of the French merchant, nor the
parsimony of the Dutch dealer; and, what is
astonishing to a foreigner, he will often retire
to the country when he has made a good
fortune, even though he might double it by
remaining at his counting-house. As a workman
he has, and justly, a good reputation.
He excels in clockmaking, in upholstery, in
saddle-making, and in other trades which I
cannot at the moment call to mind; but he
does not excel in the making of cutlery — being
clumsy and inelegant. As an agriculturist
he is always to be seen in a close cloth coat,
plush breeches, top-boots, well covered with
spurs, riding invariably at full gallop.
The Englishman is, however, always well
dressed — a proof of his prosperity, since his
clothing is, with him, a secondary consideration
to his food.

I (that is to say, I the Portrait Painter at
the Hague) must own one fact at once — the
beauty of the English woman does not touch me.
She is always fair — almost white. Hers is a
beautiful face without expression. It is never
animated. I see a hundred beautiful women,
but I do not know ten pretty ones. To me
the Englishwoman's great charm is that
modesty or sweet timidity, which sends the
blood to her cheek at every turn, and lowers
her eyelid constantly. She is always tall, has
a noble presence, and enjoys the advantage of
being, generally, richly dressed. But she has
one great fault, that is, the neglect of her
teeth — a neglect the more to be deplored,
since she is accustomed to eat a great quantity
of meat and very little bread. The
patches she wears give her a coquettish look,
though she is not a coquette. She has the
reputation of a sweet disposition and a tender
heart; but her want of occupation weakens
her understanding, making her curious and
credulous, and fond of astrology.

She has the brusquerie of her race; so
that she will suddenly make a vow to marry
the first man she meets in the street, and this
man she will absolutely accept as her husband.
In this kind of violence may be yet seen a
remnant of that ferocity which is the
characteristic of her blood.

To return to the Englishman. It may be
said of him that he has the characteristics of
the various races mixed up in his veins. He
drinks like the Saxon; he loves hunting like
the Danes; he cheats and plays false witness
like the Normans, and he owes his love of
spectacles, and his fearlessness of
death to the Romans. This ferocious spirit
is exhibited in the cock-fighting, and the
baiting with bull-dogs, which delight him
exceedingly.

At the theatre he delights in pieces where
broad allusions stand in the place of wit, and
the translations he has made from Molière,
show how utterly deaf he is to the finer
points of dramatic art. But then, in the place
of French wit, he boasts that he has
something which he calls "Houmour." Then this
"houmour" appears to me to be only the
exercise of a perverted imagination that can
displace ideas, giving to vice the mask of
virtue, and making all that is good, ludicrous.
It is a pity that instead of his "houmour" the
Englishman has not had a native Molière to
cure him of some of his absurdities;—for
instance, of his contempt for the rest of the
world. Yet there is some excuse for the
sombre character of the Englishman, since his
history is so full of horrors, that his greatest
poet, Shakspeare, has been able to dramatise
most of it in tragedies. The Englishman has
not much taste for music. He is delighted
with the noise of trumpets, and it is amusing
to watch him at one of his fashionable
concerts. He looks grave and awkward: being
in a place where he can neither play nor drink,
and where only modest women are to be seen;
but at his chocolate-house (which is more
distinguished than the coffee-house), he is moody
and silent also. He drinks for the pleasure
of drinking, and sometimes he remains at a
drinking party so long, and becomes so wild,
that he will make a bet to kill the first man
he meets in the street; and he will take care
to win his wager. Two young men have been
hanged lately for indulging in this kind of sport
—yet, occasionally, he is a "civil and sobre
gentelmen".

The Englishman always walks fast; and a
walk is one of the chief pleasures of an
Englishwoman. She walks straight forward
with two or three female friends, seldom
speaking, never looking aside. I have never
seen an Englishwoman sit upon the grass or
pick a flower; nor have I ever heard the
faintest murmur of a song escape from her
lips. She always walks out in broad
daylight — probably because she can be best seen
then; yet, notwithstanding this habit, and
her love of wearing patches, she appears to be
perfectly ignorant of coquetry, and never to
understand for a moment that she can be
beautiful. So modest does she appear, that
I often feel inclined to tell her she is pretty,
for the simple pleasure of giving her a bit of
news. The Englishman does not accustom
her to that gallantry which Frenchmen pay
to women, — therefore she is not so keenly on
the look-out for compliments. I have known
a distinguished English gentleman call for
pipes and tobacco immediately after dinner,
and allow the ladies to make their way out of
the room, while the gentlemen were filling
their first pipe. But this want of ceremony
has its better side, since it humanises the
Englishman's intercourse with his servants.
You may see the English gentleman playing
at foot-ball with artisans; and at a country
dance he will call in his servants to make up
the number of dancers.

I have hinted at the Englishman's love of
the pleasures of the table. These pleasures
he enjoys daily. They consist, for the most
part, of different "poudins," of "guldenpepins,"
(an excellent kind of apple), raw oysters—