Abandoning therefore all hopes at present of this adventurous voyage,
I returned towards the Hague, and, in my way home, looked into a
country-house of the late Count Bentinck, with parterres and bosquets
by no means resembling (one should conjecture) the gardens of the
Hesperides. But, considering that the whole group of trees,
terraces, and verdure were in a manner created out of hills of sand,
the place may claim some portion of merit. The walks and alleys have
all the stiffness and formality our ancestors admired; but the
intermediate spaces, being dotted with clumps and sprinkled with
flowers, are imagined in Holland to be in the English style. An
Englishman ought certainly to behold it with partial eyes, since
every possible attempt has been made to twist it into the taste of
his country.

I need not say how liberally I bestowed my encomiums on Count B.'s
tasteful intentions; nor how happy I was, when I had duly serpentized
over his garden, to find myself once more in the grand avenue. All
the way home, I reflected upon the economical disposition of the
Dutch, who raise gardens from heaps of sand, and cities out of the
bosom of the waters. I had still a further proof of this thrifty
turn, since the first object I met was an unwieldy fellow (not able,
or unwilling, perhaps, to afford horses) airing his carcass in a one-
dog chair. The poor animal puffed and panted,--Mynheer smoked, and
gaped around him with the most blessed indifference.



LETTER IV