It has been said, that Oloff Van Staats was a fair personable young man of vast stature, and with much of the air of a gentleman of his country; for, though a British subject, he was rather a Hollander in feelings, habits, and opinions.  He colored at the allusion to the presence of his known rival, though his companion was at a loss to discover whether pride or vexation was at the bottom of his emotion.

“If Captain Ludlow prefer a cruise in the Indies, to duty on this coast, I hope he may obtain his wish,” was the cautious answer.

“Your liberal man enjoys a sounding name, and an empty coffer,” observed the Alderman, drily.  “To me it seems that a petition to the admiral to send so meritorious an officer on service where he may distinguish himself, should deserve his thanks.  The freebooters are playing the devil’s game with the sugar trade, and even the French are getting troublesome, further south.”

“He has certainly the reputation of an active cruiser.”

“Blixum and philosophy!  If you wish to succeed with Alida, Patroon, you must put more briskness into the adventure.  The girl has a cross of the Frenchman in her temper, and none of your deliberations and taciturnities will gain the day.  This visit to the Lust in Rust is Cupid’s own handywork, and I hope to see you both return to town as amicable as the Stadtholder and the States General after a sharp struggle for the year’s subsidy has been settled by a compromise.”

“The success of this suit is the affair nearest my——­” The young man paused as if surprised at his own communicativeness; and, taking advantage of the haste in which his toilette had been made, he thrust a hand into his vest, covering with its broad palm a portion of the human frame which poets do not describe as the seat of the passions.

“If you mean stomach, Sir, you will not have reason to be disappointed,” retorted the Alderman, a little more severely than was usual with one so callous.  “The heiress of Myndert Van Beverout will not be a penniless bride, and Monsieur Barberie did not close the books of life without taking good care of the balance-sheet—­but yonder are those devils of ferrymen quitting the wharf without us!  Scamper ahead, Brutus, and tell them to wait the legal minute.  The rogues are never exact; sometimes starting before I am ready, and sometimes keeping me waiting in the sun, as if I were no better than a dried dun-fish.  Punctuality is the soul of business, and one of my habits does not like to be ahead, nor behind his time.”

In this manner the worthy burgher, who would have been glad to regulate the movements of others, on all occasions, a good deal by his own, vented his complaints, while he and his companion hurried on to overtake the slow-moving boat in which they were to embark.  A brief description of the scene will not be without interest, to a generation that may be termed modern in reference to the time of which we write.