From the day on which the emancipation of our literature was accomplished, the purification of our literature began.  That purification was effected, not by the intervention of senates or magistrates, but by the opinion of the great body of educated Englishmen, before whom good and evil were set, and who were left free to make their choice.  During a hundred and sixty years the liberty of our press has been constantly becoming more and more entire; and during those hundred and sixty years the restraint imposed on writers by the general feeling of readers has been constantly becoming more and more strict.  At length even that class of works in which it was formerly thought that a voluptuous imagination was privileged to disport itself, love songs, comedies, novels, have become more decorous than the sermons of the seventeenth century.  At this day foreigners, who dare not print a word reflecting on the government under which they live, are at a loss to understand how it happens that the freest press in Europe is the most prudish.

On the tenth of October, the King, leaving his army in winter quarters, arrived in England, and was received with unwonted enthusiasm.  During his passage through the capital to his palace, the bells of every church were ringing, and every street was lighted up.  It was late before he made his way through the shouting crowds to Kensington.  But, late as it was, a council was instantly held.  An important point was to be decided.  Should the House of Commons be permitted to sit again, or should there be an immediate dissolution?  The King would probably have been willing to keep that House to the end of his reign.  But this was not in his power.  The Triennial Act had fixed the twenty-fifth of March as the latest day of the existence of the Parliament.  If therefore there were not a general election in 1695, there must be a general election in 1696; and who could say what might be the state of the country in 1696?  There might be an unfortunate campaign.  There might be, indeed there was but too good reason to believe that there would be, a terrible commercial crisis.  In either case, it was probable that there would be much ill humour.  The campaign of 1695 had been brilliant; the nation was in an excellent temper; and William wisely determined to seize the fortunate moment.  Two proclamations were immediately published.  One of them announced, in the ordinary form, that His Majesty had determined to dissolve the old Parliament and had ordered writs to be issued for a new Parliament.  The other proclamation was unprecedented.  It signified the royal pleasure to be that every regiment quartered in a place where an election was to be held should march out of that place the day before the nomination, and should not return till the people had made their choice.  From this order, which was generally considered as indicating a laudable respect for popular rights, the garrisons of fortified towns and castles were necessarily excepted.