path, still under the delusion that he was about handsomely to cut off the retreat of the foraging companies, saved himself and a handful of cavalry by a rapid flight, so soon as he discovered the enemy drawn up in line of battle.  Cutler and Parker were equally fortunate.  There was less than a hundred of the States’ troops killed, and it is probable that a larger number of the Spaniards fell.  But the loss of Philip Nassau, despite the debauched life and somewhat reckless valour of that soldier, was a very severe one to the army and to his family.  He was conveyed to Rheinberg, where his wounds were dressed.  As he lay dying he was courteously visited by Mondragon, and by many other Spanish officers, anxious to pay their respects to so distinguished and warlike a member of an illustrious house.  He received them with dignity, and concealed his physical agony so as to respond to their conversation as became a Nassau.  His cousin, Frederic van den Berg, who was among the visitors, indecently taunted him with his position; asking him what he had expected by serving the cause of the Beggars.  Philip turned from him with impatience and bade him hold his peace.  At midnight he died.

William of Orange and his three brethren had already laid down their lives for the republic, and now his eldest brother’s son had died in the same cause.  “He has carried the name of Nassau with honour into the grave,” said his brother Lewis William, to their father.  Ten others of the house, besides many collateral relations, were still in arms for their adopted country.  Rarely in history has a single noble race so entirely identified itself with a nation’s record in its most heroic epoch as did that of Orange-Nassau with the liberation of Holland.

Young Ernest Solms, brother of Count Everard, lay in the same chamber with Philip Nassau, and died on the following day.  Their bodies were sent by Mondragon with a courteous letter to Maurice at Bisslich.  Ernest Nassau was subsequently ransomed for ten thousand florins.

This skirmish on the Lippe has no special significance in a military point of view, but it derives more than a passing interest, not only from the death of many a brave and distinguished soldier, but for the illustration of human vigour triumphing, both physically and mentally, over the infirmities of old age, given by the achievement of Christopher Mondragon.  Alone he had planned his expedition across the country from Antwerp, alone he had insisted on crossing the Rhine, while younger soldiers hesitated; alone, with his own active brain and busy hands, he had outwitted the famous young chieftain of the Netherlands, counteracted his subtle policy, and set the counter-ambush by which his choicest cavalry were cut to pieces, and one of his bravest generals slain.  So far could the icy blood of ninety-two prevail against the vigour of twenty-eight.