become so much more cunning from the last insurrection, that you may
perhaps be tolerably secure just at present from that evil: but are
you secure from the efforts which the French may make to throw a
body of troops into Ireland? and do you consider that event to be
difficult and improbable? From Brest Harbour to Cape St. Vincent,
you have above three thousand miles of hostile sea coast, and twelve
or fourteen harbours quite capable of containing a sufficient force
for the powerful invasion of Ireland. The nearest of these harbours
is not two days' sail from the southern coast of Ireland, with a
fair leading wind; and the furthest not ten. Five ships of the
line, for so very short a passage, might carry five or six thousand
troops with cannon and ammunition; and Ireland presents to their
attack a southern coast of more than 500 miles, abounding in deep
bays, admirable harbours, and disaffected inhabitants. Your
blockading ships may be forced to come home for provisions and
repairs, or they may be blown off in a gale of wind and compelled to
bear away for their own coast; and you will observe that the very
same wind which locks you up in the British Channel, when you are
got there, is evidently favourable for the invasion of Ireland. And
yet this is called Government, and the people huzza Mr. Perceval for
continuing to expose his country day after day to such tremendous
perils as these; cursing the men who would have given up a question
in theology to have saved us from such a risk. The British empire
at this moment is in the state of a peach-blossom--if the wind blows
gently from one quarter, it survives; if furiously from the other,
it perishes. A stiff breeze may set in from the north, the
Rochefort squadron will be taken, and the Minister will be the most
holy of men: if it comes from some other point, Ireland is gone; we
curse ourselves as a set of monastic madmen, and call out for the
unavailing satisfaction of Mr. Perceval's head. Such a state of