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ing tumults artfully created and encouraged
between the burghers and' the garrisons, while
Antwerp was reserved for his own especial en-
terprise. That important capital he would carry
by surprise at tLe same moment in which the
othercitiesweretobesecured by his lieutenants.

The plot wa.i pronounced an excellent one
by the friends around his bed all of them
eager for Catholic supremacy, for the establish-

ment of the right divine on the part of France
to the Netherlands, and for their share in the
sacking of so many wealthy cities at once.
These worthless miynons applauded their weak
master to the echo; whereupon the duke leaped
from his bed, and, kneeling on. the floor in his
night-gown, raised his eyes and his clasped
hands to heaven, and piously invoked the bles-
sing of the Almighty upon the project which
he had thus announced. He added the solemn
assurance that, if favoured with success in his
undertaking, he would abstain in future from
all unchastity, and forego the irregular habits
by which his youth had been stained. Having
thus bribed the Deity, and received the en-
couragement of his flatterers, the duke got
into bed again. His next care was to remove
the Seigneur du Plessis, whom lie had observed
to be often in colloquy with the Prince of
Orange, his suspicious and guilty imagination
finding nothing but mischief to himself in the
conjunction of two such natures. He therefore
dismissed Du Plessis, under pretext of a special
mission to his sister, Margaret of Navarre; but
in reality, that he might rid himself of the
presence of an intelligent and honourable coun-

On the 15th January, 1583, the day fixed
for the execution of the plot, the French com-
mandant of Dunkirk, Captain Chamois, skil-
fully took advantage of a slight quarrel between
the citizens and the garrison, to secure that
important frontier town. The same means
were employed simultaneously, with similar
results, at Ostend, Dixmuyde, Denremonde,
Alost, and Vilvoorde, but there was a fatal
delay at one important city. La Fougere, who
had been with Chamoisat Dunkirk, wasarrested
on his way to Bruges by some patriotic citizens
who had got wind of what had just been occur-
ring in the other cities, so that when Valette,
the provost of Anjou, and Colonel la Ilebours,
at the head of fifteen hundred French troops,
appeared before the gates, entrance was flatly
refused. De Grijse, burgomaster of Bruges,
encouraged his fellow-townsmen by words and
stout action to resist the nefarious project
then on foot against religious liberty and free
government, in favour of a new foreign tyranny.
He spoke to men who could sympathize with
and second his courageous resolution, and the
delay of twenty-four hours, during which the
burghers had time to take the alarm, saved
the city. The whole population was on the
alert, and the baffled Frenchmen were forced
to retire from the gates, to avoid being torn to
pieces by the citizens whom they had intended
to surprise.



At Antwerp, meanwhile, the Duke of Anjou
had been rapidly maturing his plan, under
pretext of a contemplated enterprise against
the city of Endhoven, having concentrated
what he esteemed a sufficient number of French
troopa at Borgerhout, a village close to the
walls of Antwerp.

On the 16th of January, suspicion was
aroused in the city. A man in a mask entered
the mainguard-house in the night, mysteriously
gave warning that a great crime was in con-
templation, and vanished before he could be
arrested. His accent proved him to be a
Frenchman. Strange rumours flew about the
streets. A vague uneasiness pervaded the
whole population as to the intention of their
new master, but nothing was definitely known,
for of course there was entire ignorance of the
events which were just occurring in other cities.
The colonels and captains of the burgher guard
came to consult the Prince of Orange. He
avowed the most entire confidence in the Duke
of Anjou, but, at the same time, recommended
that the chains should be drawn, the lanterns
hung out, and the drawbridge raised an hour
earlier than usual, and that other precautions,
customary in the expectation of an attack,
should be duly taken. He likewise sent the
burgomaster of the interior, Dr. Alostanus, to
the Duke of Anjou, in order to communicate
the suspicions created in the minds of the city
authorities by the recent movements of troops.

Anjou, thus addressed, protested in the most
solemn manner that nothing was farther from
his thoughts than any secret enterprise against
Antwerp. He was willing, according to the
figure of speech which he had always ready
upon every emergency, "to shed every drop of
his blood in her defence." He swore that he
would signally punish all those who had dared
to invent such calumnies against himself and
his faithful Frenchman, declaring earnestly,
at the same time, that the troops had only
been assembled in the regular course of their
duty. As the duke was so loud and so fervent;
as he, moreover, made no objections to the
precautionary measures which had been taken;
as the burgomaster thought, moreover, that
the public attention thus aroused would render
all evil designs futile, even if any had been
entertained; it was thought that the city might
sleep in security for that night at least.

On the following morning, as vague suspi-
cions were still entertained by many influen-
tial persons, a deputation of magistrates and
militia officers waited upon the duke, the
Prince of Orange although himself still feel-
ing a confidence which seems now almost in-

explicableconsenting to accompany them.
The duke was more vehement than ever in
his protestations of loyalty to his iccent oaths,
as well as of deep affection for the Netherlands
for Brabant in particular, and for Antwerp
most of all, and he made use of all his vivacity
to persuade the prince, the burgomasters, and
the colonels, that they had deeply wronged
him by such unjust suspicions. His assertions
were accepted as sincere, and the deputation
withdrew, Anjou having first solemnly promised
at the suggestion of Orange not to leave
the city during the whole day, in order that
unnecessary suspicion might be prevented.

This pledge the duke proceeded to violate
almost as soon as made. Orange returned
with confidence to his own house, which was
close to the citadel, and therefore far removed
from the proposed point of attack, but he had
hardly arrived there when he received a visit
from the duke's private secretary, Quinsay,
who invited him to accompany his highness
on a visit to the camp. Orange declined the
request, and sent an earnest prayer t the duke
not to leave the city that morning. The duke
dined as usual at noon. While at dinner he
received a letter, was observed to turn pale on
reading it, and to conceal it hastily in a muff
which he wore on his left arm. The repa>t
finished, the duke ordered his horse. The
animal was restive, and so strenuously resit-ted
being mounted that, although it was his usual
charger, it was exchanged for another. This
second horse started in such a flurry that the
duke lost his cloak, and almost his seat. He
maintained his self possession, however, and
placing himself at the head of his body-guard
and some troopers, numbering in all three
hundred mounted men, rode out of the palace-
yard towards the Kipdorp gate.

This portal opened on the road towards
Borgerhout, where his troops were stationed,
nnd at the present day bears the name of that
village. It is on the side of the city farthest
removed from and exactly opposite the river.
The town was very quiet, the streets almost
deserted, for it was one o'clock, the universal
dinner-hour, and all suspicion had been dis-
armed by the energetic protestations of tha
duke. The guard at the gate looked listlessly
upon the cavalcade as it approached, but as
soon as Anjou had crossed the first drawbridge,
he rose in his stirrups and waved his hand.
"There is your city, my lads," said he to the
troopers behind him; "go and take possession
of it!"

At the same time he set spurs to his horse,
and galloped off towards the cauip at Borger-



hout. Instantly afterwards, a gentleman of
his suite, Count Rochepot, affected to have
broken his leg through the plunging of his
horse, a circumstance by which he had been
violently pressed against the wall as he entered
the gate. Kaiser, the commanding officer at
the guard-house, stepped kindly forward to
render him assistance, and his reward was a
desperate thrust from the Frenchman's rapier.
As he wore a steel cuirass, he fortunately escaped
with a slight wound.

The expression " broken leg," was the watch-
word, for at one and the same instant, the
troopers and guards-men of Anjou set upon
the burgher watch at the gate, and butchered
every man. A sufficient force was left to pro-
tect the entrance thus easily mastered, while
the rest of the Frenchmen entered the town at
full gallop, shrieking " Ville gaignee, ville
gaignee! vive la mease! vlve le Due d' Anjou!"
They were followed by their comrades from the
camp outside, who now poured into the town
at the preconcerted signal, at least six hundred
cavalry and three thousand musketeers, all
perfectly appointed, entering Antwerp at once.
From the Kipdorp gate two main arteries
the streets called the Kipdorp and the Meer
led quite through the heart of the city, towards
the town-house and the river beyond. Along
these great thoroughfares the French soldiers
advanced at a rapid pace; the cavalry clattering
furiously in the van, shouting " Ville gaignee,
rille gaignee! vive la messe, vive la messe! tue,
tue, tue!"

The burghers coming to door and window
to look for the cause of all this disturbance,
were saluted with volleys of musketry. They
were for a moment astonished, but not appalled,
for at first they believed it to be merely an
accidental tumult. Observing, however, that
the soldiers, meeting with but little effective
resistance, were dispersing into dwellings and
warehouses, particularly into the shops of the
goldsmiths and lapidaries, the citizens remem-
bered the dark suspicions which had been so rife,
and many recalled to mind that distinguished
French officers had during the last few days
been carefully examining the treasures of the
jewellers, under pretext of purchasing, but, as
it nowappeared, with intent torobintelligently.

The burghers, taking this rapid v'ew of their
position, flew instantly to arms. Chains and
barricades were stretched across the streets;
the trumpets sounded through the city; the
municipal guards swarmed to the rescue. An
effective rally was made, as usual, at the Bourse,
whither a large detachment of the invaders had
forced their way. Inhabitants of all classes

and conditions, noble and simple, Catholic
and Protestant, gave each other the hand, and
swore to die at each other's side in defence of
the city against the treacherous strangers.
The gathering was rapid and enthusiastic.
Gentlemen came with lance and cuirass,
burghers with niusket and bandoleer, artisans
with axe, mallet, and other implements of their
trade. A bold baker, standing by his oven
stark naked, according to the custom of bakers
at that day rushed to the street as the sound
of the tumult reached his ear. With his heavy
bread shovel, which he still held in his hand,
he dealt a French cavalry officer, just riding
and screaming by, such a hearty blow that he
fell dead from his horse. The baker seized
the officer's sword, sprang all unattired as he
was upon his steed, and careered furiously
through the streets, encouraging his country-
men everywhere to the attack, and dealing
dismay through the ranks of the enemy. His
services in that eventful hour were so signal
that he was publicly thanked afterwards by
the magistrates for his services, and rewarded
with a pension of three hundred florins for life.
The invaders had been forced from the Bourse,
while another portion of them had penetrated
as far as the market-place. The resistance
which they encountered became every instant
more formidable, and Fervacques, a leading
French officer, who was captured on the occa-
sion, acknowledged that no regular troops
could have fought more bravely than did these
stalwart burghers. Women and children
mounted to roof and window, whence they
hurled, not only tiles and chimney-pots, but
tables, ponderous chairs, and other bulky arti-
cles, upon the heads of the assailants, while
such citizens as had used all their bullets,
loaded their pieces with the silver buttons from
their doublets, or twisted gold and silver coins
with their teeth into ammunition. With a
population so resolute, the four thousand inva-
ders, however audacious, soon found themselves
swallowed up. The city had closed over them
like water, and within an hour nearly a third
of their whole number had been slain. Very
few of the burghers had perished, and fresh
numbers were constantly advancing to the
attack. The Frenchmen, blinded, staggering,
beaten, attempted to retreat. Many threw
themselves from the fortifications into the
moat. The rest of the survivors struggled
through the streets, falling in large numbers
at every step towards the point at which they
had so lately entered the city. Here at the
Kipdorp gate was a ghastly spectacle, the slain
being piled up in the narrow passage full ten



feet high, while some of the heap, not yet quite
dead, were striving to extricate a hand or foot,
and others feebly thrust forth their heads to
gain a mouthful of air.

From the outside, some of Anjou's officers
were attempting to climb over this mass of
bodies in order to enter the city; from the in-
terior, the baffled and fugitive remnant of their
comrades were attempting to force their passage
through the same horrible barrier; while many
dropped at every instant upon the heap of slain,
inider the blows of the unrelenting burghers.
On the other hand, Count Rochepot himself,
tt> whom the principal command of the enter-
prise had been intrusted by Anjou, stood directly
in the path of his fugitive soldiers, not only
bitterly upbraiding them with their cowardice,
but actually slaying ten or twelve of them with
his own hands, as the most effectual mode of
preventing their retreat. Hardly an hour had
elapsed from the time when the Duke of Anjou
first rode out of the Kipdorp gate, before nearly
the whole of the force which he had sent to
accomplish his base design was either dead or
captive. Two hundred and fifty nobles of high
rank and illustrious name were killed; recog-
nized at once as they lay in the streets by their
magnificent costume. A larger number of the
gallant chivalry of France had been sacrificed
as Anjou confessed in this treacherous and
most shameful enterprise, than had often fallen
upon noble and honourable fields. Nearly
two thousand of the rank and file had perished,
and the rest were prisoners. It was at first
asserted that exactly fifteen hundred and eighty-
three Frenchmen had fallen, but this was only
because this number happened to be the date
of the year, to which the lovers of marvellous
coincidences struggled very hard to make the
returns of the dead correspond. Less than
one hundred burghers lost their lives.

Anjou, as he looked on at a distance, was
bitterly reproached for his treason by several
of the high-minded gentlemen about his per-
son, to whom he had not dared to confide his
plot. The Duke of Montpensier protested
vehemently that he washed his hands of the
whole transaction, whatever might be the issue.
He was responsible for the honour of an illus-
trious house, which should never be stained,
he said, if he could prevent it, with such foul
deeds. The same language was held by Laval,
by Rochefoucauld, and by the Marechal de
Biron, the last gentleman, whose two sons were
engaged in the vile enterprise, bitterly cursing
the duke to his face, as ne rode through the
gate after revealing his secret undertaking.
Meanwhile, Anjou, in addition to the pun-

ishment of hearing these reproaches from men
of honour, was the victim of a rapid and violent
fluctuation of feeling. Hope, fear, triumph,
doubt, remorse, alternately swayed him. As
he saw the fugitives leaping from the walls, he
shouted exultingly, without accurately discern-
ing what manner of men they were, that the
city was his, that four thousand of his brave
soldiers were there, and were hurling the
burghers from the battlements. On being
made afterwards aware of his error, he was
proportionably depressed; and when it was
obvious at last that the result of the enter-
prise was an absolute and disgraceful failure,
together with a complete exposure of his
treachery, he fairly mounted his horse, aud fieJ
conscience stricken from the scene.


AIB "A Highland Lad my love icai boi-n."

Oh, I'll eing a songie pongie to nay bairnie to-dar.

Before its daddie-paddie goesie-oesie away ;

A roudle duni, a doiidle duin, a roudle dura a day.

80 it must be goodie-poodie and at homeie omeie at .y.
A roudle dum, a doudle dum, a roudle dum a dee,
Did you ever such a bounie wee bit baimie see.
A roudle dum, a doudle dum, a roudle duru a Jay
A rideie pideie horseie-porseie gallopie away.

Such a bonnie onnie bairnie-pairnie noneie oneie se,
A rideie i>ideie horseie porseie daddy -addy's knee:
With merry-perry, laughie-paughie, happy-appy glee,
A roudle dum, a doudle dum, a roudle dum a dee.

Its littie ittie legie-pegies kickie ickie high,
I bouiiie-onnie eenie peenies lookie ookie sly,
Its pittie ittie mouthie ] outhie nevie-evie cry.
A voudle dum, a doudle dum, a doudle dum a di.

Now thisie-isie stepie-pepie horseie poreeie go.
A trotie-otie fastie-pastie, a walkie-palkie slow.
And stopie-opie soonie-poonie hearie-earie " Wo "
A roudle dum, a doudle dum, a roudle dum a d

Now a niceie-piceie hattie-attie getie etie you,
A littie ittie coatie poatie pittie-ittie blue.
And niceie piceie shoesie-poesie goodie-oodie new
A roudle dum, a doudle dum, a roudle dnni a diu

Now kisaie-issie daddie paddie goodie-oodie bye.
And sleepie peepie bedie-pedie sliutie utie eye,
And cuddie wuddie cosie osie pussie-ussie lie,
A roudle dum, a doudle dum, a roudle dum a dy
A roudle dum, a doudle dum, a roudle dnm a de,
Did you ever such a bonnie wee bit bairnie see.
A roudle dum. doudle dum, a roudle dum a day,
A rideie-pideie horseie-poneie gallopie away.





[This extract is from Balder, a poem which, on its
first appearance, excited profound attention. In his
preface to the second edition of the work, the poet ex-
plained that his object was to illustrate "the Progress
of a Human Being from Doubt to Faith, from Chaos to

SCENE. A -meadow of flowers. Balder ami A;* wi/j
s-;ny, whc has been long an invalid, are the s^eakei-s.

Holder. My beautiful !

Amy. Aral? Then give me now
The long long promised lesson ; teach me what
Is beauty. I am very well to-day,
My brain is like that sea of glass and fire
Whereof we read together, whereupon
The angels walked. Let them walk thro' my soul.
Dost thou remember idle days when we
Lay here, and thou didst roll the broken rocks
That spun into the valley round as stars?
So take the worlds and bowl them round about me,
For well I think thou canst ; and I'll not flinch ;
Nay try me !

Bolder. And thou liest among the bells
And blossoms, and lookest up to any star,
And thinkest in some Angel's fice to read
The mystery of beauty. Loveliness
Is precious for its essence ; time and space
Make it nor near nor far nor old nor new,
Celestial nor terrestrial. Seven snowdrops
Sister the Pleiads, the primrose is kin
To Hesper, Helper to the world to come !
F.n- sovereign Beauty as divine is free;
Herself perfection, in herself complete,
Or in the flowers of earth or stars of heaven
Merely contained in the seven-coloured bow
Arching tlie globe, and still contained in each
Of all its rain-drops. This, my thought, I give
To thee, and am no poorer ; no, nor thou
Still giving, nor a singular of all
Whoever shall possess it, tho' my thought
Become the equal birthright of unborn
Nations of men, in every heart a whole.
There cannot be a dimple on the cheek
But all an everlasting soul hath smiled;
Day is but day to all the eyes on earth,
No less than day to mine. Love strong as death
Measures eternity and fills a tear;
And beauty universal may be touched
As at the lips in any single rose.
See how I turn toward the turf, as he
Who after a long pilgrimage once more
Beholds the face that was his desert dram.
Turning from heaven and earth bends over it,
And fart? the happy tresses from her brow,
Counting her ringlets, nml discoursing bliss
On every hint of beauty in the dear

Regained possession, oft and oft retraced,

So could 1 lie down in the summer grass

Content, and in the round 'of my fond arm

Enclose enough dominion, and all day

Do tender descant, owning one by one

Floweret and flower, and telling o'er and o'er

The changing sum of beauty still repaid

In the unending task for ever new,

And in a love which first sees but the whole,

But when the whole is partially beloved

Doth feast the multitude upon the bread

Of one, endow the units with no less

Than all, and make each meanest integer

The total of my joy. Yet I have stood

Ana clasped the earth as if she were a maid ;

And held her, bearing all her sparkling stars

Upon her like a vase of Castaiie

Upon a Greek girl's head, and made my boast

Of her, and as a lover let her fill

My feeding eyes I Or I have hovered far

Upon the verge of all things, and beheld

The round globe as a fruit upon a tree,

The spangled tree that night by starry night

Stands o'er us, and have seen an angel pass,

Pluck it and cool his lips, and drop the hull

To chaos, and this earth, that I have loved

And worshipped, fall out of the universe

As unrespected as a dead leaf falls

From summer aspen, while the innumerous stars

Twinkled and quivered in the wind of God

Walking between the shade of fruited heavens

Untold as once between the river trees

Of Eden. But wherever 1 beheld

Or one or every one, the whole or part,

Some better thing that is not either or all

For ever putteth forth from all and each

A- hand, and toucheth me, as he of old

Was touched in sleep; and I as one in sleep

Know not or how or where, but, having felt,

Believe, and serve the Invisible Unknown,

Calling it Beauty. Therefore in sweet awe

Tread the bright mystery of the sod beneath

Thy feet, thou priest of Beauty ! who dost stand

Bareheaded 'neath the stars, nor dare to slight

Her presence in the floweret of the field !

Beware, for beauty, as a maid, delights

In summer ambush. Often the mere hem

And flutter of her garment doth betray

Her covert ; or low murmurings of the leaves

O'er-fond about her naked loveliness.

Or jealous whisperings of envious winds.

Or Toicfl of birds when her unwonted smile

Makes sudaen sunshine in the dusky dell,

Or stir of snowers that fall like kisses on her,

Or song of streams made happy by her limbs,

Is all her bruit. And oft she buried is

Rrf.pt f rcr.i her upper realm by gnomes and glioulu,

A moment powerful in the pause of Fate.

And her immortal body thrust in haste

Below the earth some lingering tress reveals

That floateth like a floweret in the wind.




[William Ellery Channing. D.D., born at New-
port, U.S., 7th April, 1T.SO; died at Hummmtmi, id
October, 184U. He was a Unitarian minister, and
e-irned universal esteem by his discourses, essays, and
miscellaneous writings. His critical estimates of Mil-
ton and The Fi -st Napoleon are two of his most popular
eesays. Self-culture from which we quote was one of
his most successful lectures. His works were published
in six volumes, and another edition in one volume was
issued in London, 1872. Coleridge said of him: ''He
has the love of wisdom and the wisdom of love."]

Self-culture is practical, or it proposes as
one of its chief ends to fit us for action, to
make us efficient in whatever we undertake,
to train us to firmness of purpose and to fruit-
fulness of resource in common life, and espe-
cially in emergencies, in times of difficulty,
danger and trial. But passing over this and
other topics for which I have no time, I shall
confine myself to two branches of self-culture
which have been almost wholly overlooked in
the education of the people, and which ought

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