While the Declaration was the subject of general conversation in England, military operations recommenced on the Continent.  The preparations of France had been such as amazed even those who estimated most highly her resources and the abilities of her rulers.  Both her agriculture and her commerce were suffering.  The vineyards of Burgundy, the interminable cornfields of the Beauce, had failed to yield their increase; the looms of Lyons were silent; and the merchant ships were rotting in the harbour of Marseilles.  Yet the monarchy presented to its numerous enemies a front more haughty and more menacing than ever.  Lewis had determined not to make any advance towards a reconciliation with the new government of England till the whole strength of his realm had been put forth in one more effort.  A mighty effort in truth it was, but too exhausting to be repeated.  He made an immense display of force at once on the Pyrenees and on the Alps, on the Rhine and on the Meuse, in the Atlantic and in the Mediterranean.  That nothing might be wanting which could excite the martial ardour of a nation eminently highspirited, he instituted, a few days before he left his palace for the camp, a new military order of knighthood, and placed it under the protection of his own sainted ancestor and patron.  The new cross of Saint Lewis shone on the breasts of the gentlemen who had been conspicuous in the trenches before Mons and Namur, and on the fields of Fleurus and Steinkirk; and the sight raised a generous emulation among those who had still to win an honourable fame in arms.438

In the week in which this celebrated order began to exist Middleton visited Versailles.  A letter in which he gave his friends in England an account of his visit has come down to us.439 He was presented to Lewis, was most kindly received, and was overpowered by gratitude and admiration.  Of all the wonders of the Court,—­so Middleton wrote,—­its master was the greatest.  The splendour of the great King’s personal merit threw even the splendour of his fortunes into the shade.  The language which His Most Christian Majesty held about English politics was, on the whole, highly satisfactory.  Yet in one thing this accomplished prince and his able and experienced ministers were strangely mistaken.  They were all possessed with the absurd notion that the Prince of Orange was a great man.  No pains had been spared to undeceive them; but they were under an incurable delusion.  They saw through a magnifying glass of such power that the leech appeared to them a leviathan.  It ought to have occurred to Middleton that possibly the delusion might be in his own vision and not in theirs.  Lewis and the counsellors who surrounded him were far indeed from loving William.  But they did not hate him with that mad hatred which raged in the breasts of his English enemies.  Middleton was one of the wisest and most moderate of the Jacobites.  Yet even Middleton’s judgment was so much darkened by malice that, on this subject,