there was a variety of boards or colleges, all arrogating concurrent—­which in truth was conflicting-authority.  There was the board of militia-colonels, which claimed great powers.  Here, too, the burgomaster was nominally the chief, but he might be voted down by a majority, and of course was often absent.  Then there were sixteen captains who came into the colonels’ sessions whenever they liked, and had their word to say upon all subjects broached.  If they were refused a hearing, they were backed by eighty other captains, who were ready at any moment to carry every disputed point before the “broadcouncil.”

There were a college of ward-masters, a college of select men, a college of deacons, a college of ammunition, of fortification, of ship-building, all claiming equal authority, and all wrangling among themselves; and there was a college of “peace-makers,” who wrangled more than all the rest together.

Once a week there was a session of the board or general council.  Dire was the hissing and confusion, as the hydra heads of the multitudinous government were laid together.  Heads of colleges, presidents of chambers, militia-chieftains; magistrates, ward-masters, deans of fishmongers, of tailors, gardeners, butchers, all met together pell-mell; and there was no predominant authority.  This was not a convenient working machinery for a city threatened with a siege by the first captain of the age.  Moreover there was a deficiency of regular troops:  The burgher-militia were well trained and courageous, but not distinguished for their docility.  There was also a regiment of English under Colonel Morgan, a soldier of great experience, and much respected; but, as Stephen Le Sieur said, “this force, unless seconded with more, was but a breakfast for the enemy.”  Unfortunately, too, the insubordination, which was so ripe in the city, seemed to affect these auxiliaries.  A mutiny broke out among the English troops.  Many deserted to Parma, some escaped to England, and it was not until Morgan had beheaded Captain Lee and Captain Powell, that discipline could be restored.

And into this scene of wild and deafening confusion came Philip de Marnix, Lord of Sainte Aldegonde.

There were few more brilliant characters than he in all Christendom.  He was a man, of a most rare and versatile genius.  Educated in Geneva at the very feet of Calvin, he had drunk, like mother’s milk, the strong and bitter waters of the stern reformer’s, creed; but he had in after life attempted, although hardly with success, to lift himself to the height of a general religious toleration.  He had also been trained in the severe and thorough literary culture which characterised that rigid school.  He was a scholar, ripe and rare; no holiday trifler in the gardens of learning.  He spoke and wrote Latin like his native tongue.  He could compose poignant Greek epigrams.  He was so familiar with Hebrew, that he had rendered the Psalms of David out of the