hy
to be left in repose in hallowed ground. There was scarcely, perhaps
another Catholic prince who would have hesitated to comply. But Charles
was one of nature's gentlemen. He answered, 'I war not with the dead.'"
Mr. Motley takes a less charitable view of the great Emperor. His
generous indignation against all persecutors makes him severe; and in
one of his earlier volumes, while speaking of the famous edicts for the
suppression of heresy in the Netherlands, he somewhere uses the word
"murder." Without attempting to palliate the crime of persecution, I
doubt if it is quite fair to Charles to call him a murderer. We must not
forget that persecution, now rightly deemed an atrocious crime, was once
really considered by some people a sacred duty; that it was none other
than the compassionate Isabella who established the Spanish Inquisition;
and that the "bloody" Mary Tudor was a woman who would not wilfully have
done wrong. With the progress of civilization the time will doubtless
come when warfare, having ceased to be necessary, will be thought highly
criminal; yet it will not then be fair to hold Marlborough or Wellington
accountable for the lives lost in their great battles. We still live in
an age when war is, to the imagination of some persons, surrounded with
false glories; and the greatest of modern generals [32] has still many
undiscriminating admirers. Yet the day is no less certainly at hand
when the edicts of Charles V. will be deemed a more pardonable offence
against humanity than the wanton march to Moscow.

[32] This was written before the deeds of Moltke had eclipsed
those of Napoleon.

Philip II. was different from his father in capacity as a drudging
clerk, like Boutwell, is different from a brilliant financier like
Gladstone. In organization he differed from him as a boor differs from a
gentleman. He seemed made of a coarser clay. The difference between
them is well indicated by their tastes at the table. Both were terrible
gluttons, a fact which puritanic criticism might set down as equally
to the discredit of each of them. But even in intemperance there are
degrees of refinement, and the impartial critic of life and manners will
no doubt say that if one must get drunk, let it be on Chateau Margaux
rather than on commissary whiskey. Pickled partridges, plump capons,
syrups of fruits, delicate pastry, and rare fish went to make up the
diet of Charles in his last days at Yuste. But the beastly Philip