TO THE EDITOR OP THE SPECTATOR.
23, Vauxhall Bridge Road, 26th September 1849. Sin-There appears to me to be too much reason to dread the fulfilment of Walter Savage Landor's prophecy, that before many years England will have to fight for her very existence as a nation. Alas! that she should have suffered the glorious opportunity to pass away of striking a powerful blow for civilization and Christianity ere yet the huzzar jacket was trampled in the dust, and the Magyar sabre blunted and broken by foulest treachery. To the quiet insular spectator of Continental events, who possesses a moderate acquaintance with our history, this question naturally presents itself. Had we a Cromwell upon the British throne in the year of grace 1849, what course would he have pursued with regard to the war in Hungary? Months era this present time, would he not have warmly grasped the hand of Ludwig Kossuth ? months ere this, would he not have grappled with the Muscovite bear on the banks of the Danube, and given the monster squeeze for squeeze? Alas ! times are sadly changed since 'sturdy Cromwell pushed broadshouldered on." Could be arise from the grave and look around him, he would hardly believe that the money-grubbing soulless England of today was that for which the Ironsides fought and conquered. Fat, well-to-do Englishman ! a word with you. Some of the sharpest ears in your island have detected certain strange sounds, which you, absorbed as you are in the contemplation of your money-bags and "our glorious constitution," and being naturally dull of. hearing, have not discovered. They have heard the Northern drum in the not distant future, and the measured tramp of countless savages, fierce and merciless as those who followed filarie the Goth to Rome, or Bugeaud the Gaul to Kabylia. Awake, man ! and ponder gravely over your present position; for your skin is not quite so tough as rhinoceros' hide, and Nicholas of the Knout is coming! Should you continue blind to the broad sha- dows of coining events, you may yet see London swarming with Cossacks, tri- angles decorating every street within the bills of mortality, and Englishwomen flogged at Charing Cross under a guard of Russian bayonets. Fine sight that, for the "sons of sires that baffled crowned and mitred tyranny!"
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