The action of the Roman government in 201 B.C. has probably attracted the notice of every student of ancient history. Within a few months of the treaty of peace with Carthage, the Senate decided that a new war was necessary, a war overseas in the East against an enemy who was not dangerous to Rome at that moment, and who, as is clear to us now, could hardly have become dangerous in the future. Such is the bare statement of the event; and if we knew everything that happened both at Rome and in the East in this critical year the event, no doubt, would no longer be surprising. But, as it is, our knowledge is defective, and perhaps fatally so. One knows that at Rome the charges of the new war made it impossible for the Treasury to pay the interest on the public debt, and that the Roman people was anxious for peace and voted against the first proposal for a war with Macedonia, facts which are in no way surprising when they are regarded as natural consequences of the long war against Carthage; but when they are considered in relation to the new war against Macedonia, they increase our bewilderment rather than diminish it. And the difficulty that is felt by modern historians is not one of modern creation.

At an International Historical Congress of some years ago, one speaker explained that, so long as Europe had possessed one Church and one learned language (the Latin), nationalism was suppressed. This dictum received both contradiction and support; but the occasion was unsuited for any but the most superficial discussion. Ever since, however, I have noted passages which seemed to bear upon this important question; and I print them here, with the minimum of comment, by way of assistance to other students who may find time and inclination to pursue the matter further. Professor Marcel Handelsman of Warsaw has surveyed the subject, in brief, with a refinement of philosophical analysis to which I make no pretence. I try to use the term nationalism consistently within my own rough limits, but without attempt at scientific definition. My main object is to present evidence for the reader's judgment, without disguising the direction in which I lean myself: evidence varying a good deal in cogency from case to case, but with variations which any careful reader can estimate. Only thus can one start any really fruitful discussion. The multiplicity of indications collected in this comparatively short time convinces me that these are no more than the merest fraction of that which might be revealed by a concentrated search; but even this fraction may be enough to give a general idea of the whole.

Philip Nye was one of the most important of the early Independents. His youthful allegiance to the cause, and his exile from 1633 to 1640 in Holland, gave him a breadth of outlook and an experience of congregational churches which effected a greater balance of his natural abilities. He has been coupled with John Goodwin as one of the most original minds among later Puritans. Returning from Holland, he soon had occasion to display his talents. As a representative to the Westminster Assembly he became one of the group of dissenting ministers which challenged the validity of the Presbyterian system of church government. The five “Holland Ministers” resisted the alien centralising policy of the Scottish Presbyterians. During the Protectorate, Nye became more prominent in ecclesiastical politics, but the Restoration forced him into the background. He died in 1672, serving an Independent church in London as its “doctor”.

The seventh chapter of Mr Kingsley Martin's admirable work, The Triumph of Lard Palmerston, is headed: “The completion of the picture (October 1853-January 1854).” But the picture is not complete. Palmerston's culminating triumph was when Sebastopol fell in September 1855: for he was then established as the unquestioned leader of the motley throng of Whigs, Peelites, and Radicals, which was about to become the Liberal party. The rise of his star naturally produced the setting of Lord John Russell's. In the 'forties, Lord John was Prime Minister and Palmerston Foreign Secretary; in the 'sixties, the positions were reversed, and Lord John was not Prime Minister again until Palmerston's death. The story of the rise of Palmerston and the decline of Lord John is long and complicated: for the statesmen were seldom rivals, and the problem cannot be solved by biographical study. The events of one short period—the first six months of 1855—none the less stand out as decisive in their careers.

“Ce clergyman laïque, obstiné et maladroit”, so Bismarck spoke of Salisbury to the French Ambassador in 1879, contrasting him with Beaconsfield, whom he thought a man of broader outlook; and we have Salisbury's testimony to Bismarck's “extraordinary penetration”. Yet, among the many difficulties that hamper an attempt to analyse the policy of Salisbury, perhaps the greatest is that there are few subjects on which he was consistent. He made almost a principle of inconsistency. “This country”, he said, “which is popularly governed, and cannot therefore be counted on to act on any uniform or consistent system of policy….” This was in April 1878 at the beginning of his first term at the Foreign Office. As so often happens circumstances strengthened his belief. His early tenures of the Foreign Secretaryship were short, and divided by a Liberal administration whose actions materially affected British policy. The whole period was crowded by movements abroad and at home which compelled adjustments of ideas. Twice, at any rate, he had not a free hand, in 1878–80 and again in 1886, for in the first case he had to reckon with Disraeli and in the other with a divided Cabinet.