fe and manners is fitter to drive swine
than to govern pious and honorable men."

The event justified the prophecy. After a few trifling operations before
Groningen, Hohenlo was summoned to the neighbourhood of Coewerden, by the
reported arrival of Martin Schenck, at the head of a considerable force.
On the 15th of June, the Count marched all night and a part of the follow
morning, in search of the enemy. He came up with them upon Hardenberg
Heath, in a broiling summer forenoon. His men were jaded by the forced
march, overcame with the heat, tormented with thirst, and unable to
procure even a drop of water. The royalists were fresh so that the result
of the contest was easily to be foreseen. Hohenlo's army was annihilated
in an hour's time, the whole population fled out of Coewerden, the siege
of Groningen was raised; Renneberg was set free to resume his operations
on a larger scale, and the fate of all the north-eastern provinces was
once more swinging in the wind. The boors of Drenthe and Friesland rose
again. They had already mustered in the field at an earlier season of the
year, in considerable force. Calling themselves "the desperates," and
bearing on their standard an eggshell with the yolk running out--to
indicate that, having lost the meat they were yet ready to fight for the
shell--they had swept through the open country, pillaging and burning.
Hohenlo had defeated them in two enchanters, slain a large number of
their forces, and reduced them for a time to tranquillity. His late
overthrow once more set them loose. Renneberg, always apt to be
over-elated in prosperity, as he was unduly dejected in adversity, now
assumed all the airs of a conqueror. He had hardly eight thousand men
under his orders, but his strength lay in the weakness of his
adversaries. A small war now succeeded, with small generals, small
armies, small campaigns, small sieges. For the time, the Prince of Orange
was even obliged to content himself with such a general as Hohenlo. As
usual, he was almost alone. "Donec eris felix," said he, emphatically--

"multos numerabis amicos,
Tempera cum erunt nubila, nullus erit,"

and he was this summer doomed to a still harder deprivation by the final
departure of his brother John from the Netherlands.

The Count had been wearied out by petty miseries. His stadholderate of
Gelderland had overwhelmed him with annoyance, for throughout the
north-eastern provinces there was neither s