new expedition was intended for Ireland, where it was supposed that the Catholics would be easily roused.  It was also hoped that the King of Scots might be induced to embrace this opportunity of wreaking vengeance on his mother’s destroyer.  “He was on the watch the last time that my armada went forth against the English,” said Philip, “and he has now no reason to do the contrary, especially if he remembers that here is a chance to requite the cruelty which was practised on his mother.”

The fleet sailed on the 5th October under the command of the Count Santa Gadea.  Its immediate destination was the coast of Ireland, where they were to find some favourable point for disembarking the troops.  Having accomplished this, the ships, with the exception of a few light vessels, were to take their departure and pass the winter in Ferrol.  In case the fleet should be forced by stress of weather on the English coast, the port of Milford Haven in Wales was to be seized, “because,” said Philip, “there are a great many Catholics there well affected to our cause, and who have a special enmity to the English.”  In case the English fleet should come forth to give battle, Philip sent directions that it was to be conquered at once, and that after the victory Milford Haven was to be firmly held.

This was easily said.  But it was not fated that this expedition should be more triumphant than that of the unconquerable armada which had been so signally conquered eight years before.  Scarcely had the fleet put to sea when it was overtaken by a tremendous storm, in which forty ships foundered with five thousand men.  The shattered remnants took refuge in Ferrol.  There the ships were to refit, and in the spring the attempt was to be renewed.  Thus it was ever with the King of Spain.  There was a placid unconsciousness on his part of defeat which sycophants thought sublime.  And such insensibility might have been sublimity had the monarch been in person on the deck of a frigate in the howling tempest, seeing ship after ship go down before his eyes; and exerting himself with tranquil energy and skill to encourage his followers, and to preserve what remained afloat from destruction.  Certainly such exhibitions of human superiority to the elements are in the highest degree inspiring.  His father had shown himself on more than one occasion the master of his fate.  The King of France, too, bare-headed, in his iron corslet, leading a forlorn hope, and, by the personal charm of his valour, changing fugitives into heroes and defeat into victory, had afforded many examples of sublime unconsciousness of disaster, such as must ever thrill the souls of mankind.  But it is more difficult to be calm in battle and shipwreck than at the writing desk; nor is that the highest degree of fortitude which enables a monarch—­himself in safety—­to endure without flinching the destruction of his fellow creatures.