrayer of innocence, and he will possibly become your friend: touch upon the weakness of his intellects, and he will most assuredly become your enemy. In a word, you may with safety represent him as the most flagitious character on earth, when you dare not even hint at his want of talents, or, as I before observed, even at his want of good-nature.

Now, as the charge of ill-nature may, perhaps, be brought against myself, on account of the acriinony with which I have sometimes spoken of the Dutch; and lest the reader should sit down with the idea that I am subject to similar failings, I must here beg leave to set him right in that particular.

I quitted England with an unfavourable opinion of the Hollander. He had been represented to me as crafty and subtle in the extreme; a stranger to friendship, and totally wanting in that refinement of manners and rectitude of heart which are so essential to the order and well-being of society.

To condemn a people in general terms is certainly unjust; for, though there are very many in Holland who undoubtedly come under the above description, there is a still larger number who do the greatest honour to their country; and I had no sooner reached the Hague than I became perfectly sensible of it.

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'My mind," said I to myself, "is somewhat jaundiced, but it will wear off as I get along."

THE AUTHOR.

HOTEL AT THE HAGUE.

"YES, yes," repeated I, drawing close to my table, and resting my head upon my hand. "

hand. "Yes, yes, it will wear off as I get along. Away with all paltry prejudices! -But they have already left me. I feel my heart expand. From this moment I will consider myself as a citizen of the world, and the deserving man shall be as my brother."

This was precisely the time for a stranger to present himself before me--and effectually, on turning my head towards the door, I perceived a Dutchman, of tolerably

genteel appearance, who was on the point of entering the room.

He stopped a moment or two at the entrée, as though he thought his intrusion might offend. I requested him to come forward. He approached in silence-took a paper from his pocket, and presenting it to me with all imaginable politeness, but without a shadow of servility, retired a few paces towards the door while I read it.

His manner was infinitely pleasing to me. I opened the paper, and found it to be a list of subscribers to a literary work-the subscription two ducats. "No great sum," said I; "but thou shouldst have it (observing the name of the writer in the proposals, and which I knew to be a distinguished one)-thou shouldst have it, were it twenty times as much."

He was unable to speak in reply; but he made me a particularly grateful bow, and looked "unutterable things."-It touched me to the very soul.

66

-" And pray," continued I, remarking that his subscribers were not above eleven or twelve in number,pray," said I, "how long have you been in collecting these names?" 66 Upwards of twelve months," said he, " and I almost despair of getting another." Gracious Heaven! thought I, to what a situation is genius reduced! A man of first-rate abilities is now standing before me-evidently in the greatest distress-neglected by his countrymen—and seeking a temporary and trifling relief in the benevolence of an utter stranger!-But thus have I found it in every country of Europe.-Alas! alas! I blush at the want of humanity in my species.

He had hitherto stood in the middle of the room; and my spirits had been so greatly agitated, that I forgot to desire him to take a chair. I now did it, however, and with the best grace I was master of, apologized for my want of thought.

He drew hesitatingly towards me. This man, said I to myself (observing his diffidence and fears), will never advance his fortunes-he is infinitely too modest. Hu