tions. Hence Spain emerged to greatness without the
least dream of liberty of either person, conscience or thought. Her
rallying cry was: For the Prince and the Church; not, For God and
Liberty. She went up to greatness the most loyal and the most
religious of nations; but Liberty, Justice and Truth were not upon her
banners.

Look over the territory settled and conquered by her, and what do we
see? Columbus, sailing under Spain, names the first land he discovers
San Salvador; the first settlement made in this country is St.
Augustine; the second, Sante Fe. Look down over the southern half of
our continent and such names as Espirito Santo, Corpus Christi, San
Diego, San Juan, San Jose, San Domingo attest the religious zeal of
the conquerors. They were missionaries of the Cross, robbing the
people of their gold and paying them off with religion.

Steadfast in the faith and sturdy in her loyalty, Spain resisted all
innovations with respect to her religious beliefs, and all
insurrections against her government. Her Alva and her Torquemada but
illustrated how strong was her conservatism, while her Isabella and
her Philip II show how grand and comprehensive and how persistent was
her aggressiveness, under the idea of spreading and upholding the true
faith. She not only meant to hold all she had of wealth and power, but
she aspired to universal dominion; already chief, she desired to be
sole, and this in the interest and name of the Holy Church.

The Reformation did not disturb Spain; it was crushed out within
twenty years. The spirit of liberty that had been growing in England
since Bosworth's Field, and that was manifesting itself in Germany and
the Netherlands, and that had begun to quiver even in France, did not
dare stir itself in Spain. Spain was united, or rather, was solidity
itself, and this solidity was both its strength and its death. England
was not so united, and England went steadily onward and upward; but
Spain's unity destroyed her, because it practically destroyed
individualism and presented the strange paradox of a strong nation of
weak men.

As a machine Spain in the sixteenth century was a marvel of power; as
an aggregation of thinking men, it was even then contemptible.
Ferdinand, Charles V and Philip II were able and illustrious rulers,
and they appeared at a time when their several characters could tell
on the immediate fortunes of Spain. They were warriors, and the nation
was entirely warlike. Dur