the trance, which now seemed to come over the government, was like to be followed by deadly effects.  The stationary policy, which the death of Requesens had occasioned, was allowed to prolong itself indefinitely, and almost for the first time in his life, Joachim Hopper was really consulted about the affairs of that department over which he imagined himself, and was generally supposed by others, to preside at Madrid.  The creature of Viglius, having all the subserviency, with none of the acuteness of his patron, he had been long employed as chief of the Netherland bureau, while kept in profound ignorance of the affairs which were transacted in his office.  He was a privy councillor, whose counsels were never heeded, a confidential servant in whom the King reposed confidence, only on the ground that no man could reveal secrets which he did not know.  This deportment of the King’s showed that he had accurately measured the man, for Hopper was hardly competent for the place of a chief clerk.  He was unable to write clearly in any language, because incapable of a fully developed thought upon any subject.  It may be supposed that nothing but an abortive policy, therefore, would be produced upon the occasion thus suddenly offered. “’Tis a devout man, that poor Master Hopper,” said Granvelle, “but rather fitted for platonic researches than for affairs of state.”

It was a proof of this incompetency, that now, when really called upon for advice in an emergency, he should recommend a continuance of the interim.  Certainly nothing worse could be devised.  Granvelle recommended a reappointment of the Duchess Margaret.  Others suggested Duke Eric of Brunswick, or an Archduke of the Austrian house; although the opinion held by most of the influential councillors was in favor of Don John of Austria.  In the interests of Philip and his despotism, nothing, at any rate, could be more fatal than delay.  In the condition of affairs which then existed, the worst or feeblest governor would have been better than none at all.  To leave a vacancy was to play directly into the hands of Orange, for it was impossible that so skilful an adversary should not at once perceive the fault, and profit by it to the utmost.  It was strange that Philip did not see the danger of inactivity at such a crisis.  Assuredly, indolence was never his vice, but on this occasion indecision did the work of indolence.  Unwittingly, the despot was assisting the efforts of the liberator.  Viglius saw the position of matters with his customary keenness, and wondered at the blindness of Hopper and Philip.  At the last gasp of a life, which neither learning nor the accumulation of worldly prizes and worldly pelf could redeem from intrinsic baseness, the sagacious but not venerable old man saw that a chasm was daily widening; in which the religion and the despotism which he loved might soon be hopelessly swallowed.  “The Prince of Orange and his Beggars do not sleep,” he cried, almost in anguish; “nor will they be