multiplied into innumerable artificial currents, by which the city was completely interlaced. These watery streets were shaded by lime trees, poplars, and willows, and crossed by one hunstone. The houses were elegant, the squares dred and forty-five bridges, mostly of hammered and streets spacious, airy, and clean, the called Great; for the title is then most legitimately applied when one in a high station, or endowed with great powers, devotes himself to a noble cause. The miserable assassin, with his meager frame and contemptible appearance, had, at all events, that species of courage or endur-churches and public edifices imposing, while ance which we find in perfection in the wild Indian. He had almost made his escape; he had reached the ramparts, from which he intended to spring into the moat, when he stumbled over a heap of rubbish and fell. This led to his capture. From that moment he was calm as a martyred saint, supporting every species of torture that could be devised with an equanimity so surprising that it was thought unaccountable, except on the ground of witchcraft and sorcery. He was clothed, therefore, "in the shirt of an hospital patient," that being a charm against sorcery, and tortured anew; but even in the shirt he manifested the same apparent impassiveness to pain. the whole aspect of the place suggested thrift, industry, and comfort. Upon an artificial elevation in the center of the city rose a ruined considered to be of Roman origin, while others tower of unknown antiquity. By some it was Saxon Hengist, raised to commemorate his conpreferred to regard it as the work of the Angloquest of England. Surrounded by fruit-trees, and overgrown in the center by oaks, it afforded from its moldering battlements a charming prospect over a wide expanse of level country, with the spires of neighboring cities rising in every direction. It was from this commanding which were approaching, that many an eye was hight, during the long and terrible summer days to be strained anxiously seaward, watching if yet the ocean had begun to roll over the land." To pass in review a history of the Re-by the Spanish army under Valdez. The volt of the Netherlands, without dwelling at all on the many terrible sieges and massacres that distinguished it, seems a strange omission; it would be an omission still less justifiable if we were to quit Mr. Motley's work without giving any idea of the spirited and powerful manner in which he has described the horrors of this civil war. Does the reader remember the siege of Leyden? Probably he does, yet not so vividly but that he will read the account of it in these volumes with keen interest. We instance the siege of Leyden, not only from the quite peculiar circumstances that attended it, but because, happily, it does not end in one of those fearful mas sacres, where cruelty, lust, and brutality take their most exaggerated form, and of which we necessarily have to read here till we recoil from the page. We abridge Mr. Motley's account. This fair city was completely invested could encounter the enemy with the least Prince of Orange had no troops which chance of success. There was no possible way of throwing provisions into the town. Famine must exterminate the inhabitants, unless the sea, which was twenty miles distant, could be brought up to the walls of the city! The sea bearing the Dutch fleet to their assistance through those meadows and outlying villages, was their only hope. Such was the plan of the Prince of Orange, and such the desperate expedient that the States of Holland were land be sunk than the nation be enslaved! willing to sanction. Rather let the whole But the Prince of Orange lay ill of a fever in Rotterdam, and the work went on slowly, and to many the expedient seemed altogether wild and visionary. "Go up to the tower, ye Beggars!" was the taunting cry of some in the city who were the opponents of the Prince" Go up to the tower, and tell us if ye can see the ocean coming over the dry land to your relief?" And day after day they did go up to the ancient tower of Hengist with heavy heart and anxious eye, watching, hoping, praying, fearing, and at last al "Leyden was now destined to pass through a fiery ordeal. This city was one of the most beautiful in the Netherlands. Placed in the midst of broad and fruitful pastures, which had been reclaimed by the hand of industry from the bottom of the sea, it was fringed with smiling villages, blooming gardens, fruitful orchards. The ancient, and, at last, decrepit Rhine, flow-rical style by which we have ventured to intimate ing languidly towards its sandy bed,* had been The reader may observe here (if he cares to notice it) an instance of that poetical or metapho Mr. Motley does not improve his descriptions. If he would take a hint from us, he would avoid all indulgence in poetic fancy, and let his eloquence be under the sole inspiration and guidance of | strong feelings and strong facts. most despairing of relief by God and man. But the Prince recovered from his illness, and the necessary preparations were vigorously resumed. Admiral Boissot got his vessels together, with eight hundred veteran sailors-the "sea-beggars"-renowned far and wide for their nautical skill and ferocious courage; he also collected good store of provisions for the starving city. The dykes were destroyed, and the flotilla made its way fifteen miles up the country to the strong dyke called the Land-scheiding; and there it was arrested. Between this and Leyden were several other dykes; and, moreover, the Spaniards were encamped there, or lodged in forts. The Land-scheiding, however, was vigorously seized on by the Dutch, was broken through in several places, and the fleet sailed on. Then came another dyke, the "Green-way," and that was seized and opened, and the fleet still passed inland. But now the sea, which had thus far borne them on, diffused itself under an adverse wind, and became too shallow for the ships. "Meantime the besieged city was at its last gasp. The burghers had been in a state of uncertainty for many days. They knew that the wind was unfavorable; and at the dawn of each day every eye was turned wistfully to the vanes of the steeples. So long as the easterly breeze prevailed, they felt as they anxiously stood on towers and house-tops, that they must look in vain for the welcome ocean. Yet while thus patiently waiting, they were literally starving; for even the misery endured at Haarlem had not reached that depth and intensity of agony to which Leyden was now reduced. The daily mortality was frightful. The pestilence now stalked at noonday through the city, and the doomed inhabitants fell like grass beneath its scythe. From six thousand to eight thousand human beings sank before this scourge alone; yet the people resolutely held out-women and men mutually encouraging each other to resist the entrance of their foreign foe-an evil more horrible than pest or famine. Leyden was sublime in its despair. A few murmurs were, however, occasionally heard at the steadfastness of the magistrates, and a dead body was placed at the door of the burgomaster, as a silent witness against his inflexibility, A party of the more faint-hearted even assailed the heroic Adrian van der Werf with threats and reproaches as he passed through the streets. A crowd had gathered around him as he reached and a tranquil but commanding eye. He waved Your But the wind rose, and the sea with it, and at a fortunate conjuncture, a panic dispersed their enemies, and the relieving fleet sailed into the city! The quays were lined with the famishing population, and from every vessel bread was thrown amongst the crowd. Some choked themselves to death with the food thus suddenly presented to them. By the spontaneous movement of the multitude, or as a measure wisely ordained to calm the over-excitement of the moment, all the inhabitants, the magistrates and citizens, the sailors and the soldiers, repaired to the great church, there to bend in humble gratitude before the King of kings. Thousands of voices raised the thanksgiv ing hymn; but the universal emotion became too full for utterancethe hymn was abruptly suspended, and the multitude wept like children. Surely no people ever won its freedom through greater efforts, sufferings, and sacrifices than these United Provinces of the Netherlands. God forbid that any European nation should again pass through so terrible an ordeal; still it is instructive, and it stirs the heart to learn what men can do and suffer in a righteous cause. With the death of Orange terminates the first installment which Mr. Motley has given us of his history. The remaining portion will treat more especially of the acts and the career of the Dutch Republic. Then will be the fit occasion to offer some remarks on the "place in history" a triangular place in the center of the town, into of this famous republic; for all Europe, which many of the principal streets emptied and England especially, owes a great themselves. There stood the burgomaster-a debt to Holland. We are accustomed, tall, haggard, imposing figure, with dark visage, and with justice, to say at the present epoch, that England teaches practically, to the rest of Europe, how far the pure government of equal laws can be established without interference of arbitrary power. There was a time when England learned this lesson of Holland; not to mention that it was a stadtholder of Holland who came to our liberation at a time when we could not have borne a republic, and when we should have looked in vain to any other quarter for a liberal sovereign. No other quarter in Europe could have grown or educated the man we wanted. We shall expect with much interest the remaining volumes of Mr. Motley's History. From the Dublin University Magazine. THE GREAT DUKE AT THE SCULPTOR'S. ONE fine morning in the month of Au- | boots, mounts the stairs which lead to gust, 1851, a venerable gentleman, on horseback, followed by his servant, was observed to leave Hyde Park by the Stanhope gate, and to wend his way towards a quiet street in the neighborhood of Portman Square, Whatever his dress might be, it was concealed by a light gray paletot, which harmonized well with his white hair and healthful and slightlybronzed complexion. The passers by stared as they seemed to recognize the well-known features and erect military figure of her Majesty's most illustrious subject; and their surprise was increased when they saw the elderly gentleman pull up his horse, dismount without assistance, and enter a respectable but unpretentious dwelling in the quiet street. The house at which the great Duke alighted was the studio of a well-known sculptor, whose son had already earned celebrity as a miniature portrait-painter. The Duke had declared that he would never sit again to any body; but at the entreaty of a lady of beauty and fashion, whose receptions were then, as now, the delight of political and aristocratic circles, he waived his determination, and consented to sit for a bust to the father, while the sculptor's son painted his portrait. The Duke, encumbered by his jack Happening to be passing the Horse - Guards about the middle of this same month, we called and stood, hat in hand, near the Duke, while he mounted his horse from the ground without assist auce, match to our surprise.-ED. ECLECTIC. the sculptor's studio with much difficulty. On coming into the room, he proceeds to take off his great coat, but seems unable to divest himself of it. The sculptor accordingly approaches him, requests permission to assist, and is about to take hold of the collar, when the Duke becomes much excited, and with great irritation of manner says he will not be touched. After much labor, the Duke succeeds in taking off his coat, and sits down upon the sofa, the muscles of the lower part of his face working in the manner usual to him when displeased, while his lips murmur something indistinctly. The Duke then begins to unbutton his jack-boot, which he kicks off with so much energy that it flies into the middle of the room, carrying his dress-shoe with it. The two artists, with much tact, abstain from offering the least assistance, and suffer the Duke to hobble after the shoe, with a jack-boot on one leg and no shoe on the other foot. The Duke stoops, with some difficulty, recovers the missing shoe, and regains his seat. He appears pleased at having been suffered to go through these operations without proffers of help, and not a little desirous to make amends for his momentary irritation. Rising from the sofa, he advances to the window, and with great good-nature and alacrity of manner, says: "Now, sir, what do you wish me to do for you?" Being requested to sit down in the armchair placed for him, he immediately re plies: "Well, sir, but I can stand." He is told it is not necessary; whereupon, | sir, (lifting his finger, and speaking with addressing the young painter, he says: emphasis,) because Chantrey told me." "But you will paint me, sir, standing. Why should I sit to be painted standing? What do you say, sir ?" turning to the sculptor. The sculptor points out that a higher light will fall upon the face, if he sits down, which will be an advantage to the artist. "Oh! then, that is quite sufficient, sir; I will sit." When the business of the sitting commences, the Duke shows himself, as may well be believed, entirely au fait at the business of sitting for his portrait. His words we repeat with verbal accuracy, but how shall we convey an idea of his noble and impressive utterance? We must ask the reader to clothe the words which follow with the old man's rich yet somewhat hoarse and sepulchral voice. Every word is uttered with dignity, and the Duke's natural impressiveness of speech is aided by a frequent and graceful gesture with the right hand. We must also premise that the artist had been fortunate enough to secure the attendance of the lady at whose solicitation the Duke had consented to sit, and who, possessing great conversational talents, knew how to engage him in discourse which interested him. Drawing back his head, and fixing his eyes on one spot, the Duke exclaims: "Now I've had great experience in this sort of thing. I know how to sit very well; Lawrence taught me. You see I keep my eyes on one spot, and then the artist always sees the same thing. If I don't keep my eyes on one spot of course he don't see the same thing. And these gentlemen (the artists) ought to be considered, for they have a great deal to do. They have not only to observe and to imitate, but (with emphasis) to verify what they do; and I suppose they proceed by doing one feature first, correcting that, and then going on to another. That, indeed, is the way in which all difficult undertakings should be accomplished. Do one thing first; verify that, and then proceed to another." Then turning round to the sculptor, the Duke went on: "One thing, sir, I wish you particularly to observe, because Chantrey told me of it. Flat, here, sir, (placing his hand on his forehead ;) flat here, sir, (placing it on his right temple;) flat here, (removing it to his left temple ;) three sides of a square. That I know, The sculptor shortly remarks that he should like to verify the accuracy of his bust by measurement. "Whatever is necessary, sir, while I am here." The sculptor takes advantage of the permission to make the most minute and frequent measurement by the compasses of every feature and every part of the Duke's face and head. As the sculptor and painter work simultaneously, one side of the face is seen by the sculptor in shadow. His Grace is aware of the fact, although it has not been mentioned to him; and when the sculptor wishes to examine the side of the face that is in shadow, the Duke immediately and unasked turns it round to the light for him. A beautiful, intelligent, and sprightly little girl is present. She takes up the artist's pencils, and amuses herself by drawing upon a bit of paper some horizontal and vertical lines, which she calls "windows." When a window is finished, the little sylph pulls the Duke's sleeve. "Look here, Mr. Duke, at my windows!" "Mr. Duke" good-naturedly takes up the paper, and pretends to compare it critically with the opposite window, of which it is said to be a representation. He then says, in a soft, deep, and gentle tone of voice: "Ah! my dear-very meritorious." The little girl then takes her paper, is busy with her lines and shading, and is soon pulling the Duke's sleeve again. The old gentleman is this time engaged in earnest conversation. He is so deaf that the child can not make him hear; so she has to pull his sleeve more than once. "Ah! my dear-very ingenious," says the indulgent critic, after a brief survey. Again the child plies her pencil, and comes to "Mr. Duke" for praise and encouragement. This time it is "very meritorious;" then it is "very ingenious." The Duke does not trouble himself to find any other adjectives of commendation; and the interesting little sketcher is too happy at gaining the Duke's attention to find fault with the poverty of his critical vocabulary. "Children are generally very fond of me," he says, after one of these interruptions. "I was at Lord 's the other day. (This nobleman was then high in the councils of his sovereign.) There is a fine little fellow there, who had been told I was coming, and who was on the look-out for me. He called soldiers 'rub- you running to, sir?" " (This uncerea-dubs;' and as soon as he saw me he monious inquiry the Duke delivers in his ran up to me and said: "They told me you gruffest, hoarsest tones.) "The fellow were a rub-a-dub; you are not a rub-a- said: 'Why, sir, I am running to see dub at all. You have not got a red where you are going to.' 'Well, then,' coat." And the Duke laughed heartily I said, 'I am going through Stanhope at having been regarded as a distinguish-gate! So I didn't put these things on ed impostor by the child, and no rub-adub at all. "I don't always get on so well with children, though," adds the Duke; "for I was in the house of a French marquis once, and a child was brought in, in the arms of its nurse, to see me. I held out my hands for the little thing to come to me, but it seemed frightened and would not come; so I said to the little thing, 'Pourquoi?' and she said, 'Il bat tout le monde.' I suppose she had heard her nurse say so, and was afraid I should beat her. There was a large party present, and it excited a great deal of interest," the Duke modestly and naïvely adds. After the sitting had lasted two hours, the Duke examines what has been done, and, to the surprise and delight of the artists, says he will come again. He puts on his gray paletot without assistance, and by this means conceals from the gaze of the crowd his evening dress and decorations, which the kind old man had put on, in order to assist the artists as much as possible. The day next but one (Monday) was fixed for the second sitting. Punctual to the minute, the Duke, followed by his groom, arrives at the door. The painter observes to his Grace that he does not wear his decorations to-day. The Duke, without replying, draws a small parcel from his pocket, in which, wrapped up in a crumpled piece of white paper, were the illustrious badges of the Golden Fleece of Spain and the Order of the Garter. The Duke puts the red ribbon in its proper place on his neck, and fastens the Garter round his knee, with the manner of a man who is accustomed to do these things for himself. He is now again in evening dress. He then says: "I did not put them on today. The worst of coming out in these things is, that I find people generally think I am after something. As I was coming here on Saturday, as soon as I got out of my house, there was a fellow running by my side. I saw he was following me; so I turned my horse round to him, and I said: 'Where the —are to-day, and I came round the other way, (through Grosvenor Square,) for I don't like to be followed." One of the artists then asks his Grace if he will stand for a little time. He replies, with great promptitude and energy: "As long as you please, sir." The veteran warrior stands up, draws himself up to his full hight, throws out his chest, folds his arms, holds up his head, and assumes an attitude of dignity and command perfectly wonderful in an old man of eighty-two. The artists stand mute with surprise and admiration. Here stands before them the hero of a hundred battles; the vietor in many a hard-fought field; the soldier who had often gazed unawed upon the face of death; the iron frame and physical endurance which, conjoined with dauntless courage and genius, had saved Europe. Still the artists look at each other and at the Duke, and still no nerve quivers and no muscle loses its power of tension. In an artistic point of view, the Duke's commanding attitude is of little value; for what painter would dare to represent an old man in possession of so vigorous a physique, and of such heroic mien? The young painter has selected a more familiar attitude, and silently waits in the expectation that the Duke will resume his usual bearing. But the Duke stands like a statue, scarcely moving his eyes, for more than ten mi nute, until the artists tell him they will not trouble him any longer. In the November following, the Duke having arrived in town from Walmer Castle, heard that the bust was not cast or the picture engraved; and sent word that he would come again and give the artists another sitting. are This last visit was paid on the eighteenth November. Future events mercifully hid from us, or what awe would have seized the parties to this interview, had they known that on that day twelvemonth, the mightiest and grandest assemblage of human beings ever gathered together in Great Britain would bare their heads in solemn reverence as that venerable frame, cold in death, passed |