renew his labours.  Before, however, he could act, he found himself, to his utter astonishment and mortification, paralysed by the attitude of the English Parliament.  His alarm at the accession of a Bourbon to the Spanish throne was not shared by the ruling classes in England.  They declared that they liked the Spanish King’s will better than William’s partition.  France, they argued, would gain much less by a dynastic alliance with Spain, which would exist no longer than their common interests dictated, than by the complete acquisition of the Spanish provinces in Italy.

William lost no time in summoning a new Parliament.  An overwhelming majority opposed the idea of vindicating the Partition Treaty by arms.  They pressed him to send a message of recognition to Philip V. Even the occupation of the Flemish fortresses did not change their temper.  That, they said, was the affair of the Dutch; it did not concern England.  In vain William tried to convince them that the interests of the two Protestant States were identical.  In the numerous pamphlets that wore hatched by the ferment, it was broadly insinuated that the English people might pay too much for the privilege of having a Dutch King, who had done nothing for them that they could not have done for themselves, and who was perpetually sacrificing the interests of his adopted country to the necessities of his beloved Holland.  What had England gained by the Peace of Ryswick?  Was England to be dragged into another exhausting war, merely to secure a strong frontier for the Dutch?  The appeal found ready listeners among a people in whose minds the recollections of the last war were still fresh, and who still felt the burdens it had left behind.  William did not venture to take any steps to form an alliance against France, till a new incident emerged to shake the country from its mood of surly calculation.  When James II. died and Louis recognised the Pretender as King of England, all thoughts of isolation from a Continental confederacy were thrown to the winds.  William dissolved his Long Parliament, and found the new House as warlike as the former had been peaceful.  “Of all the nations in the world,” cried Defoe, in commenting on this sudden change of mood, “there is none that I know of so entirely governed by their humour as the English.”

For ten months Defoe had been vehemently but vainly striving to accomplish by argument what had been wrought in an instant by the French King’s insufferable insult.  It is one of the most brilliant periods of his political activity.  Comparatively undistinguished before, he now, at the age of forty, stepped into the foremost rank of publicists.  He lost not a moment in throwing himself into the fray as the champion of the king’s policy.  Charles of Spain died on the 22nd of October, 1701; by the middle of November, a few days after the news had reached England, and before the French King’s resolve to acknowledge the legacy was known, Defoe was ready with a pamphlet