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 flower-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 the linen on 
flowery lawns, cut into patterns of oval 
and lozenge, and most astoundingly 
green. 
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