use a Flemish expression, they “snowed in the streets.”  They were nailed nightly on all the great houses in Brussels.  Patriots were called upon to strike, speak, redress.  Pungent lampoons, impassioned invectives, and earnest remonstrances, were thrust into the hands of the Duchess.  The publications, as they appeared; were greedily devoured by the people.  “We are willing,” it was said, in a remarkable letter to the King, “to die for the Gospel, but we read therein ’Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s, and unto God that which is God’s.’  We thank God that our enemies themselves are compelled to bear witness to our piety and patience; so that it is a common saying—­’He swears not; he is a Protestant; he is neither a fornicator nor a drunkard; he is of the new sect.’  Yet, notwithstanding these testimonials to our character, no manner of punishment has been forgotten by which we can possibly be Chastised.”  This statement of the morality of the Puritans of the Netherlands was the justification of martyrs—­not the self-glorification of Pharisees.  The fact was incontrovertible.  Their tenets were rigid, but their lives were pure.  They belonged generally to the middling and lower classes.  They were industrious artisans, who desired to live in the fear of God and in honor of their King.  They were protected by nobles and gentlemen of high position, very many of whom came afterwards warmly to espouse the creed which at first they had only generously defended.  Their whole character and position resembled, in many features, those of the English Puritans, who, three quarters of a century afterwards, fled for refuge to the Dutch Republic, and thence departed to establish the American Republic.  The difference was that the Netherlanders were exposed to a longer persecution and a far more intense martyrdom.

Towards the end of the year (1565) which was closing in such universal gloom; the contemporary chronicles are enlivened with a fitful gleam of sunshine.  The light enlivens only the more elevated regions of the Flemish world, but it is pathetic to catch a glimpse of those nobles, many of whose lives were to be so heroic, and whose destinies so tragic, as amid the shadows projected by coming evil, they still found time for the chivalrous festivals of their land and epoch.  A splendid tournament was held at the Chateau d’Antoing to celebrate the nuptials of Baron Montigny with the daughter of Prince d’Espinoy.  Orange, Horn, and Hoogstraaten were the challengers, and maintained themselves victoriously against all comers, Egmont and other distinguished knights being, among the number.

Thus brilliantly and gaily moved the first hours of that marriage which before six months had fled was to be so darkly terminated.  The doom which awaited the chivalrous bridegroom in the dungeon of Simancas was ere long to be recorded in one of the foulest chapters of Philip’s tyranny.