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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



zest and energy, there is certainly noth- 

 mg much funnier than to stand upon the 

 bridge over the old moat and watch them 

 mount their bicycles and ride away home. 



In the courtyard of the old inn there 

 are many chaises and wagons, but they 

 would not contain half nor quarter the 

 marketers of a Tuesday morning. In 

 they come by twos and threes and fours 

 upon their wheels; a hundred bicycles 

 at least were stacked in rows beside one 

 little cafe. Carts and wagons bring in 

 the market supplies. 



Under the tall old trees about the 

 church you will find them reloading at 

 noonday, and a miscellaneous load it is 

 that they take. The butter, eggs, and 

 poultry which they brought are all sold 

 to the townsfolk. Back to the various 

 farms along their road they are taking 

 the farmers' purchases — crockery, hard- 

 ware, farm tools, a lamp, a crate of tiny 

 pigs, a pair of fancy chickens, a new 

 table, a bolt of muslin, shoes, an alarm- 

 clock (a waker-up clock, our Dutch 

 friends would say), groceries — anything 

 which towns supply and farms lack. 



The freight wagon commissioned to 

 deliver his packages, the farmer may 

 mount his high chaise or his bicycle and 

 ride off, care and burden free. The roads 

 are good, tree - shaded, dust - free, and 

 level ; the only enemy of the wheelman in 

 Zeeland is the wind, which bloweth where 

 and when it listeth, which is pretty much 

 all the time and directly in his face. 



How those Protestant ladies, with the 

 wide-spreading wind-scoops of caps, can 

 ride so merrily and so swiftly is beyond 

 me to tell. Very rarely one "ducks" her 

 head or trims her sails to the wind. Over 

 the bridge they come in a long proces- 

 sion, heads up, eyes bright, gold plates 

 gleaming, coral beads glowing, gay 

 kerchiefs unruffled, full skirts falling 

 smoothl}^, black - shod feet pedaling 

 steadily, trim, orderly, and merry, as if 

 rehearsing for some performance, not 

 riding home from a busy morning to a 

 busier afternoon. : 



The men ride a little more solemnly 

 than the girls, or is it their black cloth- 

 ing which gives them that grave aspect? 



There is no "scorching," no ducking low 

 over down-turned handle-bars ; no high 

 gears ; the bicycle in the Netherlands is 

 not a plaything or a race-horse ; it is a 

 useful servant. There are numerous 

 motor-cycles, but the automobile has not 

 yet come to dwell in Zeeland. 



A progressive: pe;ople; 



The Zeeland farmer takes kindly to 

 progress, however, in spite of his con- 

 servatism in the matter of costume. 

 American farm machinery stands in 

 many a farmyard; the quick adoption of 

 bicycle and alarm-clock, the constant use 

 of tram-car and telephone give proof of 

 this. 



Jacqueline may have seen lace caps and 

 coral beads, who knows? But certainly 

 she never saw a bicycle. Look once more 

 at her as she stands above Middelburg 

 market. She would not seem out of place 

 in that costume in Goes today, amid all 

 these oddly-clad maids and matrons ; one 

 might even fancy her mounting that tall 

 black chaise, although she would prob- 

 ably prefer a well-cushioned saddle or 

 pillion. High enthroned in a great mo- 

 tor-car, our lady fair might even look 

 comfortable and imposing, but mounted 

 upon a bicycle — strangle the thought ere 

 it chokes us with laughter. 



Let us return, then, to Middelburg 

 filled with gay memories of sunshine and 

 laughter. Some gray day when there is 

 no market to distract, when Goes is quiet 

 and sleepy and heavy with dreams of her 

 past, we shall return to sit beside Jacque- 

 line's mulberry-tree, read once more the 

 old poet's halting but pathetic lines which 

 in such small compass embrace her whole 

 short life : 



"Four times in marriage sweet love me did 



give, 

 Yet not through me shall my race grow or 



live. 

 Gorinchem from Arkel I took at fearful cost, 

 And in one day three thousand English lost. 

 From prison cell my husband dear to save, 

 I all my lands to Burgundy's Duke gave. 

 Ten years I ruled distressed ; now, in one 



tomb 

 With my ancestors, content I have found 



room." 



