made his triumphal entry, and the first chapter in the invasion of
Holland was closed. Such was the memorable siege of Haarlem, an event
in which we are called upon to wonder equally at human capacity to
inflict and to endure misery.

"Philip was lying dangerously ill at the wood of Segovia, when the
happy tidings of the reduction of Haarlem, with its accompanying
butchery, arrived. The account of all this misery, minutely detailed
to him by Alva, acted like magic. The blood of twenty-three hundred
of his fellow-creatures--coldly murdered by his orders, in a single
city--proved for the sanguinary monarch the elixir of life: he drank
and was refreshed. '_The principal medicine which has cured his
Majesty,_' wrote Secretary Cayas from Madrid to Alva, 'is the joy
caused to him by the _good news_ which you have communicated of _the
surrender of Haarlem_.'"

I know nothing of the women of Haarlem to-day, but in the sixteenth
century they were among the bravest and most efficient in the
world, and it was largely their efforts and example which enabled
the city to hold out so long. Motley describes them as a corps of
three hundred fighting women, "all females of respectable character,
armed with sword, musket, and dagger. Their chief, Kenau Hasselaer,
was a widow of distinguished family, and unblemished reputation,
about forty-seven years of age, who, at the head of her amazons,
participated in many of the most fiercely contested actions of the
siege, both within and without the walls. When such a spirit animated
the maids and matrons of the city, it might be expected that the men
would hardly surrender the place without a struggle."

Haarlem still preserves the pretty custom of hanging lace by