could quiet the alarms and soothe the wounded pride of
neighbouring nations.

The House of Bourbon was so situated that one year of moderation
might not improbably be rewarded by thirty years of undisputed
ascendency. Was it possible the politic and experienced Lewis
would at such a conjuncture offer a new and most galling
provocation, not only to William, whose animosity was already as
great as it could be, but to the people whom William had hitherto
been vainly endeavouring to inspire with animosity resembling his
own? How often, since the Revolution of 1688, had it seemed that
the English were thoroughly weary of the new government. And how
often had the detection of a Jacobite plot, or the approach of a
French armament, changed the whole face of things. All at once
the grumbling had ceased, the grumblers had crowded to sign loyal
addresses to the usurper, had formed associations in support of
his authority, had appeared in arms at the head of the militia,
crying God save King William. So it would be now. Most of those
who had taken a pleasure in crossing him on the question of his
Dutch guards, on the question of his Irish grants, would be moved
to vehement resentment when they learned that Lewis had, in
direct violation of a treaty, determined to force on England a
king of his own religion, a king bred in his own dominions, a
king who would be at Westminster what Philip was at Madrid, a
great feudatory of France.

These arguments were concisely but clearly and strongly urged by
Torcy in a paper which is still extant, and which it is difficult
to believe that his master can have read without great
misgivings.23 On one side were the faith of treaties, the peace