On the whole, the political appearance of Germany was as menacing as that of France seemed for a time favorable to the schemes of Orange.  The quarrels of the princes, and the daily widening schism between Lutherans and Calvinists, seemed to bode little good to the cause of religious freedom.  The potentates were perplexed and at variance, the nobles lukewarm and discontented.  Among the people, although subdivided into hostile factions, there was more life.  Here, at least, were heartiness of love and hate, enthusiastic conviction, earnestness and agitation.  “The true religion,” wrote Count John, “is spreading daily among the common men.  Among the powerful, who think themselves highly learned, and who sit in roses, it grows, alas, little.  Here and there a Nicodemus or two may be found, but things will hardly go better here than in France or the Netherlands.”

Thus, then, stood affairs in the neighbouring countries.  The prospect was black in Germany, more encouraging in France, dubious, or worse, in England.  More work, more anxiety, more desperate struggles than ever, devolved upon the Prince.  Secretary Brunynck wrote that his illustrious chief was tolerably well in health, but so loaded with affairs, sorrows, and travails, that, from morning till night, he had scarcely leisure to breathe.  Besides his multitudinous correspondence with the public bodies, whose labors he habitually directed; with the various estates of the provinces, which he was gradually moulding into an organised and general resistance to the Spanish power; with public envoys and with secret agents to foreign cabinets, all of whom received their instructions from him alone; with individuals of eminence and influence, whom he was eloquently urging to abandon their hostile position to their fatherland; and to assist him in the great work which he was doing; besides these numerous avocations, he was actively and anxiously engaged during the spring of 1576, with the attempt to relieve the city of Zierickzee.

That important place, the capital of Schouwen, and the key to half Zealand, had remained closely invested since the memorable expedition to Duiveland.  The Prince had passed much of his time in the neighbourhood, during the month of May, in order to attend personally to the contemplated relief, and to correspond daily with the beleaguered garrison.  At last, on the 25th of May, a vigorous effort was made to throw in succor by sea.  The brave Admiral Boisot, hero of the memorable relief of Leyden, had charge of the expedition.  Mondragon had surrounded the shallow harbor with hulks and chains, and with a loose submerged dyke of piles and rubbish.  Against this obstacle Boisot drove his ship, the ‘Red Lion,’ with his customary audacity, but did not succeed in cutting it through.  His vessel, the largest of the feet, became entangled:  he was, at the same time, attacked from a distance by the besiegers.  The tide ebbed and left his ship aground, while the