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 system nor subordination.