turned out of doors, along with his garrison, mostly feeble old men and
invalids. The newly arrived soldiers took their places, at command of
the Governor, and the stronghold of Namur was his own.

There was little doubt that the representative of Philip had a perfect
right to possess himself of any fortress within his government; there
could be as little that the sudden stratagem by which he had thus made
himself master of this citadel would prove offensive to the estates,
while it could hardly be agreeable to the King; and yet it is not certain
that he could have accomplished his purpose in any other way. Moreover,
the achievement was one of a projected series by which he meant to
re-vindicate his dwindling authority. He was weary of playing the
hypocrite, and convinced that he and his monarch were both abhorred by
the Netherlanders. Peace was impossible--war was forbidden him. Reduced
almost to a nullity by the Prince of Orange, it was time for him to make
a stand, and in this impregnable fastness his position at least was a
good one. Many months before, the Prince of Orange had expressed his
anxious desire that this most important town and citadel should be
secured-for the estates. "You know," he had written to Bossu in
December, "the evil and the dismay which the loss of the city and
fortress of Namur would occasion to us. Let me beseech you that all
possible care be taken to preserve them." Nevertheless, their
preservation had been entrusted to a feeble-minded old constable,
at the head of a handful of cripples.

We know how intense had been the solicitude of the Prince, not only to
secure but to destroy these citadels, "nests of tyranny," which had been
built by despots to crush, not protect, the towns at their feet. These
precautions had been neglected, and the consequences were displaying
themselves, for the castle of Namur was not the only one of which Don