extensive property the kingdoms of France, of England, and Ireland.  The Holy League, maintained by the sword of Guise, the pope’s ban, Spanish ducats, Italian condottieri, and German mercenaries, was to exterminate heresy and establish the Spanish dominion in France.  The same machinery, aided by the pistol or poniard of the assassin, was to substitute for English protestantism and England’s queen the Roman Catholic religion and a foreign sovereign.  “The holy league,” said Duplessis-Mornay, one of the noblest characters of the age, “has destined us all to the name sacrifice.  The ambition of the Spaniard, which has overleaped so many lands and seas, thinks nothing inaccessible.”

The Netherland revolt had therefore assumed world-wide proportions.  Had it been merely the rebellion of provinces against a sovereign, the importance of the struggle would have been more local and temporary.  But the period was one in which the geographical land-marks of countries were almost removed.  The dividing-line ran through every state, city, and almost every family.  There was a country which believed in the absolute power of the church to dictate the relations between man and his Maker, and to utterly exterminate all who disputed that position.  There was another country which protested against that doctrine, and claimed, theoretically or practically, a liberty of conscience.  The territory of these countries was mapped out by no visible lines, but the inhabitants of each, whether resident in France, Germany, England, or Flanders, recognised a relationship which took its root in deeper differences than those of race or language.  It was not entirely a question of doctrine or dogma.  A large portion of the world had become tired of the antiquated delusion of a papal supremacy over every land, and had recorded its determination, once for all, to have done with it.  The transition to freedom of conscience became a necessary step, sooner or later to be taken.  To establish the principle of toleration for all religions was an inevitable consequence of the Dutch revolt; although thus far, perhaps only one conspicuous man in advance of his age had boldly announced that doctrine and had died in its defence.  But a great true thought never dies—­though long buried in the earth—­and the day was to come, after long years, when the seed was to ripen into a harvest of civil and religious emancipation, and when the very word toleration was to sound like an insult and an absurdity.

A vast responsibility rested upon the head of a monarch, placed as Philip ii. found himself, at this great dividing point in modern history.  To judge him, or any man in such a position, simply from his own point of view, is weak and illogical.  History judges the man according to its point of view.  It condemns or applauds the point of view itself.  The point of view of a malefactor is not to excuse robbery and murder.  Nor is the spirit of the age to be pleaded in defence of the evil-doer at a