cted at last from his sick bed, for the besieged city of Leyden--will
always remain monuments of his practical military skill.

Of the soldier's great virtues--constancy in disaster, devotion to duty,
hopefulness in defeat--no man ever possessed a larger share. He arrived,
through a series of reverses, at a perfect victory. He planted a free
commonwealth under the very battery of the Inquisition, in defiance of
the most powerful empire existing. He was therefore a conqueror in the
loftiest sense, for he conquered liberty and a national existence for a
whole people. The contest was long, and he fell in the struggle, but the
victory was to the dead hero, not to the living monarch. It is to be
remembered, too, that he always wrought with inferior instruments. His
troops were usually mercenaries, who were but too apt to mutiny upon the
eve of battle, while he was opposed by the most formidable veterans of
Europe, commanded successively by the first captains of the age. That,
with no lieutenant of eminent valor or experience, save only his brother
Louis, and with none at all after that chieftain's death, William of
Orange should succeed in baffling the efforts of Alva, Requesens, Don
John of Austria, and Alexander Farnese--men whose names are among the
most brilliant in the military annals of the world--is in itself,
sufficient evidence of his warlike ability. At the period of his death he
had reduced the number of obedient provinces to two; only Artois and
Hainault acknowledging Philip, while the other fifteen were in open
revolt, the greater part having solemnly forsworn their sovereign.

The supremacy of his political genius was entirely beyond question. He
was the first statesman of the age. The quickness of his perception was
only equalled by the caution which enabled him to mature the results of
his observations. His knowledge of human nature was profound. He governed
the passions and sentiments of a great nation as if they had been but the
keys and chords of one vast instrument; and his hand rarely failed to
evoke harmony even out of the wildest storms. The turbulent city of
Ghent, which could obey no other master, which even the haughty Emperor
could only crush without controlling, was ever responsive to the
master-hand of Orange. His presence scared away Imbize and his bat-like
crew, confounded the schemes of John Casimir, frustrated the wiles of
Prince Chimay, and while he lived, Ghent was what it ought always to ha