Never was a more dangerous moment than this for a country to be left to its fate.
Scarcely ever in history was there a more striking exemplification of the need of a man--of an individual--who should embody the powers and wishes, and concentrate in one brain and arm, the whole energy, of a commonwealth.

But there was no such man, for the republic had lost its chief when Orange died.

There was much wisdom and patriotism now.
Olden-Barneveld was competent, and so was Buys, to direct the councils of the republic, and there were few better soldiers than Norris and Hohenlo to lead her armies against Spain.

But the supreme authority had been confided to Leicester.

He had not perhaps proved himself extraordinarily qualified for his post, but he was the governor-in-chief, and his departure, without resigning his powers, left the commonwealth headless, at a moment when singleness of action was vitally important.
At last, very late in January, one Hugh Overing, a haberdasher from Ludgate Hill, was caught at Rotterdam, on his way to Ireland, with a bundle of letters from Sir William Stanley, and was sent, as a suspicious character, to the state-council at the Hague.