The Junior Classics, vol 6 | Page 2

go to the race. Everybody would be
there. Already the north side of the frozen Y was bordered with eager
spectators: the news of the great skating-match had travelled far and
wide. Men, women, and children, in holiday attire, were flocking
toward the spot. Some wore furs, and wintry cloaks or shawls; but
many, consulting their feelings rather than the almanac, were dressed as
for an October day.
The site selected for the race was a faultless plain of ice near
Amsterdam, on that great arm of the Zuyder-Zee, which Dutchmen, of
course, must call the Eye. The townspeople turned out in large numbers.
Strangers in the city deemed it a fine chance to see what was to be seen.
Many a peasant from the northward had wisely chosen the 20th as the
day for the next city-trading. It seemed that everybody, young and old,
who had wheels, skates, or feet at command, had hastened to the scene.
There were the gentry in their coaches, dressed like Parisians fresh
from the Boulevards; Amsterdam children in charity uniforms; girls
from the Roman-Catholic Orphan-House, in sable gowns and white
headbands; boys from the Burgher Asylum, with their black tights and
short-skirted, harlequin coats. [Footnote: This is not said in derision.
Both the boys and girls of this institution wear garments quartered in
red and black alternately. By making the dress thus conspicuous, the
children are, in a measure, deterred from wrong-doing while going
about the city. The Burgher Orphan-Asylum affords a comfortable

home to several hundred boys and girls. Holland is famous for its
charitable institutions.] There were old-fashioned gentlemen in cocked
hats and velvet knee-breeches; old-fashioned ladies, too, in stiff, quilted
skirts, and bodices of dazzling brocade. These were accompanied by
servants bearing foot-stoves and cloaks. There were the peasant-folk
arrayed in every possible Dutch costume--shy young rustics in brazen
buckles; simple village-maidens concealing their flaxen hair under
fillets of gold; women whose long, narrow aprons were stiff with
embroidery; women with short corkscrew curls hanging over their
foreheads; women with shaved heads and close-fitting caps; and
women in striped skirts and windmill bonnets; men in leather, in
homespun, in velvet and broadcloth; burghers in model European attire,
and burghers in short jackets, wide trousers, and steeple-crowned hats.
There were beautiful Friesland girls in wooden shoes and coarse
petticoats, with solid gold crescents encircling their heads, finished at
each temple with a golden rosette, and hung with lace a century old.
Some wore necklaces, pendants, and ear-rings of the purest gold. Many
were content with gilt, or even with brass; but it is not an uncommon
thing for a Friesland woman to have all the family treasure in her
head-gear. More than one rustic lass displayed the value of two
thousand guilders upon her head that day.
Scattered throughout the crowd were peasants from the Island of
Marken, with sabots, black stockings, and the widest of breeches; also
women from Marken, with short blue petticoats, and black jackets
gayly figured in front. They wore red sleeves, white aprons, and a cap
like a bishop's mitre over their golden hair.
The children, often, were as quaint and odd-looking as their elders. In
short, one-third of the crowd seemed to have stepped bodily from a
collection of Dutch paintings.
Everywhere could be seen tall women, and stumpy men, lively-faced
girls, and youths whose expression never changed from sunrise to
sunset.
There seemed to be at least one specimen from every known town in

Holland. There were Utrecht water-bearers, Gouda cheese-makers,
Delft pottery-men, Schiedam distillers, Amsterdam diamond-cutters,
Rotterdam merchants, dried-up herring-packers, and two sleepy-eyed
shepherds from Texel. Every man of them had his pipe and
tobacco-pouch. Some carried what might be called the smoker's
complete outfit,--a pipe, tobacco, a pricker with which to clean the tube,
a silver net for protecting the bowl, and a box of the strongest of
brimstone-matches.
A true Dutchman, you must remember, is rarely without his pipe on
any possible occasion. He may, for a moment, neglect to breathe; but,
when the pipe is forgotten, he must be dying, indeed. There were no
such sad cases here. Wreaths of smoke were rising from every possible
quarter. The more fantastic the smoke-wreath, the more placid and
solemn the smoker.
Look at those boys and girls on stilts! That is a good idea. They can see
over the heads of the tallest. It is strange to see those little bodies high
in the air, carried about on mysterious legs. They have such a resolute
look on their round faces, what wonder that nervous old gentlemen,
with tender feet, wince and tremble while the long-legged little
monsters stride past them!
You will read, in certain books, that the Dutch are a quiet people: so
they are generally. But listen! did ever you hear such