His goal was not a new doctrine, but religious liberty.  In an age when to think was a crime, and when bigotry and a persecuting spirit characterized Romanists and Lutherans, Calvinists and Zwinglians, he had dared to announce freedom of conscience as the great object for which noble natures should strive.  In an age when toleration was a vice, he had the manhood to cultivate it as a virtue.  His parting advice to the Reformers of the Netherlands, when he left them for a season in the spring of 1567, was to sink all lesser differences in religious union.  Those of the Augsburg Confession and those of the Calvinistic Church, in their own opinion as incapable of commingling as oil and water, were, in his judgment, capable of friendly amalgamation.  He appealed eloquently to the good and influential of all parties to unite in one common cause against oppression.  Even while favoring daily more and more the cause of the purified Church, and becoming daily more alive to the corruption of Rome, he was yet willing to tolerate all forms of worship, and to leave reason to combat error.

Without a particle of cant or fanaticism, he had become a deeply religious man.  Hitherto he had been only a man of the world and a statesman, but from this time forth he began calmly to rely upon God’s providence in all the emergencies of his eventful life.  His letters written to his most confidential friends, to be read only by themselves, and which have been gazed upon by no other eyes until after the lapse of nearly three centuries, abundantly prove his sincere and simple trust.  This sentiment was not assumed for effect to delude others, but cherished as a secret support for himself.  His religion was not a cloak to his designs, but a consolation in his disasters.  In his letter of instruction to his most confidential agent, John Bazius, while he declared himself frankly in favor of the Protestant principles, he expressed his extreme repugnance to the persecution of Catholics.  “Should we obtain power over any city or cities,” he wrote, “let the communities of papists be as much respected and protected as possible.  Let them be overcome, not by violence, but with gentle-mindedness and virtuous treatment.”  After the terrible disaster at Jemmingen, he had written to Louis, consoling him, in the most affectionate language, for the unfortunate result of his campaign.  Not a word of reproach escaped from him, although his brother had conducted the operations in Friesland, after the battle of Heiliger Lee, in a manner quite contrary to his own advice.  He had counselled against a battle, and had foretold a defeat; but after the battle had been fought and a crushing defeat sustained, his language breathed only unwavering submission to the will of God, and continued confidence in his own courage.  “You may be well assured, my brother,” he wrote, “that I have never felt anything more keenly than the pitiable misfortune which has happened to you, for many reasons which you can easily imagine.  Moreover, it hinders