Part of an article from Fraser's Magazine. KEES AND KLAAS. I should have desired a little more method in the old man's tale. "He lives in the Asylum," resumed Kees, after a short pause; and runs about the streets like a * REIGNS supreme among crazy person. He makes a deal of money by his Dutch humorists, the Rev. Dr. Nicholas Beets, hump. When the children come from school, of Utrecht. Dr. Beets possesses the rare union they club their coppers, and let little Klaas dance. of the talents of the poet with those of the Then he jumps round his stick like a monkey, prose writer, besides the gifts of the eloquent and makes his hump look as big again as it really expounder of the Gospel. His earlier lyric is. I've not got a hump, sir," added he, with a poems, among which there are beautiful trans- sigh. lations from Byron, had scarcely obtained their It was clear that Kees was rather jealous of popularity when the Dutch public was electrified by a volume in prose, The Camera Obscura, by Hildebrand, who was soon discovered to be the favorite poet of the day. the than of the hump itself. coppers "I do wish," he went on, brushing the coat much too hard for cloth that had cost fifteen shillings a yard; "I do wish I was humpbacked! I should have nothing to do; I should get plenty of money, and people would laugh at me,..but I wouldn't drink," continued he in a different tone, taking the coat very quietly from the horse, and folding it up very neatly; "I wouldn't drink." "Kees," said I, "when you came into the garseemed afflicted, and I would rather see you so den, and I spoke to you, it was because you than out of temper as you now appear to be." The tears came into his old eyes again, and he thrust out his shrivelled hands towards me. I took them as he was about to draw them back, ashamed of his boldness, and gave them an encouraging squeeze before I released them. The Camera Obscura is a collection of sketches and tales, all from daily life, so full of deep feeling, wit, and vivid descriptions, so pleasingly conceived, so charmingly written, that it is impossible to take up the volume without being delighted with every page one reads. Four successive editions prove the popularity it has attained. We venture to assert that of all the prose writers there is none adapted to give so favorable an idea of Dutch popular literature as Dr. Beets; whilst his last volume of poems, Corn-flowers, is, we believe, unsurpassed in elegance and feeling Oh, sir," said he, "I hardly know how to exby anything in the whole range of Dutch lite- press it, but I was really rather sad than angry. We should be delighted to give some Little Klaas has ill-treated me. Little Klaas is extracts from them: one touching little piece; said he, stooping for the blacking brush, “that a wicked fellow. People sometimes fancy," Remembrance, on the Grave of a Child, would he is crazy; but he is not; he is only vicious." be enough in itself to insure the author's repu- "Come, Kees," said I, putting up the flap of tation; but we should fear spoiling it by trans- an iron garden-table; "sit down here, and just lation, and are thus confined to one extract tell me plainly what little Klaas has done to from his Camera Obscura, and feel certain our readers will find it rather too short than too long. you." "It is of no use," said Kees; "but I don't mind telling you, sir, if you'll keep it to yourself. Do you know the house?" "What house?" "I have seen it outside." We must begin by stating that Hildebrand is a passing guest at his uncle's house, that he is taking a turn in the garden one morning after breakfast, when he meets an old man, an inhabitant of the Asylum for the Destitute, place, with red doors and windows; and inside "Well. It is an ugly place, isn't it? An ugly who turns an honest penny in his seventieth everything painted red and dark. year by cleaning boots and shoes, running know, sir, that we are all poor people in that messages, carrying the newspaper, and the house; all as poor as-why, as poor as in the like. Hildebrand seeing that the old gentle-churchyard. Myself and a few others manage man is horribly put out by something or other, to earn a trifle; but it is of no use. We have to addresses him kindly, and— The expression of his countenance denoted clearly, "I will make a confidant of you;" but his lips merely uttered the words, "Do you know little Klaas?" I replied that I had not the honor of his acquaintance. "Has old Peter never shown him to you?the whole town knows little Klaas. He picks up cents enough, I'm sure," said Kees. "I have never seen the man," was my reply. "He is not a man," said Kees, "nothing like it: he is a dwarf, sir, a real dwarf, as sure as I stand here You might show him at a fair. But he is a vicious little devil; I know him." LIVING AGE. VOL. VIII. DLVI. 11 Now you give up all we can get to the Father, and he gives us pocket-money every week. And that is all fair, sir-quite fair. When I grow old and am not able to earn a farthing, I shall have my pocket money all the same. This," said he, "and this," producing a colored pocket-handkerchief, and rapping the lid of his tobacco-box, "was all bought with my pocket-money." "It was rather touching to hear a man sixtynine years of age talking of the time "when I grow old." 'Now, sir," said he, "as you can faucy, Klaas The appellation given to the manager or suDperintendent of all orphan and poor asylums in Holland. were alive, and then we go to the churchyardinto the common grave, and that's just what I don't want to do. When I'm dead, I don't want to wear the linen of the Asylum any more." gets his pocket-money, too. But what does | dress us in the linen of the house, just as if we Klaas do? Klaas does nothing but now and then weed the pavement. Klaas pretends to be crazy; Klaas dances about, and when he gets a few pence from the children or somebody else, Klaas just goes outside the town gate. Do you know the 'Greasy Napkin,' sir ?" "No, Kees." "It is a public-house, sir, in the lane. Klaas goes there to take his drop, and sometimes he takes two-sometimes three drops." "And when he gets home?" "Oh dear! he is up to all sorts of tricks. He chews a quid of tobacco. He gets a bit of orange-peel from the druggist. But sometimes the Father finds him out. Then they tie a log of wood to his leg, for he is too old to be flogged; and besides, they wouldn't beat a hunchback. But what does he care for the log? Not a farthing he calls the children and says, "Look here, my boys;" says he, "poor Klaas has been taking a drop of comfort, and the Father has been and taken away all poor Klaas's money! So, of course, he makes a good thing of it, sir." I understood that perfectly." He paused for a few moments, and the tears came into his eyes again. "I want to lie in my own coffin. I hardly know what to say, but I mean in the same way as I saw my father lying in his-in my own clothes; I have never had a shirt of my own; I should like to wear my own winding-sheet." I was touched. Don't talk to me of preju dices. The rich in this world have thousands of them. This poor man could bear everythingmeagre fare, a hard couch, and, for his years, heavy toil. He had no home; he was to have no grave of his own; all he wanted was the certainty that his last garment should belong to himself. "So you see, sir," continued he, with a little huskiness in his voice, "that was why I wanted to keep my twelve florins. It was a great deal too much. But I wanted more-I wanted to be buried genteelly. I don't know much about such "But that's his look out," continued Kees, tak- matters, but I had calculated four florins for linen, ing up one of my uncle's shoes as if he were and a couple of florins for the people to lay me going to clean it, but putting it down again di-out, and half a florin a piece for twelve men to rectly. "It's nothing to me, only why should he want to ruin me? You don't know why? I'll tell you, sir. I had some money-a great deal of money-I had twelve florins!" "And where did you get them from, Kees?" "Honestly, sir. I had saved them, sir, at the apothecary's when I was errand-boy there. Sometimes when I had to carry a bottle of physic out of town to some of the country seats in the neighborhood, the gentleman or lady would say, 'Give the boy a penny or two, it's such bad weather.' By degrees I scraped twelve florins together. It was against the rules of the house, but I hid them under my clothes; I wore them on my heart." "And why? Did you really want the money, or was it only for your amusement?" "O dear, no, sir!" said the old man, shaking his head; "If I may make so bold as to say so, rich gentlemen can't understand it-nor the gentlemen of the board neither-it's something they need not provide for. Such people are taken good care of, in life or death. And we, too, are very well off in the Asylum; the gentlemen are kind to us; in Carnival time we get here rolls and butter; in November, the Asylum gets a whole ox, from some great man or other who died ever so long ago-and then we all get hot fritters-and the gentlemen dine together and eat the tongue-we are all very well off, indeed, sir; but a man can't help thinking of his death, sir." Why, I see no reason to think you will not be provided for after your death, too, Kees," said I. carry me to the grave. Wouldn't that have been decent? The apothecary's apprentice had written it all down on paper for me; the money was carefully wrapped up and sewn in a leather bag, and I wore it these thirty years long on my heart, and now it's all gone!" "Did Klaas steal it?" said I. No, no," answered Kees, rousing himself from the painful reflections into which his last words had plunged him; "but he found out that I had the money. His crib stands next my crib. I dont know whether he found it out whilst I was undressing or when I was dressing, or perhaps I talked of it in my sleep when I was ill, I'm sure I don't know. I almost fancy I must have spoken of it in my sleep, for I know I was always thinking of it. Last Tuesday it rained all day long-that you know, sir. Well, Klaas had not picked up one cent. The weather was too bad; the boys would not stop out in the streets. But his pocket-money was spent and he had made up his mind to go to the 'Greasy Napkin.' Kees,' says he to me, after dinner, 'lend me six cents.' Klaas,' says I, 'you won't get them from me to spend on liquor.' 'Have 'em I will,' says he. Not from me,' says I. 'I'll just tell you what then,' says he; if you won't give me the money, I'll tell the Father what you've got under your waistcoat.' I turned as pale as a sheet, and gave him the six cents. 'But,' says I to him, "Klaas, you're a rascal! Perhaps he owed me a spite for that, I'm sure I don't know, but yesterday he was drunk again, and while the men were chaining the block to his leg, he screamed like a madman, and sang, 'Kees has money! Kees has money! Next his skin! Plenty of money! เ "I'm sure I hope so, sir. In heaven we are sure to be taken care of; but that's not just what I mean. If you please, sir, I want to bet-The people told me of it as soon as I came home. ter my corpse." "What?" "Well, sir, I'll explain. You see, sir, when we die they lay us on a truss of straw, and they I went about like a ghost. At last we got up stairs to the men's ward, and undressed. Klaas was in bed and snoring like a bull. When all the rest were asleep, I stole my hand under the clothes in order to hide the money, if I could, among the straw of my bolster. But before I got the bag off the Father came into the ward with a lantern. I fell back on my pillow and stared like a lunatic at the light. I felt every step the Father took on my own heart. 'Kees,' said he, bending over me, you've got some money. You know it's against the rules to hide money here,'-and he snatched it out of my hand. "If you should see the gentlemen, sir, you need not say you know anything about the matter." "I won't Kees, I promise you." My uncle was easily persuaded to address the "It was only for my winding-sheet !" cried I, board on the subject. The chairman sent for kneeling on my bed; but it was of no use. 'It the Father, and the Father was sent round to the shall be taken care of for you,' said the Father; other members of the board, to call a meeting. and he opened the bag and counted the money "On that solemn occasion, Kees was first very carefully. I had not seen it myself since it called into the room and then sent out again, had been put in the bag-that was thirty years and then the Father was summoned and then he ago. It was my own precious money, all for my was sent away again. Thereupon weighty defuneral. 'I swear I only want it to pay for my own liberations ensued, that lasted one hour, during decent burial,' cried I again. 'We'll look to that,' which time the chairman chiefly said that he said the Father, and away he went with the lan- left the decision with the members, and the memtern and with the money. 'Klaas told you,' cried bers in their turn gave the assurance that they I, 'because' But what could it have helped left the decision entirely to the chairman. me to say, because he is a drunken brute, or because he goes every day to the alehouse? I should not have got my money back again by it. I couldn't close an eye all night. I shall never get over it." "Why don't you apply to the board, Kees?" said I, encouragingly. "No, no," said he, fumbling with his hand on his chest as if he were feeling for the bag; "they couldn't leave me the money; that is a law as old as the house, and the house is as old as the world." "That's going a little too far, Kees," said I, "and" he did not let me conclude. "Going too far! Not a bit, sir! Haven't there always been poor people like myself to be fed by the parish, and to be lodged by the parish, and to be buried by the parish? But I wanted to pay for my own funeral, and I wanted to be sure of being buried at my own expense; and that was my greatest consolation, and that's why I always carried it on my heart. Oh! if Klaas only knew that he was the death of me!" "Come, come, Kees, you must and shall have your money back, I promise you. I'll talk to my uncle about it; he knows the gentlemen of the board-we'll see if the rule cannot be set aside for once, for the sake of an honest old fellow like yourself. Make up your mind to it, Kees, you shall have your money again." "Shall I really get it back? Really, sir?" cried the poor old man, encouraged by my positive tone; and wiping his eyes he gave me his hand with a happy face, adding in his desire to say something kind, "Please, sir, are your boots cleaned to your liking?" "Beautifully," said I. "And is your coat always nicely brushed ?" continued he; "because if not, only say so, pray do, sir." I promised I would, and returned to the house. Before I got in, Kees, came running after me As it was impossible, however, to leave the matter in this state, the chairman at length made a motion that, on the one hand, it was advisable to restore the sum in question to Kees on account of his exemplary conduct, and as he was sure to preserve the money as safely as their own indefatigable honorary treasurer (on which the honorary treasurer bowed); but that, on the other hand, their worthy treasurer was sure to take just as much care of it as Kees himself, and that it was thus by no means necessary to confirm Kees in the erroneons opinion that his money would be safer preserved, and more certainly devoted to the purpose for which it was designed, if he, Kees, were allowed to administer it himself in future, instead of its being placed with the funds already in the hands of their worthy friend and treasurer aforesaid; and this was his, the chairman's decided opinion. But the secretary of the board begged to observe, and with some appearance of being in the right, that this motion was not decisive enough, and requested to propose that one or other of the two opinions expressed should be resolved upon. On which the treasurer was magnanimous enough to cede his right to the administration of the sum in question, and it was unanimously resolved to return Kees his twelve florins safely put up in the leather bag. Kees carried his money for two years after this time "next his heart;" and when I visited the burying ground at D- last year, it was pleasant to know that a man slumbered there, in the common grave of the poor, who had been respectfully laid to rest by twelve friends of his own selection, and that it was in some degree owing to my own exertions that he had breathed his last in the consolatory idea of being interred in his own shroud. He may, perhaps, even in his last moments, have had a kind thought for Hildebrand. From the New Monthly Magazine. "DOING OUR VESUVIUS." -started for Resina, where you leave the once lava-ruined, and often lava-threatened town, built upon the grave of another buried deep, deep below, to explore the tumulum overhead, which will one day again spread a fresh winding sheet of scoria and ashes over both. The ascent of Vesuvius could not commence from a more appropriate point. Although it would be ungrateful to our own good fortune in the whole expedition, to wish any one arrangement altered, yet, for the benefit of others, I record an advice, that, when "ladies are in the case," or, to speak truth, gentlemen "fat and scant o' breath," "HAVE you done your Vesuvius ?" is a question as common at Naples as "Have you been to the Opera?" in London. For some days after my arrival, via Marseilles, in an invalid's haste into warm weather, I could plead weakness as an excuse for not having achieved this inevitable feat; but in a surprisingly short time, sunny skies and salubrious air rendered the excuse inadmissible-the "sick list" became a palpable sham-so that at length our party was made for "next day," and for "next," again; "to-morrow, and to-morrow, like myself, it is more advisable to take a carand to-morrow," might have crept on to the riage and three ("en milor" four!) by the "last syllable of our recorded time" at Naples; new road to the Hermitage, rather than a for Guiseppe, our laquais de place, ever placed carriage and pair to Resina, and thence poan embargo on the expedition, by turning his nies by the terraced short cut, striking direct weather-eye to Vesuvius, and assuring us upwards through the vine region of Vesuvius to that it was useless to ascend until he gave the the same point. The terrace ascent is more signal, for that it was often "cattivo tempo" on in character for a mountain adventure, but the mountain, and that he knew it and its the carriage road infinitely more unromanticweather-signals well-" Nessun com' io sig-ally comfortable, for visitors can now whirl up to the Hermitage as to the door of a post nor." We submitted for some days to this despot- house on any public highway, instead of ism, having the satisfaction of repeating daily, climbing over cinders and lava, as we did on just about the hour when we might have been the backs of diminutive ponies. Did I say making meteorological experiments on the sum- diminutive ponies? I recal the disparaging mit, "What a lovely day this would have been word, for, of the sagacity, strength, and enfor Vesuvius!" At last, as commonly hap-durance of those extraordinary animals, I canpens when the reins of authority are too not speak too largely. They were all good; tightly drawn, we burst through them all. but of mine own-old, grizzly, and shaggy as One morning, at about six o'clock, I opened my window, and seeing the bright sun and intensely blue sky of an Italian fine day, I girded myself for conflict, and when Guiseppe came with shaving-water, (I never gave in to the moustache mania, in which the English disfigure their honest, clean-shaven, Saxon faces, abroad) about half an hour afterwards, the following colloquy ensued : Ecco, Guiseppe, buono giorno." "Si, signor ! ma Vesuvie offuscata ancora." (Vesuvius has still its nightcap on.) "Niente niente-sera tempo chiaro," I stoutly rejoined. he was-I must make mention in terms of special affectionate remembrance. Imagine a man (in jockey phrase "sixteen stun,") mounted in an antiquated capacious military saddle, peaked before and behind, upon an animal four and a half feet high, (I measured him with my walking-stick); further, conceive of this creature as walking away with one, up terraces of smooth stone, over wrinkles of indurated and contorted lava, among beds of rugged cinders, and round rocky corners, which I can but compare to the short turns from one flight of stairs to another and all this done without "start," "stumble," or "mis "Signor, non," returned Guiseppe the im-take" of any kind. Once or twice, in pure movable. "Andiamo," replied I. " Signor, non, (da capo). shame at burdening such an animal in places of special ruggedness or difficulty, I dismounted and led him, for which act of mercy I got I could not argue the matter much further-mercilessly laughed at by the guides, who all my Italian was wearing very thin-but I must assured me that he would carry me in perfect have looked rebellion and decision, for at safety; and he did so. We were all equally length, with one of those indescribable panto- well mounted. Nathless! I abide by my opinmimes in which these people throw head, ion, that taking into account the severe labor shoulders, hands, body, all into one shrug, of the ascent of the cone, it is better to leave Guiseppe yielded, with "Signor e maestro?" your carriage at the Hermitage, and on your meaning thereby, "You are an obstinate, bull-return roll rapidly down to Naples, rather headed Inglese! but have it all your own than ride the best of all possible ponies five way." So the carriage was ordered, and at miles down hill in the darkness, after a day about ten o'clock a party of four-my daugh- of fatigue. ters, myself, and an agreeable military friend The Hermit who in former days kept vigil 21 1 แ on the sterile skirt of Vesuvius, in the cell of strength which, as they tell you, used to make "Cui Eremita-fœminis Commune quid cum monachis ? gaga Admittemus in casulam." prove "Then quoth the IIermit, 'What have you vallo;" and even then the beaming delight 99 " of the four of their countenances amply repaid me for yielding. Now that I know what the adventure is, I would pronounce that, except for an Still, as the "pressure from without" grew absolute invalid, it is what Mr. Stephenson demore intense, and the throng of tourists from clares a tunnel through the globe to bebelow came more "fast and furious," we may "just a question of- expense! further imagine the Solitary giving up the piastres, or sixteen shillings each, extra cost in strife, and seeking a safer retreat for his asce- the expedition. Both the Hermitage, and a ticism in some distant Calabrian wilderness, stately Royal Observatory a little higher up, leaving the Hermitage and its desecrated" sta- stand on a spur or promontory of Vesuvius, zioni" to fall to the present "vile uses of a and both, I should say, quite safe from the rude banquet-house and wine-shop, where the course of any eruption, except one which jolly or quasi-jolly host stands by his "bill" would upheave the whole mountain from its more stoutly than others by "their order," base. These buildings may be insulated withand will not bate a maravedie of his charge for in a fiery cordon by a junction of lava-torrents wine growing worse and dearer every day. flowing round them, when the atmosphere The "generous" and "cheering" qualities of the famed " Lachryma Christi are now but matters of history. You get at the Hermitage 2 sweetish, perry-ish wine, very grateful after toil, but by no means of that overpowering The pantomime of Neapolitan beggary is curious. They run by your carriage, holding up the forefinger, and calling at intervals, Mori di fame! -a plea which their laughing eye and round bronzed check shows to be a lie on the face of it. Then they strike their chins, making their jaws rattle like castanets, to show, I suppose, that their masticating organs are ready, though their meat be not so. The Neapolitan beggar cannot be repulsed effectually by any form of refusal except turning the back of your hand to him; when this is done, Le goes away at once. *Dr. Moore, in his "Tour in Italy," gives a verse in praise of this wine (vol. ii. p. 217), which he has translated so prosaically and imperfectly, that I am tempted to offer a version: Chi fu ne contadini il piu indiscreto. Diede nome dolente Al' vin che sopra ogn'altro il cuor fa lieto? What undiscerning clown was he To wine which warms the heart like flame? For what our generous grape gives here.-R. |