sovereign, and the young one in feeling that he had not yet become so.  But Philip was declining daily.  Yet even when dying he preserved his natural haughtiness and energy; and being provoked by the insubordination of the people of Liege, he had himself carried to the scene of their punishment.  The refractory town of Dinant, on the Meuse, was utterly destroyed by the two counts, and six hundred of the citizens drowned in the river, and in cold blood.  The following year Philip expired, leaving to Charles his long-wished-for inheritance.

The reign of Philip had produced a revolution in Belgian manners; for his example and the great increase of wealth had introduced habits of luxury hitherto quite unknown.  He had also brought into fashion romantic notions of military honor, love, and chivalry; which, while they certainly softened the character of the nobility, contained nevertheless a certain mixture of frivolity and extravagance.  The celebrated order of the Golden Fleece, which was introduced by Philip, was less an institution based on grounds of rational magnificence than a puerile emblem of his passion for Isabella of Portugal, his third wife.  The verses of a contemporary poet induced him to make a vow for the conquest of Constantinople from the Turks.  He certainly never attempted to execute this senseless crusade; but he did not omit so fair an opportunity for levying new taxes on his people.  And it is undoubted that the splendor of his court and the immorality of his example were no slight sources of corruption to the countries which he governed.

In this respect, at least, a totally different kind of government was looked for on the part of his son and successor, who was by nature and habit a mere soldier.  Charles began his career by seizing on all the money and jewels left by his father; he next dismissed the crowd of useless functionaries who had fed upon, under the pretence of managing, the treasures of the state.  But this salutary and sweeping reform was only effected to enable the sovereign to pursue uncontrolled the most fatal of all passions, that of war.  Nothing can better paint the true character of this haughty and impetuous prince than his crest (a branch of holly), and his motto, “Who touches it, pricks himself.”  Charles had conceived a furious and not ill-founded hatred for his base yet formidable neighbor and rival, Louis XI. of France.  The latter had succeeded in obtaining from Philip the restitution of some towns in Picardy; cause sufficient to excite the resentment of his inflammable successor, who, during his father’s lifetime, took open part with some of the vassals of France in a temporary struggle against the throne.  Louis, who had been worsted in a combat where both he and Charles bore a part, was not behindhand in his hatred.  But inasmuch as one was haughty, audacious, and intemperate, the other was cunning, cool, and treacherous.  Charles was the proudest, most daring, and most unmanageable prince that ever made the sword