Time and the hour had been well chosen. The British capital was in the throes of internal discord, fomented by the industrious agencies of foreign powers; and Christmas, with its holiday closure of all public departments, admirably served to emphasise the opportunity. Long ago the risks of invasion had been publicly discussed by a prime minister of England, who had dismissed the idea as quite impracticable. But there were naval and military experts and others who thought otherwise. The unmasked landing of from 60,000 to 100,000 foreign troops on these shores certainly would be a hazardous achievement which many things might combine to defeat. But, assuredly, it was not impossible; especially if the way should be cleared for such a landing by the disablement of the naval ports, and the defeat of one or more of the squadrons charged with watch and ward over our extended coast-line. It was known to the naval authorities that Portsmouth and Portland were peculiarly exposed to the form of attack which Admiral Togo had so persistently tried at Port Arthur, and which, a few years earlier, the Americans had adopted at Santiago. To bottle a harbour by sinking a merchant ship in its mouth was a device that might be tried in England, as it had been tried abroad. If such an attempt succeeded, invasion in military force might become a comparatively easy task. Granted the feasibility of an invasion, and then what France had suffered in the annexation of Alsace-Lorraine, England might have to endure by ceding Kent or Yorkshire to the strong man armed. What happened to the Kingdom of Hanover might happen--preposterous though it seemed--to the Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. The Germans, almost insolently, had shown their hand for years. They had said to Britain: “You cannot keep the sea for ever. We mean to take it from you; the trade first, and then--the flag.” There were thousands of Germans in our forecastles, scores of German masters and mates on the bridges of our merchantmen, and German pilots had been allowed to know all that charts and practical experience could tell them of our coasts and harbours. One and all, they had an unconcealed aim--to make the Teuton sea-lord of the world. Yet, knowing all this, England, like a giant drugged with deadly wine, had slumbered in apathy. Had the fateful hour really struck at last? Here, indeed, was a Naboth’s Vineyard worth coveting, for England and the English-speaking States on the other side of the Atlantic controlled between them four-fifths of the gold production of the world; England and the United States held a third of the dry land, owned four-sevenths of the shipping, two-thirds of the coal, and more than half of the world’s iron and steel. A splendid prize! A glorious heritage! Could Germany wrest it in part from the Anglo-Saxons, or would Britain, aided or unaided, rouse herself at last and hold her own?