dern patriots and rulers, but also Grotius.

The tomb of William the Silent is an elaborate erection, of stone and
marble, statuary and ornamentation. Justice and Liberty, Religion and
Valour, represented by female figures, guard the tomb. It seems to me
to lack impressiveness: the man beneath was too fine to need all this
display and talent. More imposing is the simplicity of the monument
to the great scholar near by. Yet remembering the struggle of William
the Silent against Spain and Rome, it is impossible to stand unmoved
before the marble figure of the Prince, lying there for all time with
his dog at his feet--the dog who, after the noble habit of the finest
of such animals, refused food and drink when his master died, and so
faded away rather than owe allegiance and affection to a lesser man.

There is an eloquent Latin epitaph in gold letters on the tomb; but a
better epitaph is to be found in the last sentence of Motley's great
history, perhaps the most perfect last sentence that any book ever had:
"As long as he lived, he was the guiding-star of a whole brave nation,
and when he died the little children cried in the streets".

Opposite the Old Church is the Gymnasium Publicum. Crossing the
court-yard and entering the confronting doorway, one is instantly on
the very spot where William the Silent, whose tomb we have just seen,
met his death on July 10th, 1584.

The Prince had been living at Delft for a while, in this house, his
purpose partly being to be in the city for the christening of his
son Frederick Henry. To him on July 8th came a special messenger
from the French Court with news of the death of the Duke of Anjou;
the messenger, a _protege_ of the Prince's, according to his own story
being Francis Guion, a mild and pious Protestant, whose father had been
martyred as a Calvinist. How far removed was the truth Motley shall
tell: "Francis Guion, the Calvinist, son of the martyred Calvinist,
was in reality Balthazar Gerard, a fanatical Catholic, whose father
and mother were still living at Villefans in Burgundy. Before reaching
man's estate, he had formed the design of murdering the Prince of
Orange, 'who, so long as he lived, seemed like to remain a rebel
against the Catholic King, and to make every effort to disturb the
repose of the Roman Catholic Apostolic religion'. When but twenty
years of age, he had struck his dagger with all his might into a door,
exclaiming, as he did so, 'Would that the blow h