De Bossu remained in prison for three years.  Later he fought for the States.  His goblet is preserved at Hoorn.  His collar is at Monnickendam and his sword at Enkhuisen.

The room in the Protestant orphanage where De Bossu was imprisoned is still to be seen; and you may see also at the corner of the Grooteoost the houses from which the good wives and housekeepers watched the progress of the battle, and on which a bas-relief representation of the battle was afterwards placed in commemoration.

Two more heroes of Hoorn may be seen in effigy on the facade of the State College, opposite the Weigh House, guarding an English shield.  The shield is placed there, among the others, on account of a daring feat performed by two negro sailors in De Ruyter’s fleet in the Thames, who ravished from an English ship in distress the shield at her stern and presented it to Hoorn, their adopted town, where it is now supported by bronze figures of its captors.

Hoorn’s streets are long and cheerful, with houses graciously bending forwards, many of them dignified by black paint and yet not made too grave by it.  This black paint blending with the many trees on the canal sides has the same curious charm as at Amsterdam, although there the blackness is richer and more absolute.  Even the Hoorn warehouses are things of beauty:  one in particular, by the Harbour Tower, with bright green shutters, is indescribably gay, almost coquettish.  Hoorn also has the most satisfying little houses I saw in Holland—­streets of them.  And of all the costumes of Holland I remember most vividly the dead black dress and lace cap of a woman who suddenly turned a corner here—­as if she had walked straight from a picture by Elias.

The Harbour Tower is perhaps Hoorn’s finest building, its charm being intensified rather than diminished by the hideous barracks close by.  St. Jan’s Gasthuis has a facade of beautiful gravity, and the gateway of the home for Ouden Vrouwen is perfect.  The museum in the Tribunalshof is the most intimate and human collection of curiosities which I saw in Holland—­not a fossil, not a stuffed bird, in the building.  Among the pictures are the usual groups of soldiers and burgomasters, and the usual fine determined De Ruyter by Bol.  We were shown Hoorn’s treasures by a pleasant girl who allowed no shade of tedium to cross her smiling courteous face, although the display of these ancient pictures and implements, ornaments and domestic articles must have been her daily work for years.  In the top room of all is a curious piece of carved stone on which may be read these inscriptions:—­

This most illustrious Prince,
Henry Lord Darnley, King of Scotland,
Father to our Soveraigne Lord King James. 
He died at the age of 21.

The most excellent Princesse Marie, Queen of Scotland,
Mother of our Soveraigne, Lord King James. 
She died 1586, and entombed at West Minster.

It would be interesting to know more of this memorial.