d be outside the city at
a certain hour. Just before the time Heranguiere and his men sprang
out of their hiding, killed the garrison, opened the gates, and the
castle was won again, Heranguiere was rewarded by being made governor
of Breda; Adrian was pensioned, and the boat was taken from its native
elements and exalted into an honoured position in the castle. When,
however, the Spanish general Spinola recaptured Breda, one of his
first duties was to burn this worthy vessel.

The jewel of Breda, which is a spreading fortified town, is the
tomb of Count Engelbert I. of Nassau, in one of the chapels of the
great church. The count and his lady, both sculptured in alabaster,
lie side by side beneath a canopy of black marble, which is borne
by four warriors also of alabaster. On the canopy are the arms and
accoutrements of the dead Count. The tomb, which was the work of
Vincenz of Bologna in the sixteenth century, is wholly satisfying in
its dignity, austerity and grace.

To the font in Breda cathedral William III. attached the privilege
of London citizenship. Any child christened there could claim the
rights of a Londoner, the origin of the sanction being the presence of
English soldiers at Breda and their wish that their children should
be English too. Whether or not the Dutch guards who were helping the
English at the end of the seventeenth century had a similar privilege
in London I do not know.

Late one Saturday evening I watched in a milk shop at Breda a
conscientious Dutch woman at work. She had just finished scrubbing the
floor and polishing the brass, and was now engaged in laying little
paths of paper in case any chance customer should come in over night
and soil the boards before Sunday. I thought as I stood there how
impossible it would be for an English woman tired with the week to sit
up like this to clean a shop against the next day. Sir William Temple
has a pleasant story illustrating at once the inherent passion for
cleanliness in the Dutch women and also their old masterfulness. It
tells how a magistrate, paying an afternoon call, was received at the
door by a stout North Holland lass who, lest he should soil the floor,
took him bodily in her arms and carried him to a chair; sat him in it;
removed his boots; put a pair of slippers on his feet; and then led
him to her mistress's presence.

Bergen-op-Zoom has its place in history; but it is a dull town in
fact. Nor has it beautiful streets, with the ex