During this wrangling, the country was exposed to the forces of Parma, to the private efforts of the Malcontents, to the unpaid soldiery of the states, to the armed and rebellious peasantry.  Little heed was paid to the admonitions of Count John, who was of a hotter temper than was the tranquil Prince.  The stadholder gave way to fits of passion at the meanness and the insolence to which he was constantly exposed.  He readily recognized his infirmity, and confessed himself unable to accommodate his irascibility to the “humores” of the inhabitants.  There was often sufficient cause for his petulance.  Never had praetor of a province a more penurious civil list.  “The baker has given notice,” wrote Count John, in November, “that he will supply no more bread after to-morrow, unless he is paid.”  The states would furnish no money to pay the, bill.  It was no better with the butcher.  “The cook has often no meat to roast,” said the Count, in the same letter, “so that we are often obliged to go supperless to bed.”  His lodgings were a half-roofed, half-finished, unfurnished barrack, where the stadholder passed his winter days and evenings in a small, dark, freezing-cold chamber, often without fire-wood.  Such circumstances were certainly not calculated to excite envy.  When in addition to such wretched parsimony, it is remembered that the Count was perpetually worried by the quarrels of the provincial authorities with each other and with himself, he may be forgiven for becoming thoroughly exhausted at last.  He was growing “grey and grizzled” with perpetual perplexity.  He had been fed with annoyance, as if—­to use his own homely expression—­“he had eaten it with a spoon.”  Having already loaded himself with a debt of six hundred thousand florins, which he had spent in the states’ service, and having struggled manfully against the petty tortures of his situation, he cannot be severely censured for relinquishing his post.  The affairs of his own Countship were in great confusion.  His children—­boys and girls—­were many, and needed their fathers’ guidance, while the eldest, William Louis, was already in arms for the-Netherlands, following the instincts of his race.  Distinguished for a rash valor, which had already gained the rebuke of his father and the applause of his comrades, he had commenced his long and glorious career by receiving a severe wound at Coewerden, which caused him to halt for life.  Leaving so worthy a representative, the Count was more justified in his departure.

His wife, too, had died in his absence, and household affairs required his attention.  It must be confessed, however, that if the memory of his deceased spouse had its claims, the selection of her successor was still more prominent among his anxieties.  The worthy gentleman had been supernaturally directed as to his second choice, ere that choice seemed necessary, for before the news of his wife’s death had reached him, the Count dreamed that he was already united