THIS is the somewhat startling title of a book lately published, and which has excited considerable attention. Some books are read from the ad captandum nature of the title-page, others from the truth and value of the information they convey, and not a few from the extreme absurdity of the positions they endeavour to establish. Outrageous paradoxes often obtain more converts than clearly demonstrated theorems. All these separate ingredients are blended together with some ingenuity in the volume before us, and they sufficiently account for the ephemeral popularity it has obtained. The work is dedicated to the women of England, and very well calculated to terrify elderly ladies of both sexes, whose nervous temperaments are easily acted on.

But we

are sorely puzzled to discover what motive can have induced the worthy baronet to "fright the isle from its propriety," with such an alarm bell, at a time when we are at profound peace with all the world-when, as Lord Grizzle says in Tom Thumb, "we have no enemy to fight withal," and no saucy foreigners" are threatening to disturb us. Four years ago, indeed, when the Prince de Joinville put forth his pamphlet, and the Duke of Wellington wrote his memorable letter, the situation of affairs was widely different. Louis Philippe was then firmly seated on his throne, the "Ulys. ses of Modern Europe," as he was called, and to all appearance one of the most powerful and richest monarchs in the world. He had a wellreplenished treasury, with a numerous ariny anxious to be employed in anything or against anybody, and which he would for his own personal convenience have very willingly indulged in their laudable desire. But round went the circling wheel of human events, guided by the inscrutable hand of Providence; all this was changed as suddenly as the scenes are shifted in a dramatic spectacle, the smouldering volcano burst forth when least expect

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ed, and France has enough on her hands in home legislation, and in keeping down intestine feuds, for the next ten years at least, without dreaming of foreign conquest, or unprovoked aggression. At first, we took the whole matter as a joke, and thought Sir Francis was quizzing us in a sort of preliminary Christmas Carol, although we are free to confess" (to use a parliamentary phrase) we think the subject too grave for merriment. We had nearly read the volume through before we felt convinced that the author was in earnest; just as it requires two readings at least of Gibbon's celebrated fifteenth and sixteenth chapters, to detect the latent sneer against Christianity, in what, at the first glance, has very much the aspect of an orthodox vindication.

Sir Francis Head is a retired major, formerly in the Royal Engineers; in his rank, an officer of fair military experience, and a reasonably good authority on subjects of war, more especially as regards the branch of the service to which he belonged. He was Lieutenant-Governor of Upper Canada (as many may remember) in troublous times, and about matters connected with his government he wrote a book, now nearly forgotten the usual fate of ex parte political statements, which are seldom received as authentic, or regarded by the public as sterling evidence, when the mere momentary excitement of the subject under discussion has passed away. But his claims to literary consideration rest on much higher and more enduring grounds, as being the writer of "Rough Notes during some rapid Journeys across the Pampas," "Bubbles from the Brunnens of Nassau," and "Stokers and Pokers," three of the most sparkling and agreeable volumes in a lighter class, which modern authorship presents us with; admirable companions in a cabinet library, and to be read once and again with increasing zest and sa

tisfaction.

The first idea which suggested itself, after the perusal of this work, was a repetition of the query put by the Cardinal Ippolito D'Este to Ariosto, on reading his brilliant, but rather incomprehensible, poem. 66 Dove, diavolo, Messer Ludovico, avete pigliato tante coglionerie ?" Where the devil, Master Ludovico, did you scrape together this farrago of nonsense? Whence on earth did Sir Francis Head conjure up all these imaginary dangers? The next question we asked ourselves was, cui bono? What advantage will it lead to? "And what good came of it at last?" quoth little Peterkin to his grandfather, as touching the great victory of Blenheim. If the alarmists are right, the sooner the eyes of the government and the public are opened the better; but if they should happen to be mistaken, and to be making "much-ado about nothing," it is quite as well to pause and think a little before we rush into measures, which the same monitors tell us with the same breath will be unavailing, as no time will be allowed us to profit by any precautions. When Lord Chancellor Thurlow was in office, a timid colleague broke one morning into his cabinet, and with ghastly looks and quivering knees informed him there was an insurrection in the Isle of Man. "Pooh! pooh!" cried the Chancellor, smiling gruffly, "a storm in a wash-hand basin!" A bona fide invasion by a foreign army of 200,000 men is certainly not to be laughed down like an outbreak in the ancient sovereignty of the Dukes of Athol, but we must be convinced that such an incident is in preparation before we set seriously to work to counteract it. That the best way of maintaining peace is to be ready for war, is a sound axiom; but to be perpetually dreaming of a host of dangers, because they are possible, without any outward or visible sign that they are coming, is to live in a state of unhappy excitement and ruinous expense. No constitution either of individual or nation can endure this. Misplaced economy, and needless waste of public money, are extremes to be equally avoided.

The Duke of Wellington's letter to Sir John Burgoyne is quoted again, and again, and appealed to as a tremendous notice, the handwriting on the wall, in all its fearful distinctness! No doubt the authority is of the ut

Again, supposing that we are as utterly defenceless as we see here represented, and that our annihilation in three months by the first invading enemy is proved to a quod erat demonstrandum, although it may be quite right to whisper this to ourselves, and awaken our government if possible, yet, we cannot for our lives discover either the wisdom or the patriotism of taking a brazen trumpet to proclaim the humiliating fact to the world at large.

All the arguments set forward by Sir F. Head are founded on premises he assumes to be true-a very liberal application of the petitio principii. This mode of reasoning is very short and simple, and leads to rapid deductions when admitted; but when questioned, the arguer is placed in the predicament of the notorious Spinosa, who exclaimed in despair: "Give me my premises, or I shall never arrive at a conclusion." Now, in the case before us, we are neither convinced of the premises, nor disposed to grant the conclusions.

After telling us that in his opinion, and that of several other naval and

military officers of experience, England is totally helpless, Sir F. Head premises as follows:

"In any other country but England such corroborating opinions would instantly have been deemed worthy of investigation; but our statesmen of all politics had two insuperable difficulties to contend with. FirstThey were perfectly sensible that as they did not understand the subject it would be extremely hazardous for them to undertake

to explain it; and second-That even if by great application they could succeed in doing so, the whole nation was so totally unacquainted with even the rudiments of the art of protecting a great empire, that as it would be practically impossible to obtain the remedy proposed, namely, money-the less said about the disease the better."

So then, in this vast and populous country of twenty-eight millions, Sir F. Head and half a dozen officers are the only individuals capable of understanding and explaining a national question of vital importance. What superhuman penetration they must be gifted with! Equally miraculous as the courage and strength of mind of a former Lord Abercorn, of whom, when at college, we heard a legend recorded, that he could tell a ghoststory, so appalling in its details, that no one was ever found brave enough to endure the recital.

At page 42, we are told "that prior to the year 1808, whenever the British soldier came into action, he has had usually to perform not only his own duty, but by courage unknown to any other army, and which our opponents have only accounted for by declaring that English troops never know when they are beaten,' he has almost invariably had to make up for the inexperience of his general.'

Before the period named, it is quite certain we had fallen into some disrepute as a military nation, from the failure of many of our continental expeditions. They were undertaken with inadequate means, ill supported by the government, often too late, and sometimes feebly commanded. On all occasions, the indomitable courage of the soldier carried him through, while the nation gained no advantages and little credit; but the bad generals form the exceptions rather than the rule. Wolfe at Quebec, Elliott at Gibraltar, Clive at Plassey, Abercrombie in Egypt, Stuart at Maida, with Wellesley at Assaye and Vimiera, and others we could readily enumerate, will suffice to redeem our commanders from this sweeping sentence; while the treachery or incompetence of Mack

at Ulm, the blunders of Koutusoff at Austerlitz, the helpless imbecility of the Prussian generals in the campaign of Jena, the surprise of Girard at Arroyo de Molinos, the defeat and surrender of Dupont at Baylen, are all on record, to prove that defective generalship was no indigenous peculiarity in the British service.

The disaster of Baylen, Napoleon invariably designated as the Caudine Forks of the French army. A want of confidence in themselves, a dread of responsibility, with an overweening estimate of the abilities of their opponents, have cramped the energies of many able English commanders. The Duke of Wellington himself, and the great historian, Sir W. Napier, have often commented on these damaging propensities.

Óf Nelson we are surprised to be told, in page 133, "it was the plain bull-dog policy as well as practice of Nelson, without evolutions or circumvolutions, to run straight at his inexperienced enemy;"* thus leading us to suppose that he despised all idea of tactics, and "went in to win," as they say in the ring-hitting right and left without skill or judgment. Nothing can be more erroneous. Nelson was one of the most scientific of admirals. He fought fiercely and wickedly when he once began, but all his preliminary movements were profoundly sagacious, and calculated with artistic nicety. During his pursuit of Buonaparte, which ended at Aboukir, he had deeply considered every possible situation in which he might come up with his enemy, and the mode of attack applicable to each. In the battle, he doubled on the French fleet by a most skilful manœuvre, and crushed them in detail. From the very commencement of the action, they had no chance of successful resistance, notwithstanding their acknowledged gallantry. At Trafalgar, by an original conception, he separated the van, centre, and rear of the enemy, choosing his own point of attack, and rendering a combined opposition impossible. With two-thirds of an inferior fleet,† he annihilated his

opponents. At Copenhagen, everything was pre-arranged with the deepest forethought. That his plans were not entirely carried out, arose from the accident of some of the large vessels taking ground, leaving frigates to cope with batteries too powerful for them, but which the heavy-seventy-fours would have silenced in half an hour. Nelson's battles were not mere defeats, they were extinguishing conquests, and quite as much the result of skill as of hard fighting. He adopted in naval tactics the well-known military principle of bringing the greater force to bear upon the weaker at the critical moment, which has been technically designated the oblique order of battle. Invented by Epaminondas at Leuctra and Mantinea, this made of attack was revived in modern times by Gustavus Adolphus at Leipzig and Lutzen, practised by Frederic the Great with brilliant success in nearly all his battles, and invariably acted on by Napoleon, who had deeply studied its advantages and overwhelming power.

Sir F. Head says in a note, that Nelson was not considered by naval men to have been so good a practical seaman as either Collingwood or Lord Exmouth. If by this is meant the mere working of a single ship, many a sailing-master in the service may have excelled them all, as any drill-serjeant will train up a recruit better than either Marlborough or Wellington could. But neither Collingwood nor Lord Exmouth, although first-rate officers, ever had the opportunities afforded to Nelson. It would therefore be idle to speculate on what they might have done with them. Suffice it, that he finished his work in a style no other British admiral has ever equalled. We have been a little minute on this point, as it is observed that the Nelsonian system of fighting will not answer again. We should be sorry to see it exchanged for any other.

Sir F. Head asks this question more than once, "Because we have beaten our enemies before, is that any reason why we should beat them now?" We answer, yes; it is a very good prima facie reason, as the lawyers would call it; and we should certainly prefer, next time, having the prestige of former success to begin upon, than the remembrance of defeat. "But," says he, "your chances are diminished, for the power of steam neutralizes both courage and skill; the French weight of

metal is far heavier than yours, while their gunnery is more accurate." To this we reply, as Roderigo says to Iago, "It hath not appeared." Our firing at Acre was rapid and effective, while the bombardment of Tangiers and some other towns on the coast of Morocco, by the Prince de Joinville, had nothing in it particularly astounding. It even gave rise to some uncourteous jokes by waggish midshipmen, which had nearly involved us in a serious scrape. Had

we been invaded then, as the Prince threatened, and swept from the map of Europe, as Sir F. Head apprehends, we should have added a memorable instance to the list which the page of history presents, of nations who have paid dearly for an ill-timed witticism. The details in Sir F. Head's volume, of the enormous standing armies of Austria, Prussia, and Russia, including the formidable power of Belgium, we pass rapidly over, as not particularly important to us. Our near and dangerous neighbour, France, as she is called, is the only quarter from whence serious peril may come.

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tria and Prussia appear to be fully occupied in looking after their little domestic arrangements, each fearing and watching for the aggression of his neighbour. Italy and Hungary are evidently on the qui vive for another bout, at the earliest opportunity. Belgium is in imminent danger of being snuffed out in the first general explosion, while Russia hangs on the flanks of all, with one eye on Constantinople and the other looking round the Baltic, ready to join with any party, or pounce on either, as her own interests may suggest. He who runs may read, and all this is as clear as the sun. Russia

is a mighty power on the map, with an enormous territory, and some fifty millions of subjects; but they are thinly scattered over an unlimited space, and not naturally quick of motion. In the complicated operations of war, they have been invariably slow. In France, in 1815, during the great reviews (at some of which Sir F. Head may probably have been present), the grand Russian army was assembled with long notice, on the plains of Vertus, for a show parade. It took three days to place them on the ground, when all the operations consisted in marching past in review order, performing worship according to the rites of the Greek Church, and marching back again. Soon after this,

the Duke of Wellington proposed to the allied Sovereigns, or they suggested to him, to show them the British army with all its contingent allies in British pay, amounting to nearly 90,000 men, quorum pars minima fuimus. A representation of the manoeuvres of Salamanca, as nearly as the ground permitted, was said to constitute the programme for the day. There was no previous preparation. At nine at night the orders were sent round to the different brigades, and by eight on the following morning, the entire force was drawn up in two lines, the left resting on Mont Martre, and the right on the Seine towards St. Denis. They were instantly put in motion; the whole day was occupied in a series of rapid movements; and, at seven in the evening, all marched past the assembled potentates, and filed off to their respective cantonments. The quickness and precision of the evolutions, the exact discipline of the troops, and especially, the equipments of the artillery, excited the loudest approbation. It was a proud day for Britain, as showing a solid exhibition of her power. Thousands now live who will recollect the impression it produced, and the reminiscence will not incline them to join the ranks of alarm. We have not, at this exact moment, the same numerical amount of men, for we do not require them, but we possess a substantial nucleus of similar materials, which we can readily increase when necessity demands.

During the great coalitions against Napoleon, the Russian armies could not have moved at all without the English subsidies. They were as innocent of commissariat mysteries, and a military chest, as of the hieroglyphics lately discovered by Layard, at Nineveh, or by Stephens, in the ruined cities of Yucatan.

Neither does it appear that they have much improved since then. It took them two years to cross the Balkan, and bring Turkey to terms, in spite of Navarino, which destroyed Sultan Mahmoud's fleet, and the treacherous surrender of Varna, which deprived him of his strongest flank fortress. It has

taken them more than double that time to keep their ground against the mountain princes of Circassia, where, at this moment, they hold little beyond the space their army stands on. This is not stated in the spirit of empty vaunting, but we see no reason to be frightened by a bugbear, or a gigantic shadow without any real substance.* It is not mere numerical population, or widely extended territory, which gives actual strength. It is, on the contrary, condensed population, with concentrated internal resources, mineral wealth in coal and iron,† and money from the exhaustless springs of commerce. These are the arteries which give power in attack and defence, and render nations formidable. We, under the blessing of Providence, possess all these ingredients within our comparatively small circumference. They have helped us to the advantages we have already obtained, and will enable us to preserve them under any future emergency. The population of France was scarcely greater than ours is at present, and her resources were less, when Frederick the Great declared, if he were sovereign of that country he would not allow a gun to be fired in Europe without his permission. Sir Francis B. Head says, on the authority of the Hon. Captain Plunkett, R.N., "It is a fact as surprising as discreditable to England, that Russia could send thirty sail of the line to sea, before England could send three." On this point we take leave to be rather incredulous.

Some few years ago, we recollect reading in the opposition journals of the day, that if Russia was to send a fleet up the Mersey, which she could whenever she pleased, there was nothing to prevent her laying Liverpool under contribution, and seizing all the merchant shipping in the river. Not much that we know of certainly, supposing they could get there without notice, except only the Mersey itself, and the westerly gales, which "blow when they list," and no man can calculate whence or wherefore. Take up