_Woman_.--I am Betsy.

_Lothario_.--Thank God! You see, my Lord, that I did not murder her.

_Judge_.--Humph!--ay--what!--What about the salting?

_Betsy_.--No, my Lord, he did not salt me:--on the contrary, he did
many things for me ... he is a worthy man!

_Lothario_.--You hear, my Lord, she says I am an honest man!

_Judge_.--Humph!--the third count remains. Officer, remove the
prisoner, he must hang for it; he is guilty of self-conceit.


Shopkeeping--to return to Amsterdam--is the Dutch people's life. An
idle rich class they may have, but it does not assert itself. It is
hidden away at The Hague or at Arnheim. In Amsterdam every one is busy
in one trade or another. There is no Pall Mall, no Rotten Row. There
is no Bond Street or Rue de la Paix, for this is a country where
money tries to procure money's worth, a country of essentials. Nor
has Holland a Lord's or an Oval, Epsom Downs or Hurlingham.

Perhaps the quickest way to visualise the differences of nations
is to imagine them exchanging countries. If the English were to
move to Holland the whole face of the land would immediately be
changed. In summer the flat meadows near the towns, now given up to
cows and plovers, would be dotted with cricketers; in winter with
football-players. Outriggers and canoes, punts and house-boats, would
break out on the canals. In the villages such strange phenomena as