Y. Ayerman or, An Evening at Delft “Now,” said the portly Peter Van Voorst, as he buttoned up his money in the pockets of his capacious breeches—“Now I’ll home to my farm, and tomorrow I’ll buy neighbour Jan Hagen’s two cows, which are the best in Holland.” He crossed the market-place of Delft as he spoke, with an elated and swaggering air, and turned down one of the streets which led out of the city, when a goodly tavern met his eye. Thinking a dram would be beneficial in counter-acting the effects of a fog which was just rising, he entered, and called for a glass of Schiedam. This was brought, and drank by Peter, who liked the flavour so much, that he resolved to try the liquor diluted. Accordingly, a glass of a capacious size was set before him. After a few sips of the pleasing spirit, our farmer took a view of the apartment in which he was sitting, and, for the first time, perceived that the only person in the room, besides himself, was a young man of melancholy aspect, who sat near the fire-place, apparently half asleep.
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