2 THE LAND OF PLUCK

become a familiar byword for expressing the limits of
mortal performance.

As for the country, for centuries it was not exactly
anywhere; at least it objected to remaining just the
same for any length of time, in any one place. It may
be said to have lain around loose on the waters of a
certain portion of Europe, playing peek-a-boo with its
inhabitants; now coming to the surface here and there
to attend to matters, then taking a dive for change of
scene,—and a most disastrous dive it often proved.

tip Van Winkle himself changed less between his
great sleeping and waking than Holland has altered
many a time, between sunset and dawn. All its firm-
ness and permanence seems to have been soaked out of
it, or rather to have filtered from the land into the people.
Every field hesitates whether to turn into a pond or not,
and the ponds always are trying to leave the country by
the shortest cut. One would suppose that under this con-
dition of things the only untroubled creatures would be
turtles and ducks; but no, strangest and most mysterious
of all, every living thing in Holland appears to be thor-
oughly placid and content! The Dutch mind, so to speak,
is at once anti-dry and waterproof. Little children run
about in fields where once their grandfathers sailed over
the billows; and youths and maidens row their pleasure-

?

boats where their ancestors played “tag” among the hay-
stacks. When the tide sweeps unceremoniously over
Mynheer’s garden, he lights his pipe, takes his fishing-rod,
and sits down on his back porch to try his luck. If his
pet pond breaks loose and slips away, he whistles, puts up