Netherlands. The result was the preparation of the celebrated memoir,
under Coligny's directions, by young De Mornay, Seigneur de Plessis.
The document was certainly not a paper of the highest order. It did not
appeal to the loftier instincts which kings or common mortals might be
supposed to possess. It summoned the monarch to the contest in the
Netherlands that the ancient injuries committed by Spain might be
avenged. It invoked the ghost of Isabella of France, foully murdered, as
it was thought, by Philip. It held out the prospect of re-annexing the
fair provinces, wrested from the King's ancestors by former Spanish
sovereigns. It painted the hazardous position of Philip; with the
Moorish revolt gnawing at the entrails of his kingdom, with the Turkish
war consuming its extremities, with the canker of rebellion corroding
the very heart of the Netherlands. It recalled, with exultation, the
melancholy fact that the only natural and healthy existence of the
French was in a state of war--that France, if not occupied with foreign
campaigns, could not be prevented from plunging its sword into its own
vitals.

It indulged in refreshing reminiscences of those halcyon days, not long
gone by, when France, enjoying perfect tranquillity within its own
borders, was calmly and regularly carrying on its long wars beyond the
frontier.

In spite of this savage spirit, which modern documents, if they did not
scorn, would, at least have shrouded, the paper was nevertheless a
sagacious one; but the request for the memoir, and the many interviews on
the subject of the invasion, were only intended to deceive. They were
but the curtain which concealed the preparations for the dark tragedy
which was about to be enacted. Equally deceived, and more sanguine than
ever, Louis Nassau during this period was indefatigable in his attempts