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tions, hardly sufficient to support life among the famishing population.

3. Starving wretches swarmed daily around the shambles where these cattle were slaughtered, contending for any morsel which might fall, and lapping eagerly the blood as it ran along the pavement; while the hides, chopped and boiled, were greedily devoured. Women and children, all day long, were seen searching gutters and dunghills for morsels of food, which they disputed fiercely with the famishing dogs. The green leaves were stripped from the trees, every living herb was converted into human food; but these expedients could not avert starvation.

4. The daily mortality was frightful: infants starved to death on the maternal breasts which famine had parched and withered; mothers dropped dead in the streets, with their dead children in their arms. In many a house the watchmen, in their rounds, found a whole family of corpses,-father, mother, children, side by side; for a disorder called the plague, naturally engendered of hardship and famine, now came, as if in kindness, to abridge the agony of the people. The pestilence stalked at noonday through the city, and the doomed inhabitants fell like grass beneath the 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 mōre horrible than pest or famine.

5. 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 silènt witnèss 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 a triangular place in the center of the town, into which many of the principal streets emptied themselves, and upon one side of which stood the church of Saint Pancras. There stood the burgomaster, a tall, haggard, imposing figure, with dark visage and a tranquil but commanding eye. He waved his broad-leaved felt hat for silence, and then exclaimed, in language which has been almost literally preserved:

6. "What would ye, my friends? Why do ye murmur that

we do not break our vows and surrender the city to the Spaniards?—a fate mōre horrible than the agony which she now endures. I tell you I have made an oath to hold the city; and may God give me strength to keep my oath! I can die but once, whether by your hands, the enemy's, or by the hand of God. My own fate is indifferent to me; not so that of the city intrusted to my care. I know that we shall starve if not soon relieved; but starvation is preferable to the dishonored death which is the only alternative. Your menaces move me not; my life is at your disposal; here is my sword, plunge it into my breast, and divide my flesh among you. Take my body to appease your hunger, but expect no surrender so long as I remain alive.'

7. On the 28th of September, a dove flew into the city, bringing a letter from Admiral Boisot. In this despatch, the position of the fleet at North Aa was described in encouraging terms, and the inhabitants were assured that, in a věry few days at furthèst, the long-expected relief would enter their gates. The tempest came to their relief. A violent equinoctial gale, on the night of the 1st and 2d of October, came storming from the northwest, shifting after a few hours full eight points, and then blowing still more violently from the southwest. The waters of the North Sea were piled in vast masses upon the southern coast of Holland, and then dashed furiously landward, the ocean rising over the earth and sweeping with unrestrained power across the ruined dykes.

8. In the course of twenty-four hours, the fleet at North Aa, instead of nine inches, had mōre than two feet of water. On it went, sweeping over the broad waters which lay between Zoeterwoude and Zwieten; and as they approached some shallows which led into the great mere, the Zealanders dashed into the sea, and with sheer strength shouldered every vessel through. On again the fleet of Boisot still went, and, overcoming every obstacle, entered the city on the morning of the 3d of October. Leyden was relieved. MOTLEY.

JOHN LATHROP MOTLEY, the distinguished historian, was born in Dorchester, Massachusetts, in 1814, and was graduated at Harvard College in 1831. Soon after, he spent several years in Germany, studying in its universities. In 1841, he was appointed Secretary of Legation to Russia, which post he resigned in less than two years, having written in the meantime for the N. A. Review a leading article on Peter the Great. He has written numerous papers for leading periodicals, two anonymous novels, Morton's Hope, and Merrymount,-"The Rise of the Dutch Republic," in 1856,— and quite recently, the "United Netherlands."



HO is the happy warrior? Who is he


That every Man in arms should wish to be?
It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought
Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought :—
Whose high endeavors are an inward light
That makes the path before him always bright;
Who, with a natural instinct to discern

What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;
Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,
But makes his moral being his prime care :-

2. Who, doomed to go in company with Pain,
And Fear, and Bloodshed (miserable train!)
Turns his necessity to glorious gain ;

In face of these doth exercise a power
Which is our human nature's highest dower;
Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves
Of their bad influence, and their good receives :-
By objects which might förce the soul to abate
Her feeling, rendered more compassionate;
Is placable, because occasions rise

So often that demand such sacrifice;

More skillful in self-knowledge, e'en more pure,
As tempted more; more able to endure,
As more exposed to suffering and distress,
Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.

3. "T is he whose law is reason; who depends
Upon that law as on the best of friends;
Whence, in a state where men are tempted still
To evil for a guard against worse ill,-
(And what in quality or act is best
Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,)
He fixes good on good alone, and owes
To virtue every triumph that he knows :-
4. Who, if he rise to station of command,

Rises by open means; and there will stand

On honorable terms, or else retire,
And in himself possess his own desire
Who comprehends his trust, and to the same
Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;
And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait
For wealth, or honors, or for worldly state ;-
Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,
Like showers of manna, if they come at all :—

5. Whose powers shed round him in the common strife, Or mild concerns of ordinary life,

A constant influence, a peculiar grace;

But who, if he be called upon to face

Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined
Great issues, good or bad, for human kind,

Is happy as a lover; and attired

With sudden brightness, like a man inspired;
And through the heat of conflict, keeps the law
In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;
Or, if an unexpected call succeed,

Come when it will, is equal to the need :


6. He who, though thus endued as with a sense
And faculty for storm and turbulence,

Is yet a soul whose master-bias leans
To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes;
Sweet images! which, whereso'er he be,
Are at his heart; and such fidelity

It is his darling passion to approve;

More brave for this, that he hath much to love :

7. 'T is finally the Man, who, lifted high,
Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye,
Or left unthought of in obscurity,-
And with a toward or untoward lot,
Prosperous or adverse to his wish or not,-
Plays in the many games of life that one
Where what he most doth value must be won!
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,
Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
Looks forward, persevering to the last,
From well to better, daily self-surpassed :-

8. Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth,
Forever, and to noble deeds give birth,

Or he must go to dust without his fame,
And leave a dead, unprofitable name,-
Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;
And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws
His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause!
This is THE HAPPY WARRIOR; this is he

Whom every Man in arms should wish to be.


WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, the greatest of metaphysical poets, and one of the purest and most blameless of men, was born at Cockermouth, Cumberland county, England, April 7th, 1770. He read much in boyhood, and wrote some verses. He received his early education at the endowed school of Hawkshead; entered St. John's College, Cambridge, in 1787, and though he disliked the system of the university, and attended little to the studies of the place, graduated with his degree of B. A. in 1791. In the close of the same year he went to France, where he passed nearly a year; and there he wrote the poem called "Descriptive Sketches," which, with "The Evening Walk," was published in 1793. In 1795 he received a legacy of £900 from his friend, Raisley Calvert, and at the close of the same began to live with his sister, their first residence being at Racedown, Dorsetshire. He here made the acquaintance of Coleridge, and wrote many of the fine passages that afterward appeared in "The Excursion." In the autumn of 1798 he published the first edition of his "Lyrical Ballads," and then went to Germany with his sister and Coleridge; and, the party separating, Miss Wordsworth and her brother passed the winter at Goslar, in Hanover. Here were written "Lucy Gray," and several beautiful pieces. His long residence among the lakes of his native district began immediately after his return to England. His second volume of "Lyrical Ballads " appeared at the close of 1800. In 1802 he married Mary Hutchinson, of Penrith, to whose amiability his poems pay warm and beautiful tributes. In the spring of 1813, after various changes of residence, he took up his abode at Rydal Mount, two miles from Grasmere, which was his home for thirty-seven years, and the scene of his death. There, too, he was appointed distributor of stamps for Westmoreland; an office which was executed by a clerk, and yielded about £500 a year. In the summer of 1814 was published "The Excursion," a poem which, if judged by its best passages, has hardly an equal in our language. The following year appeared "The White Doe of Rylstone." From his fiftieth to his eightieth year the poet traveled much, suffered a great deal, and wrote but little. In 1842 he resigned his distributorship in favor of one of his two sons, and received from Sir Robert Peel, a pension of £300 a year. In 1843 he was appointed poet-laureate. He died on the 23d of April, 1850.



ITHIN this lowly grave a conqueror lies;
And yet the monument proclaims it not,
Nor round the sleeper's name hath chisel wrought

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