Victorious Army_!!! Say, is this the conduct of a Hero? is this the man who is destined to break the spirit of Englishmen? _shall we suffer an_ ASSASSIN _to enter our blessed Country, and despoil our fields of their produce--to massacre our brave Soldiers in cool blood, and hang up every man who has carried arms?_ Your cry is vengeance for the insult--and Vengeance is in your own hands. It must be signal and terrible! Like the bolt from Heaven, let it strike the devoted Army of Invaders! _Every Frenchman will find his Grave where he first steps on British ground, and not a Soldier of Buonaparte’s boasted Legions shall escape the fate his ambitious Tyrant has prepared for him!_ BRITONS STRIKE HOME! Or your Fame is for ever blasted,--Your Liberties for ever lost!!! This is very bombastic and ‘high-falutin,’ but Englishmen were in a very grievous fright, nevertheless. Still harping on the prospect of a French landing, we have a caricature by T. West (June 13, 1803) of ‘Britannia correcting an Unruly Boy.’ Britannia has got Boney across her knee, and, having taken down his breeches, is administering such a sound castigation with a birch rod, called the _United Kingdom_, as to bring forth copious streams of blood. Needless to say, our hero is repentant, and prays ‘Oh forgive me this time and I never will do so again. Oh dear! Oh dear! you’ll entirely destroy the _Honors of the Sitting_.’ But the stern matron still keeps on, with ‘There take that, and that, and that, and be more careful not to provoke my anger more.’ We have an illustration of the homely proverb of ‘Set a beggar on horseback &c.,’ in ‘The Corsican Beggar Riding to the Devil,’ by Ansell (June 15, 1803). Here we have Hell treated in the mediæval manner, a huge, grotesque, dragon-like head, with outstretched jaws, vomiting flames. Napoleon, on a white charger, hugging himself with the idea that ‘Sure they will make me Emperor,’ is riding straight to it; whilst two devils are in a high state of jubilation.’ One opines that ‘He is sure to come; we will finish your ambition,’ the other politely calls out, ‘Shew him in.’ Ireland asks John Bull, ‘Hey Johnny, who’s that?’ and gets as a reply, ’Tis Boney going Post, brother Pat.’ The Gallic Cock, crowing on its dunghill, screams, ‘This is nothing new.’ Here is a passionate appeal, supposed to come from one of the softer sex:-- MEN OF ENGLAND.