destiny of what was called the new, were importunately demanding
solution. All that most influenced human passion, or stirred human
reason to its depths--at that memorable point of time when two great
epochs seemed to be sweeping against each other in elemental conflict--
was to be dealt with. The emancipated currents of human thought, the
steady tide of ancient dogma, were mingling in wrath. There are times of
paroxysm in which Nature seems to effect more in a moment, whether
intellectually or materially, than at other periods during a lapse of
years. The shock of forces, long preparing and long delayed, is apt at
last to make itself sensible to those neglectful of gradual but vital
changes. Yet there are always ears that are deaf to the most portentous
din.

Thus, after that half century of war, the policy of Spain was still
serenely planting itself on the position occupied before the outbreak of
the revolt. The commonwealth, solidly established by a free people,
already one of the most energetic and thriving among governments, a
recognised member of the great international family, was now gravely
expected to purchase from its ancient tyrant the independence which it
had long possessed, while the price demanded for the free papers was not
only extravagant, but would be disgraceful to an emancipated slave.
Holland was not likely at that turning point in her history, and in the
world's history, to be false to herself and to the great principles of
public law. It was good for the cause of humanity that the republic
should reappear at that epoch. It was wholesome for Europe that there
should be just then a plain self-governing people, able to speak homely
and important truths. It was healthy for the moral and political
atmosphere--in those days and in the time to come--that a fresh breeze
from that little sea-born commonwealth should sweep away some of the
ancient fog through which a few very feeble and very crooked mortals had