ic van den Berg, who was among the visitors, indecently taunted him
with his position; asking him what he had expected by serving the cause
of the Beggars. Philip turned from him with impatience and bade him hold
his peace. At midnight he died.

William of Orange and his three brethren had already laid down their
lives for the republic, and now his eldest brother's son had died in the
same cause. "He has carried the name of Nassau with honour into the
grave," said his brother Lewis William, to their father. Ten others of
the house, besides many collateral relations, were still in arms for
their adopted country. Rarely in history has a single noble race so
entirely identified itself with a nation's record in its most heroic
epoch as did that of Orange-Nassau with the liberation of Holland.

Young Ernest Solms, brother of Count Everard, lay in the same chamber
with Philip Nassau, and died on the following day. Their bodies were sent
by Mondragon with a courteous letter to Maurice at Bisslich. Ernest
Nassau was subsequently ransomed for ten thousand florins.

This skirmish on the Lippe has no special significance in a military
point of view, but it derives more than a passing interest, not only from
the death of many a brave and distinguished soldier, but for the
illustration of human vigour triumphing, both physically and mentally,
over the infirmities of old age, given by the achievement of Christopher
Mondragon. Alone he had planned his expedition across the country from
Antwerp, alone he had insisted on crossing the Rhine, while younger
soldiers hesitated; alone, with his own active brain and busy hands, he
had outwitted the famous young chieftain of the Netherlands, counteracted
his subtle policy, and set the counter-ambush by which his choicest
cavalry were cut to pieces, and one of his bravest generals slain. So far
could the icy blood of ninety-two prevail against the vigour of
twenty-eight.

The two armies lay over against each other, with the river between them,
for some days longer, but it was obvious that nothing further would be
attempted on either side. Mondragon had accomplished the object for which
he had marched from Brabant. He had, spoiled the autumn campaign of
Maurice, and, was, now disposed to return before winter to, his own
quarters. He sent a trumpet accordingly to his antagonist, begging him,
half in jest, to have more consideration for his infirmities than to keep
him out in his old age in suc