five feet, in a continuous line reaching from the platform at
Kiel to the portal of Saint Joris, through which the entrance to the city
was to be made.

Inside the gate a stupendous allegory was awaiting the approach of the
new sovereign. A huge gilded car, crowded with those emblematical and
highly bedizened personages so dear to the Netherlanders, obstructed the
advance of the procession. All the virtues seemed to have come out for an
airing in one chariot, and were now waiting to offer their homage to
Francis Hercules Valois. Religion in "red satin," holding the gospel in
her hand, was supported by Justice, "in orange velvet," armed with blade
and beam. Prudence and Fortitude embraced each other near a column
enwreathed by serpents "with their tails in their ears to typify deafness
to flattery," while Patriotism as a pelican, and Patience as a brooding
hen, looked benignantly upon the scene. This greeting duly acknowledged,
the procession advanced into the city. The streets were lined with troops
and with citizens; the balconies were filled with fair women; "the very
gables," says an enthusiastic contemporary, "seemed to laugh with ladies'
eyes." The market-place was filled with waxen torches and with blazing
tar barrels, while in its centre stood the giant Antigonus--founder of
the city thirteen hundred years before the Christian era--the fabulous
personage who was accustomed to throw the right hands of all smuggling
merchants into the Scheld. This colossal individual, attired in a
"surcoat of sky-blue," and holding a banner emblazoned with the arms of
Spain, turned its head as the Duke entered the square, saluted the new
sovereign, and then dropping the Spanish scutcheon upon the ground,
raised aloft another bearing the arms of Anjou.

And thus, amid exuberant outpouring of confidence, another lord and
master had made his triumphal entrance into the Netherlands. Alas how
often had this sanguine people greeted with similar acclamations the
advent of their betrayers and their tyrants! How soon were they to
discover that the man whom they were thus receiving with the warmest
enthusiasm was the most treacherous tyrant of all.

It was nightfall before the procession at last reached the palace of
Saint Michael, which had been fitted up for the temporary reception of
the Duke. The next day was devoted to speech-making; various deputations
waiting upon the new Duke of Brabant with congratulatory addresses. The
Grand Pens