twenty-sixth of January, the great bell of the Town House gave
the signal. Sixteen hundred substantial burghers, well armed, and
clad in the finest dresses which were to be found in the recesses
of their wardrobes, kept order in the crowded streets. Balconies
and scaffolds, embowered in evergreens and hung with tapestry,
hid the windows. The royal coach, escorted by an army of
halberdiers and running footmen, and followed by a long train of
splendid equipages, passed under numerous arches rich with
carving and painting, amidst incessant shouts of "Long live the
King our Stadtholder." The front of the Town House and the whole
circuit of the marketplace were in a blaze with brilliant
colours. Civic crowns, trophies, emblems of arts, of sciences, of
commerce and of agriculture, appeared every where. In one place
William saw portrayed the glorious actions of his ancestors.
There was the silent prince, the founder of the Batavian
commonwealth, passing the Meuse with his warriors. There was the
more impetuous Maurice leading the charge at Nieuport. A little
further on, the hero might retrace the eventful story of his own
life. He was a child at his widowed mother's knee. He was at the
altar with Diary's hand in his. He was landing at Torbay. He was
swimming through the Boyne. There, too, was a boat amidst the ice
and the breakers; and above it was most appropriately inscribed,
in the majestic language of Rome, the saying of the great Roman,
"What dost thou fear? Thou hast Caesar on board." The task of
furnishing the Latin mottoes had been intrusted to two men, who,
till Bentley appeared, held the highest place among the classical
scholars of that age. Spanheim, whose knowledge of the Roman
medals was unrivalled, imitated, not unsuccessfully, the noble
conciseness of those ancient legends which he had assiduously
studied; and he was assisted by Graevius, who then filled a chair