or two of him, discharged a pistol full at his heart."

When Jaureguy had fired at the Prince two years earlier, the ball
passing through his jaw, the Prince, at he faltered under the shock,
cried, "Do not kill him--I forgive him my death!" But he had no
time to express any such plea for his assailant after Gérard's
cruel shots. "Three balls," says Motley, "entered his body, one of
which, passing quite through him, struck with violence against the
wall beyond. The Prince exclaimed in French, as he felt the wound,
'O my God, have mercy upon my soul! O my God, have mercy upon this
poor people!'

"These were the last words he ever spoke, save that when his sister,
Catherine of Schwartzburgh, immediately afterwards asked him if he
commended his soul to Jesus Christ, he faintly answered, 'Yes'."

Never has the pistol done worse work. The Prince was only fifty-one;
he was full of vigour; his character had never been stronger, his
wisdom never more mature. Had he lived a few years longer the country
would have been saved years of war and misery.

One may stand to-day exactly where the Prince stood when he was
shot. The mark of a bullet in the wall is still shown. The dining-room,
from which he had come, now contains a collection of relics of his
great career.

Let us return to the New Church, past the statue of Grotius in
the great square, in order to look again at that philosopher's
memorial. Grotius, who was born at Delft, was extraordinarily
precocious. He went to Leyden University and studied under Scaliger