The sun made its appearance more than an hour before the troops of the royal guard. Mobs were collected in knots in the street, and in front of the Hotel de Ville, or Stadt House, and the object of their meeting was to canvass the treason and imprisonment of the syndic, Mynheer Van Krause. "Shame--shame,"--"Death to the traitor,"--"Tear him to pieces,"--and "Long life to King William," were the first solitary remarks made--the noise and hubbub increased. The small knots of people gradually joined together, until they formed a large mob, all burning with loyalty, and each individual wishing to give a practical evidence of it--again were the cries of "Long live the king!" and "Death to traitors!" to be heard, with loud huzzas. A confused din followed, and the mob appeared, as if simultaneously, to be all impelled in one direction. At last the word was given, which they all waited for. "To his house--to his house--down with it--death to the traitor!" and the loyal mob hastened on, each individual eager to be first to prove his loyalty, by helping himself to Mynheer Krause's goods and chattels. In the Low Countries, this species of loyalty always has been and is now very much the fashion. In ten minutes, the gates were forced open--old Koops knocked down, and trod under foot till he was dead--every article of value that was portable was secured; chairs, tables, glasses, not portable, were thrown out of the window; Wilhelmina's harp and pianoforte battered to fragments; beds, bedding, everything flew about in the air, and then the fragments of the furniture were set fire to, and in less than an hour, Mynheer Krause's splendid house was burning furiously, while the mob cheered and cried, "Long live King William!" Before the courier could arrive from the Hague, all that was left of Mr Krause's property was the bare walls. Merchandise, everything was consumed, and part of the building had fallen into the canal and choked it up, while fifteen schuyts, waiting to be discharged of their cargoes, had been obliged to retreat from the fury of the flames, the phlegmatic skippers looking on with their pipes in their mouths, and their hands in their wide breeches-pockets. The loyal mob, having effected their object, gradually retired. It is singular that popular feeling is always expressed in the same way. Had the mob collected for disloyal purposes, they would have shown their disloyalty just in the like manner, only it would have been the Stadt House instead of that of Mynheer Krause.