On the Threshold of the Hive 

 country whose love for brilliant colour 

 rivals that of Zealand even, the concave 

 mirror of Holland; a country that gladly 

 spreads out before us, as so many pretty, 

 thoughtful toys, her illuminated gables, 

 and waggons, and towers; her cupboards 

 and clocks that gleam at the end of the 

 passage; her little trees marshalled in line 

 along quays and canal-banks, waiting, one 

 almost might think, for some quiet, benef- 

 icent ceremony; her boats and her barges 

 with sculptured poops, her iiower-like 

 doors and windows, immaculate dams, 

 and elaborate, many-coloured drawbridges ; 

 and her little varnished houses, bright as 

 new pottery, from which bell-shaped 

 dames come forth, all a-glitter with silver 

 and gold, to milk the cows in the white- 

 hedged fields, or spread he linen on 

 flowery lawns, cut into patterns of oval 

 and lozenge, and most astoundingly 

 green. 



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