against him. Mucio, like his evil genius, was spiriting away his
supplies just as they were reaching his hands; a threatening tempest
seemed rolling up from France; the whole population of the Provinces
which he had "reconciled"--a million of paupers--were crying to him for
bread; great commercial cities, suddenly blasted and converted into dens
of thieves and beggars, were cursing the royal author of their ruin, and
uttering wild threats against his vicegerent; there seemed, in truth,
nothing left for Alexander but to plunge headlong into destruction, when,
lo! Mr. Comptroller Croft, advancing out of the clouds, like a propitious
divinity, disguised in the garb of a foe--and the scene was changed.

The feeble old man, with his shufing, horse-trucking servant, ex-spy of
Monsieur, had accomplished more work for Philip and Alexander than many
regiments of Spaniards and Walloons could have done. The arm of
Leicester was paralyzed upon the very threshold of success. The picture
of these palace-intrigues has been presented with minute elaboration,
because, however petty and barren in appearance, they were in reality
prolific of grave results. A series of victories by Parma was
substituted for the possible triumphs of Elizabeth and the States.

The dissimulation of the Spanish court was fathomless. The secret
correspondence of the times reveals to us that its only purpose was to
deceive the Queen and her counsellors, and to gain time to prepare the
grand invasion of England and subjugation of Holland--that double purpose
which Philip could only abandon with life. There was never a thought,
on his part, of honest negotiation. On the other hand, the Queen was
sincere; Burghley and Hatton and Cobham were sincere; Croft was sincere,
so far as Spain was concerned. At least they had been sincere. In the
private and doleful dialogues between Bodman and Grafigni which we have
just been overhearing, these intriguers spoke the truth, for they could