too seldom leaves a place for the softer emotions of the heart.  When the patriot army was in its position, and firmly waiting the advance of the foe, Prince Maurice turned to his brother, Frederick Henry, then sixteen years of age, and several young noblemen, English, French, and German, who like him attended on the great captain to learn the art of war:  he pointed out in a few words the perilous situation in which he was placed; declared his resolution to conquer or perish on the battlefield, and recommended the boyish band to retire to Ostend, and wait for some less desperate occasion to share his renown or revenge his fall.  Frederick Henry spurned the affectionate suggestion, and swore to stand by his brother to the last; and all his young companions adopted the same generous resolution.

The army of the states was placed in order of battle, about a league in front of Nieuport, in the sand hills with which the neighborhood abounds, its left wing resting on the seashore.  Its losses of the morning, and of the garrisons left in the forts near Bruges, reduced it to an almost exact equality with that of the archduke.  Each of these armies was composed of that variety of troops which made them respectively an epitome of the various nations of Europe.  The patriot force contained Dutch, English, French, German, and Swiss, under the orders of Count Louis of Nassau, Sir Francis and Sir Horace Vere, brothers and English officers of great celebrity, with other distinguished captains.  The archduke mustered Spaniards, Italians, Walloons, and Irish in his ranks, led on by Mendoza, La Berlotta, and their fellow-veterans.  Both armies were in the highest state of discipline, trained to war by long service, and enthusiastic in the several causes which they served; the two highest principles of enthusiasm urging them on—­religious fanaticism on the one hand, and the love of freedom on the other.  The rival generals rode along their respective lines, addressed a few brief sentences of encouragement to their men, and presently the bloody contest began.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon when the archduke commenced the attack.  His advanced guard, commanded by Mendoza and composed of those former mutineers who now resolved to atone for their misconduct, marched across the sand-hills with desperate resolution.  They soon came into contact with the English contingent under Francis Vere, who was desperately wounded in the shock.  The assault was almost irresistible.  The English, borne down by numbers, were forced to give way; but the main body pressed on to their support.  Horace Vere stepped forward to supply his brother’s place.  Not an inch of ground more was gained or lost; the firing ceased, and pikes and swords crossed each other in the resolute conflict of man to man.  The action became general along the whole line.  The two commanders-in-chief were at all points.  Nothing could exceed their mutual display of skill and courage.  At length the Spanish cavalry, broken