Sir Francis Head is a bold man. When the cry for economy and retrenchment, arising out of the straightened circumstances of the nation, is at its loudest, he has ventured to argue the proposition—once admitted as a truism, but now apparently denied by many—that there are national duties, of surpassing magnitude, which must be undertaken and fulfilled irrespective of pecuniary considerations, if we intend to preserve this country, not simply from a diminution of its greatness, but from the imminent danger of invasion and of hostile occupation. His courage is not lessened by the fact that, in maintaining that axiom, he is fortified by the practical testimony, without any exception whatever, of all our greatest living military and naval authorities; his boldness is not less notable because the Duke of Wellington, Sir John Burgoyne, Admiral Bowes, Admiral Sir Thomas Cochrane, Sir Charles Napier, Captain Plunkett, and others, have year after year protested against the insufficiency of our national defences; and demonstrated that, under the present system, and with the inadequate force at our disposal, we could not, in the event of a rupture with France, calculate on maintaining the inviolability of the British coast, or the security of our capital, London. He is a bold man, and a man of moral courage, because he has ventured once more to stem the tide of popular prejudice and clamour; to expose himself to the sneers of the unthinking, the foolish, and the ignorant, and to the insolent imputations of the professional agitator and demagogue. The individual who was base enough to insult the gray hairs and honoured age of the first soldier of the world, was not likely to refrain from vituperation in the case of a humbler antagonist; and, accordingly, we are not in the least degree surprised to observe, that, at a late meeting in Wrexham, this person, Cobden, who three years ago insinuated that the Duke of Wellington was a dotard, has now turned his battery of coarse abuse against Sir Francis Head.[65]

We have, fortunately, something else to do than to answer the wretched calumniator. We consider it our bounden duty, in so far as we can, to recommend to our readers the exceedingly able and temperate work of Sir Francis Head, which not only embraces all that can be said upon the topic in the way of abstract argument, but exhibits in the clearest form, and from the most authentic sources, the amount of foreign military and naval preparation, at the present moment, as contrasted with our own. It is, we think, a most timely and needful warning, which every one will do well to consider, not in a rash or hasty manner, but calmly, deliberately, and dispassionately, with reference to his own individual interests, and to those of the nation at large. The question, as it now presents itself to our notice, is not one of peace or war. The most zealous peace-monger alive need not be ashamed of adopting the conclusions or seconding the suggestions of the writer. The question, as put by Sir Francis Head, is simply this,—Are we, or are we not, supposing us to become involved in hostilities with France, in a condition successfully to resist all attempts at invasion?

Of course there are several considerations collateral and connected with this. Military and naval establishments being, in effect, the insurance which we pay against the risk of invasion, the risk must be calculated in order to ascertain the amount. Only in one respect the parallel does not hold good between national and private insurance. A man may insure his premises or his life inadequately, and yet he or his representatives will be entitled to recover something. In the case of a nation, inadequate insurance is really equivalent to none. Either the insurance is good altogether, and fully adequate to the risk, or it need not have been effected at all. Therefore, in estimating this matter of sufficiency of defence, we must attempt to ascertain, as clearly as can be done by human foresight, aided by past experience, the amount of possible danger. This is unquestionably a most intricate consideration, yet no one can deny its importance.

It is a very simple matter for those who have never turned their attention to the state of Great Britain, as one great military and naval power surrounded by others, to treat with entire contempt the idea of any possibility of invasion. We have no doubt that a large proportion of the British nation consider themselves at this moment invincible. It is quite natural that this should be the case. We have accustomed ourselves, in consequence of the result of the last war, to look upon British prowess as something absolutely indomitable. The issue of Waterloo has wiped away all memory of the disastrous retreat to Corunna. We remember Trafalgar with pride, and forget that even in naval matters we found our match in the American. The flag of England has not always been supreme on the seas, or even in her own estuaries. Little more than a century and a half has elapsed since a Dutch fleet entered the Thames without resistance, burned the shipping in the Medway, and held Chatham at its mercy. But the present generation knows little about those things, and is disposed to limit its recollections to comparatively recent events. Nor are even these viewed fairly and fully. We are content to take the catastrophe as the measure of the whole. We overlook the disasters, loss, misery, and bloodshed, which our former state of bad preparation entailed upon the nation, and we will not listen to the testimony of the great living witness—still happily spared to us—when he raises his voice to warn us against wilfully incurring a repetition of the same, or the infliction of worse calamities. Not even by tradition do our common people know anything of the horrors of foreign and invasive war. Of all the European nations we are incomparably the least warlike in our ideas and our habits. Our population knows nothing of military training, is wholly unaccustomed to the use of arms. A few muskets in the hands of a few old pensioners have been found sufficient to overawe and disperse the most infuriated mob. And yet we are told to consider ourselves, and do in part believe it, as capable of resisting any attempt at organised military invasion, at a moment's notice, notwithstanding the enormous numerical inferiority of the whole disciplined troops which we could summon from all parts of the kingdom, to even a fractional part of the force which could easily be brought against us!

Assuredly we have no reason or wish to undervalue the greatness of English courage. That quality alone will turn the scale when the match is otherwise equal. Our wild and rude ancestors, who opposed the landing of the legions of CÆsar, were certainly not one whit inferior in courage or in strength to their descendants, and yet those qualities could not save them from being utterly routed by the discipline of the Italian invaders. It may be questioned whether, in the case of a sudden emergency, the British population at the present day could offer so formidable a resistance to a regularly disciplined force. The odds are that they could not. The aboriginal British tribes, like our Highlanders in last century, were trained to the use of arms, however simple, and versed in some kind of tactics, however rude. They knew how to stand by each other, and they were not terrified by the sight of blood. Whereas the modern operative, suddenly summoned from the factory to take his place as a national defender, would be of all creatures the most incompetent and helpless. To mount a horse, or rather, to guide a horse when he had mounted it, would be to him a thing impossible. He would as lieve thrust his hand into the flames as attempt to fire a cannon. His ideas as to the distinction between the but-end and the muzzle of a musket are so extremely indefinite, that you might as well arm him at once with a boomerang; and the odds are, that, in masticating a cartridge, he would consider it part of his duty to swallow the ball. Or, supposing that his piece is adequately loaded and primed, what is the betting that he does not bring down a comrade instead of disabling an enemy? A random shot strikes the midriff of Higgins, who has just patriotically rushed from the manufacture of domestics to do his duty on the battle-field. He falls gasping in his gore; and Simpkins, who is his right-hand man, grows pale as death, and is off in the twinkling of a billy-roller. A single bivouac, on a frosty night, would send half the awkward squad to the hospital shivering with ague. Those who had previously pinned their faith on Hogarth's caricature of the spindle-shanked Frenchman toasting frogs on the point of his rapier, would speedily discover their mistake at the apparition of the grim, bearded, and bronzed veterans of Algeria, armed to the teeth, and inflamed with that creditable "morale," of which so much has been said, but which resolves itself simply into a burning desire for vengeance on "perfidious Albion." They would then begin, though rather late, to perceive the advantages of preparation, discipline, and science, and bitterly to regret that they had turned a deaf ear so long to the warnings of wisdom and experience. Discipline is as powerful now, in strategy, as it was nineteen hundred years ago. The cotton-clad Briton would not be one whit more able to repel invasion than his remote skin-clad progenitor. And as for a leader, are we liable to the charge of prejudice when we aver that we would rather march to combat under the guidance of a Caractacus than that of a Cobden?

But is there any chance of an invasion? We reply—that depends in a great measure upon the extent of our actual preparation. If it is known abroad, and notorious, that we have made our citadel impregnable, the probabilities of any such attempt are extremely lessened. If, on the contrary, we are manifestly unable to resist aggression, we do unquestionably increase our risk to an enormous degree. Which of us can calculate on our escaping from the embroilment of war, in the present distracted state of European politics, for a year, or even for a month? The last time we approached this subject of the national defences was towards the commencement of the year 1848, when Cobden was attempting to preach down military establishments. Our readers may recollect the arguments which he used at that time. He represented that the whole world was at profound peace and tranquillity; that the nations were thinking of nothing else but relaxation of tariffs, and the interchange of calicoes and corn; that men were a great deal too wise ever again to appeal to the rude arbitration of the sword—and much more trash of a similar nature, which seemed to give intense delight to his cultivated Manchester audience. We considered it necessary to tie him up to the halberts, and gave him a castigation which to this hour he writhingly remembers. We pointed out then the utter absurdity of his notion, that Free-trade was to supersede Christianity as a controller of the passions of mankind; and we insisted that, so far from real tranquillity being established on the Continent, it was "quite possible that France may yet have to undergo another dynastic convulsion." What followed? Before the number of the Magazine which contains that paper was published, the Revolution broke out in France, and extended itself over more than half the Continent. It is not yet completed, or anything like completed—it is resolving itself into war, the natural and inevitable sequence of all such revolutions. Hitherto we have kept out of it by good fortune, if not by dexterous management. But our escape was a very narrow one. Once we were so very near a rupture, that the French ambassador was recalled from St James's, and the Russian ambassador just about to retire. Was there no danger then? Who that regards the political aspects abroad, will give us a guarantee that some new emergency may not arise, involving a casus belli, from some circumstance almost as trivial and insignificant as the claims of Don Pacifico? His Holiness the Pope, in return for Mintonian advice and Whig support, has been pleased to prefer a spiritual claim over the British dominions—how if France, rather at a loss for some enterprise abroad to sustain her government at home, should take a fancy for a new crusade, and determine on backing, by temporal artillery, the less dangerous thunders of the Vatican?

But France, say Cobden and his crew, does not desire war. Cobden is a precious expositor of the cabinet councils of France! What took the French to Rome? What is taking them at this moment to the eastern frontier? Not the dread of invasion, we may be sure; for the unhappy states of Germany have quite enough business on hand to settle among themselves, without attempting to push westward. France may not, indeed, desire war in the abstract, but war may become a political necessity for France; and we think that we can discern symptoms which indicate that the necessity must soon arrive. Once unsettle a nation, as France has been unsettled, and there is no security for its neighbours. France is at this time nominally a republic, practically a military despotism. Military despotism is always, sooner or later, compelled to support itself by aggression. It gets rid of the contending elements within by giving them a foreign outlet; for, if it did not do so, it must in the end inevitably succumb to anarchy. These things may not be known in the mills, or familiar to men whose intellect is beneath that of the aggregate average of ganders; but they are nevertheless true, and all history confirms them.

We therefore think that—looking to the present state of the Continent and its political relations, the hostile jealousy of some states, and the extreme instability of others—there is anything but reason to predict the return of a settled European peace. The first act of the drama may have been played, but the whole piece is not yet nearly concluded. If we are right in this, what are the chances that we escape, whilst the other nations are contending? Extremely small. Now, is there any man (except Cobden) silly enough to suppose, that, in the event of further and more serious hostilities occurring on the Continent, we should be able to escape from embroilment, on the ground that we have not sufficient forces in Great Britain to protect the integrity of our shores? If there exist any such individual, let him go back to his Æsop, and he will find various illustrations bearing strongly upon the subject. It is no difficult matter for the strong to pick a quarrel with the weak. Our monstrous and almost insane position is this, that, with all the elements of strength existing abundantly among ourselves, we have obstinately resolved not to call them forth, so as to prepare for any emergency, or for any contingency whatever.

Cobden's opinion is, that the governments cannot go to war, because the people will not let them. Does the prophet of Baal allude to Russia, Austria, Prussia, or France? We presume it will not be held that these states fortify that opinion. If not, to what governments and what people does he allude? The truth is, that he is possessed by the most monstrous hallucination which ever beset a human brain. He believes that the population of Europe are so enamoured of his flimsy rags as to be ready to sacrifice everything for the privilege of putting them next their skins, and that no government dare interpose between them and that most inestimable luxury. Whereas, in reality, Manchester and its products are detested, both by governments and people, from one end of Europe to the other. Why it should be so is not in the least degree perplexing. Every nation (except perhaps our own, which is for the present labouring under a most miserable delusion) has the natural wish to protect and foster its internal industry. A purely agricultural state is necessarily a very poor one—it is the mixture of agriculture and manufactures which tends to create wealth. Our neighbours on the Continent are doing all in their power to promote manufactures, and we have helped them to attain their object by allowing a free export of machinery. They have not the slightest intention of permitting that portion of their capital, which is already invested in manufactures, to be destroyed by submitting to the operation of Free Trade; so, very wisely, they take advantage of our open ports to get rid of their superfluous agricultural produce, whilst they continue or augment their duties upon the articles of manufacture which we export. Not a man of them would break his heart if every mill in Manchester were burned to the ground to-morrow, nor would they subscribe one kreutzer for the benefit of the afflicted sufferers. Such is their feeling and their policy even in time of peace; in time of war they are somewhat apt to clap on an entire embargo.

The governments, however, are going to war, and at war, notwithstanding all that can be said or written to the contrary; nor have we been able to discover that the people—at least that portion of the people which, in time of tumult, is the most influential—has manifested the slightest indisposition to push matters to extremity. The small still voice of Elihu Burritt has failed to tranquillise the roar of conflict in Denmark and the Holstein Duchies. It may possibly be matter of wonder to some folks that all national quarrels are not instantly submitted to the arbitration of a peripatetic blacksmith, or an equally ubiquitous cotton-spinner. Oliver Dain, more popularly designated Le Diable, had once a good deal to say in matters of state, though his avowed function was only that of a barber, and it may be that the Peace Congress set considerable store by that notable precedent. We, however, are not ashamed to confess that our faith is small in the efficacy of the Columbian Vulcan. Mars, we suspect, will prove too much for him in the present instance, and escape the entanglement of the net. Seriously, we apprehend that there is less to fear from the deliberate intentions of governments, than from the inflamed passions of the people. At all events the two co-operate, and must co-operate in producing war; and public opinion in this country, as to the propriety of maintaining peace, is of as little effect or practical use, owing to our notorious weakness, as the sighing of the summer wind.

Such being the signs of conflict abroad, the next consideration is, how are we affected by them—or rather, what course ought we to pursue in the present distracted state of European politics? We think that common-sense dictates the answer—we ought to prepare ourselves against every possible emergency. We do not know from what quarter the danger may come, or how soon; but the horizon is murky enough around us to give warning of no common peril. What should we think of the commander of a vessel who, at the evident approach of a storm, made no preparation for it? Yet such is, in truth, at the present time, the fatuous conduct of our rulers. They have been advised by the best and most experienced pilot of their danger, and yet they will do nothing. They are drifting on as heedlessly as if the breeze were moderate, no reefs ahead, and no scud visible in the sky.

We have said that we do not know from what quarter the danger may come. There is, however, one quarter from which we may, legitimately enough, apprehend danger; and that not only on the score of most tempting opportunity, but because from it we have, ere now, been threatened under circumstances of greater difficulty. The meditated invasion of England by France, under Napoleon, ought not to be effaced from the recollection of the British people. We were then infinitely better prepared to resist such an attempt than we are now. We had troops and levies in abundance, a large and powerful navy, manned by experienced sailors, and full intimation of the design; whilst, on the other hand, the French were deficient in shipping, and, what is even more material, unassisted by that wonderful agent steam, which has made the crossing of the Channel in a few hours, despite of contrary winds, a matter of absolute certainty. Because that expedition failed, is it a fair conclusion—as we have seen it argued in the public journals—that another expedition, aided by that science which has reduced the intervening arm of the sea to a mere ditch or moat, must also necessarily fail? We cannot understand such reasoning. It is allowed by all military and naval men who have studied the subject, or written upon it—and we confess that, in a matter of this kind, we should prefer eminent professional opinions to the mere dicta of a journalist, or the sweeping assertions of a civilian—that a French army could now, by the aid of steam, be ferried across the Channel without encountering the tremendous opposition of a fleet. If that be admitted, then invasion becomes clearly practicable, and the next consideration is its probability.

It is always instructive to know what is going on on the other side of the Channel. It is no Paul Pry curiosity which prompts us to inquire into the proceedings of our eccentric neighbours; for, somehow or other, we very frequently find them swayed in their actions either by our example or our position. And, in order to prosecute this inquiry, we shall make room for Sir Francis Head, and accept such information as he can give us:—

"There is often so much empty bluster in mere words, that, if there existed no more positive proof of danger than the statements, arguments and threats above quoted, we might perhaps, in the name of 'economy,' reasonably dismiss them to the winds. The following evidence will, however, show that the French nation, notwithstanding the violence of the political storms which have lately assailed them, and notwithstanding the difference of opinion that has convulsed them, have throughout the whole period of their afflictions, and under almost every description of government, steadily, unceasingly, and at vast cost, been making preparations for performing what for more than half a century they have THREATENED—namely, the invasion of England.

"Extracts from the correspondence of the Times, described as from 'an Officer of Experience in our own Service.'—(See Times, September 10, 1850.)

"'Cherbourg, Saturday night.

"'The spectacle of to-day was perhaps one of the most splendid of its kind that has been ever witnessed. Nothing short of the terrible glories of actual warfare could have exceeded it; and, without being an alarmist, I may safely say that the effect made on the mind of an Englishman by such a display of force and power on the part of an ally who has been our bitterest foe in times gone by, in a port almost impregnable, and within a few hours' sail of the shores of Great Britain, was not calculated to put him at ease.'

"'Cherbourg, Monday, Sept. 10.

"'There are not many Englishmen who know that, within less than sixty-six miles of Portsmouth, there is a French port in which the most extensive works have been for years carried on, till nature has given way to the resources of skill and infinite art, and the sea and land, alike overcome, have yielded to our ancient foe one great naval entrepot,—placed in a direct line with our greatest dockyards, fortified at an enormous cost, till it is impregnable to everything but desperate daring and lucky hardihood, increasing day after day in force and power, accessible from every point of the compass and at all states of the tide to a friendly fleet, capable of crushing beneath an almost irresistible fire the most formidable of hostile armaments—in a word, "the eye to watch and the arm to strike the ancient enemy." There is no geographical necessity for such a port opposite to our coast. The commerce of France does not need it. Our neighbours may well remark that they are justified in protecting a place which has already felt the force of our arms, and that they are bound to protect Cherbourg from such a contingency as that which occurred in the last century, when Admiral Bligh laid it in ruins. But Admiral Bligh would not have attacked Cherbourg had it not been a menacing warlike station; and, talk as they may, there can be no doubt that the whole of these immense works are prepared for a war with England, and with England alone. When I say this, of course I do not mean to say that France will take any unjust advantage of her position; but we ought not to shut our eyes to the fact that such a place is within seven or eight hours' sail of England; and that a French fleet leaving it in the evening with a leading wind could be off Portsmouth next morning, and could bombard any of our towns on the southern coast.

"On the above graphic description, the editor of the Times offered to the country the following just remarks:—

"'It is impossible to forget—perhaps, without the slightest imputation on our neighbours' good-will, we may say it was not intended we should forget—that the fleet which issued, in such magnificent style, from behind the Cherbourg breakwater, might some day sail straight across the Channel; that those heavy guns might all be pointed in anger; and that each of the black rakish-looking steamers might throw a thousand men on a hostile shore without warning given or suspicion raised. Such a suggestion cannot be thought out of place or ill-timed, for doings of this kind are the very vocation of the vessels paraded before us. If guns were not meant to be fired, or steamers to be employed for transport, there would be no use in manufacturing either one or the other. From the extent of our liabilities we may measure our precautions; and it is undoubtedly not advisable that we should be without the wherewithal to receive such visitors as might possibly be some day despatched from Cherbourg. The point is certainly a brave one for the economists, who will appeal to the folly thus probably exemplified of nations urging each other forward in the ruinous race of public expenditure. The argument sounds very plausible, but it is, in plain truth, impractical.'

"Lastly, during England's late disagreement with France and Russia on the subject of Greece, after the French Ambassador had left this country, and while the Russian Ambassador was ready to leave it also, the Times, without creating the smallest excitement throughout the country, informed its readers of two ominous facts, namely—

"1st, That, during the said discussion, France was increasing her number of seamen.

"2d, That, as soon as the foresaid discussion ended, they were dismissed."

We regret to observe that, since then, the Times seems to have changed its tone on this very important subject, and it now regards the preparation necessary to insure the security of England as too costly for the object proposed. This is a novel view, even in ethics. We have been taught that it was our duty, in case of necessity, to expose even our lives in defence of our country; and we do hope that there are some among us who still adhere to that noble lesson. No such sacrifice is required just now. All that is demanded—and demanded it ought to be, not by isolated writers, or even high and competent authorities, but by the general voice of the nation—is, that our navy should be put upon an efficient footing—that the Admiralty should be reformed, and no chief of it appointed who is not conversant with the details of the service of which he is selected as the head—that no other Minto should be allowed to make his high maritime office the source of family patronage—that a ready and constant supply of skilled and experienced seamen should be secured—and that the vast expenditure lavished on our ships should not be rendered nugatory for want of hands to man them adequately when launched. Furthermore, we require that the standing force of our army at home should be so augmented as to render it certain that, in any sudden emergency, we may not have to depend upon the voluntary efforts of a panic-stricken and undisciplined mob. We have already spoken of the chances of our being involved in war, and also of the possibility of an invasion: let us now examine what amount of disposable forces we have ready, in the event of such a terrible emergency. Our muster-roll, inferior certainly to the Homeric catalogue, is as follows:—In Great Britain and Ireland we have precisely 61,848 regular enlisted soldiers of all departments of the service! Of these, 24,000 are stationed in Ireland alone, whence, in the event of the occurrence of any disturbance, they could scarcely be withdrawn; so that the whole defensible force of England and of Scotland is reduced to rather less than 38,000 soldiers! That number would hardly be doubled were we to add the whole of the pensioners, more or less worn out, the corps of yeomanry, and the half-drilled workmen of the dockyards: and with this force some of us are content to await invasion; whilst others, more reckless still, are even clamouring for its reduction! Farther, as if we were resolved to push on folly to the furthest extreme, the drawing of the militia has been, by Act of Parliament, suspended; so that even that slender thread, which in some degree connected the civilian with the military service, has been broken. This is the bare naked truth, with which foreigners are perfectly well acquainted, and which they will continue to bear in mind, notwithstanding our attempts to amuse them, with glass-houses and gigantic toy-shops.

What would not the elder Buonaparte have given to find us in such a state! Very far, indeed, are we from imagining that the present President of the French Republic bears any personal ill-will to this country, wherein he has met with much hospitality; but, giving him the utmost credit for amicable dispositions and pacific intentions, we cannot forget the peculiarity of the position which he occupies, or the varied influences which control him. However we may wish to believe the contrary, it is certain that France regards herself rather as the rival than as the ally of England. It cannot, indeed, be otherwise. France has recollections, not of the most soothing kind, which no lapse of time has been able to efface; and these will infallibly, when an opportunity occurs, regulate her future conduct.

And how stands France at this moment with regard to military preparation? Observe—there is no enemy threatening her from without. Of all states in Europe she is the least likely to be attacked. Yet we find her available force as follows:—

We need not dwell on the disproportion which is apparent here; indeed, our whole task is one from which we would most willingly have been held excused. It is not pleasant either to note or to reiterate the undoubted fact of our weakness; and yet what help is there, when purblind demagogues are allowed by senseless clamour to drown the accents of a voice still speaking to us from the verge of the grave? Let Sir Francis Head illustrate this point, and may his words sink deep in the heart of an unwise generation.

"Why, we ask, have the Duke of Wellington's repeated prayers, supplications, admonitions, and warnings "to various Administrations," and through the press to the British people, been so utterly disregarded? Without offering one word of adulation—we have personally no reason to do so—we cannot but observe, that no problem in science, no theory, important or unimportant, has ever been more, thoroughly investigated than the character of the Duke of Wellington by his fellow-countrymen.

"During the spring and summer of his life, the attention of the British nation followed consecutively each movement of his career in India, Portugal, Spain, Denmark, the Low Countries, France, and latterly in the senate. In the autumn of his life, the secret springs which had caused his principal military movements, as well as his diplomatic arrangements, were unveiled by the publication of despatches, letters, and notes, official as well as private, which without palliation or comment developed the reasons,—naked as they were born,—upon which he had acted, on the spur of the moment, in the various predicaments in which he had been placed. In the winter of his life, bent by age, but with faculties matured rather than impaired by time, it has been his well-known practice, almost at the striking of the clock, to appear in his place in the House of Lords, ready not only to give any reasonable explanations that might be required of him, but to disclose his opinions and divulge his counsel on subjects of the highest importance. Every word he has uttered in public has been recorded; many of his private observations have been repeated; his answers to applications of every sort have usually appeared in print; even his "F.M." epigrammatic notes to tradesmen and others, almost as rapidly as they were written, have not only been published, but in one or two instances have actually been sold by auction. Wherever he walks, rides, or travels, he is observed; in short, there never has existed in any country a public servant whose conduct throughout his whole life has been more scrupulously watched, or whose sayings and doings have by himself been more guilelessly submitted to investigation. The result has been that monuments and inscriptions in various parts of London, of the United Kingdom, and throughout our colonial empire, testify the opinion entertained in his favour; and yet although in the Royal Palace, in both Houses of Parliament, at public meetings, and in private society, every opportunity seems to be taken to express unbounded confidence in his military judgment, sagacity, experience, integrity and simplicity of character, yet in our Legislature, in the Queen's Government, as well as throughout the country, there has for many years existed, and there still exists, an anomaly which foreigners observe with utter astonishment, and which history will not fail to record—viz., that his opinion of the defenceless state of Great Britain has, by statesmen, and by a nation who almost pride themselves on their total ignorance of the requirements of war, been utterly disregarded!"

We have but little space left for further comment. We do not consider it necessary to follow Sir Francis Head through almost any portion of his masterly details, or to sketch, even in outline, the picture which he has drawn of the possible consequences of our supineness. On these points the book must speak for itself. We venture to think that it will not be without some effect, however it may be assailed by vulgar abuse, or depreciated by contemptible flippancy. It speaks home to the feelings of Englishmen, has the merit of great perspicuity, and deals prominently with facts which can neither be gainsaid nor denied.

Even to the apostles of peace—the fanatics, as we think, of the present age—Sir Francis holds out the olive branch. He represents to them, what they probably cannot see, that the only method of realising their cherished idea of voluntary arbitration and reduction of armaments, is by maintaining at a crisis like the present the true balance of power. And certainly he is right, if there be anything at all in their scheme. For our own part, we hold it to be absolutely and entirely chimerical. It is a mere phase or fiction of that wretched notion of cosmopolitanism, which some years ago was preached by Cobden—a notion to which the events and experiences of each successive month have given the practical lie, and which never could have been hatched except in the addled brain of some ignorant and vainglorious egotist. By herself, Britain must stand or fall. The good and the evil she has done—the influence which she has exerted, one way or the other, over the destinies of the human race, is written in the everlasting chronicle; and her fate is in the hand of Him who raises or crushes empires. What trials we may have to undergo—what calamities to suffer—what moral triumphs to achieve—are known to Omnipotence alone. But as a high rank in the scale of nations has been given us, let us, at all events, be true to ourselves, in so far as human prudence and manly foresight can avail. Let us not, for the sake of miserable mammon—or, still worse, for the crude theories of a pragmatical upstart—imperil the large liberties which have been left to us, as the best legacy of our forefathers. Our duty is to uphold, by all the means in our power, the honour and the integrity of our native land: nor dare we hope for the blessing or the countenance of the all-controlling Power, one moment after we have proved ourselves false to the country which gave us birth.