If the leading statesmen of Europe, to each of whom in turn the Holy Alliance had to be submitted, did not venture to ridicule it openly, it was not so much because the document came from an imperial hand, as because they thought it involved them in difficulties of too grave a character. It was natural that Metternich and Talleyrand should hesitate to advise their sovereigns to sign such a paper; regarding it, as they did, as a mere rodomontade, with no more bearing upon practical business than a tale out of the Arabian Nights. Castlereagh’s letter to Lord Liverpool presents a vivid picture of these perplexities. He foresees that, “as Wilberforce is not yet in possession of the Great Seal,” there may be some difficulty in passing the document through the ordinary course of office; but he considerately hopes that no person will blame the Prince Regent for not refusing to sign it, “when the objection lies rather against the _excessive excellence_ than the quality and nature of the engagement.” Doubtless from their point of view the statesmen were right. The Holy Alliance was an anachronism. The world was not ready for it. It was like a spring flower which, opening ere the frosts of winter have departed, is doomed to wither in their chill ungenial breath. But the flower, though it perishes untimely, has not lived in vain. It has told its tale and borne its message. It is not only one of Nature’s unfulfilled promises, it is also one of her unconscious prophecies. In every age and season there are hints and premonitions and vague foreshadowings of that which is to follow, promises “which are written upon the heart of things.” Winter has her prophecies of spring, and spring of summer. It is the very nature of these to be abortive, or at least to bear no fruit unto perfection. In one sense they are failures, but in another they are nobler and more precious than all present successes. “The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard, The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard,-- Enough that He heard it once, we shall hear it by-and-by. _For what is our failure here but a triumph’s evidence For the fulness of the days?_”