is to make agriculture the first desideratum, internal commerce the second, and external trade the third; without which a country must decline with a rapidity in proportion to her delusive wealth, false credit, and undermined prosperity.

ARE WE STUPIDLY UNGRATEFUL TO CAPTAIN WARNER?

WE are quite at a loss as to the real claims and merits of this gentleman, with regard to his invention. That is to say, we have no idea whether it be a real thing or a delusion. As to the Captain's own belief in it, at any rate we give him the credit due to an enthusiast. But we defy the public to judge from the trials, or pretended trials, which have been accorded to him, of the nature, scope, and reality of his invention or discovery.

Knowing, as we do, the cruel humbug to which an inventor may be subjected, by all the jealous officials whose interest it is to keep him down, and to steal, borrow, or extinguish his secret, we should not be in the least surprised to hear of Captain Warner turning up in France or Russia, with his invention duly recognised; and certainly we should be inclined to modify our resentment at so unpatriotic a termination on his side, considering the treatment he has experienced. Not amongst the least trials to which inventors are exposed, are the sneers and derision with which they are assailed by matter-of-fact people— a class which, at the end, meanly accepts the benefits of genius and perseverance, when those who possess them have died unrewarded.

Whatever be the success of the invention, and we repeat of that we know nothing, except that Captain. Warner has been in the hands of a Committee or Commission, or some such farce for occupying the public time, let us come to a few facts in the career of this gallant officer which, in our opinion, entitle him to something more than leniency on the part of the English public.

Captain Warner, during the war, undertook the command of a most dangerous service, viz.; conveying dispatches to and fro between the French and English coasts. In this, 3,800 men were killed and he himself was wounded six times. He received for this £50,000, all of which was expended in his patriotic invention. At the instance of William the Fourth he remained in England, when his interest demanded him elsewhere. He states that he has large claims for services on our splendid ally, Portugal-no less than £100,000! His debts now amount to £7,000. All we wish to do, is to remind the public of his existence-to ask that a fair trial be accorded to his invention; and, whilst recommending him to public interest and sympathy, to urge strongly upon the authorities of the Court, where he is shortly again to be brought up, that every possible latitude and indulgence ought to be granted to a man who finds himself in so sad a position, not owing to any vice, expense, selfishness, or criminal folly, but for enthusiastically following out that which, at any rate, he believes to be a grand scientific discovery for the benefit of England. This, too, not the mere dream of boyhood or untried manhood; but the continued struggle of one who has fought and bled for his country under circumstances of no ordinary danger, and expended a splendid fortune himself in prosecuting his researches and experiments with

out assistance. Could Captain Warner's history find a parallel in France, or elsewhere throughout the world, save England

ENGLAND AT THE MERCY OF EUROPE.

Ir the memory of Waterloo be cherished, like that of a great and sanguinary tournament, where England gained a desperate advantage at the cost of her best and bravest blood, it is well-if we look upon the Duke of Wellington with pride and reverence and take off our hats in the street to the iron warrior, while the city is encumbered with the stone caricatures our clumsy gratitude has raised, it is still well-if we make pilgrimages to Quatre-bras there is no harm, and proud may the veteran be who carries a medal at his button, telling he survived that day as well as all the years of peace and fancied security that have since rolled by. But, if Waterloo be the vain and empty boast that lulls us into foolish apathy, whilst it secretly inspires the rancour of our foes, if it be used as a false prestige of the future, instead of a splendid reminiscence of the past, if we neglect our defences, because we won Waterloo, if we despise our mighty foes, because the tide of battle turned in our favour there, if the soldier be sacrificed to his own valour and the British nation betrayed by her own triumph, THEN we curse the day when so great a misfortune happened to England as to have had her head turned by that dear success, and the soul of victory gorged with so pernicious an achievement.

Since our last observations on the unprotected state of England, and the dangers that environ us on every

side, the admirable work of Sir Francis Head, entitled the "Defenceless State of England," has been placed in our hands. Did the price of that work allow of its universal diffusion, our task would be needless, save and except that the voice of every Englishman should be raised to arouse the sluggish councils of the nation. If that work have no effect, if the defence of our hearths be unattended to longer, then we assert that the man who shall first rise in his place in the approaching Parliament to impeach the Ministers of England for passive but not less fatal treason, will deserve well of his country, and justly claim the place of second patriot of his day, allowing, as we are inclined to do, the precedence to him who has first awakened us.

We say this, because Sir Francis Head has come upon us with a trumpet clang. His is no passing comment—no imperfect lamentation. It is a deliberate and careful survey. Every point is considered-every possibility framed. It is a technical exposition. It is eloquent in fact and detail. It is alike startling and unanswerable. We have not, it is true, had time to peruse the whole; but we have seen enough to venture upon these remarks. We find our own unprofessional observations, made at home and abroad for the last few years, practically illustrated by a man who has studied the subject. We at once pronounce this to be one of the most important works, if not the most important, ever published in England.

Hitherto the nation has slept in spite of warning. The Duke of Wellington has uttered memorable words. He has said "Let me die ere this great thing happen." Sir Charles Napier has from time to time made appeals, pathetic in their roughness, to the tutelary gods, if there be any, of Great Britain. Alison and other writers, who are not

warriors, have warned us. The tocsin has sounded a halfnote lately. Still we sleep on the brink of the volcano. We amuse ourselves with an Exhibition. Unheard-of fatuity erects a glass pagoda, a Chinese folly, a joss houseto make destruction more memorable. We grudge money in the midst of ruinous expenses, for the shabby necessities of a fleet or an army. We would subscribe for anything but our defences-erect a testimonial to Mammon, Hudson, The Times, Tom Thumb-anything; but let one speak of Dover, Plymouth, a line-of-battle ship, a fort, or a tower, and we fancy we are about to be robbed by our bravest generals, our greatest authorities. The hero of a hundred fights wants to pick our pockets! Sir Charles Napier is deceiving us! England can dispense with soldiers or sailors! She can conquer by the mere recital of the past, moral influence, a banker's account, a Peace Congress, or the memory of Nelson.

There are some persons who babble of "Alarmists." We ask them whether the caution of Fabius was cowardly in comparison with the rash but useless conduct of Rupert? These men are like ostriches. They hide their heads in the sand; because they do not like to hear or see approaching danger. In the hour of panic, they will be the first to cry, "Who would have thought it?" These advocates of peace,

Be

because they do not love war, call "Alarmists" foolish. this folly granted. The cackling of geese once saved the Capitol of Rome by a timely warning; and the braying of asses may, on another occasion, serve to conceal the tramp of approaching foemen. We repeat that we sleep on the brink of Vesuvius, and, like the inhabitants of the buried cities, amuse ourselves with a great festival at the hour of impending danger. They were in an open circus. We shall be in a

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