a statesman could do in such a case was to weigh inconveniences against each other, and carefully to observe which way the scale leaned.  The evil of having regular soldiers, and the evil of not having them, Somers set forth and compared in a little treatise, which was once widely renowned as the Balancing Letter, and which was admitted, even by the malecontents, to be an able and plausible composition.  He well knew that mere names exercise a mighty influence on the public mind; that the most perfect tribunal which a legislator could construct would be unpopular if it were called the Star Chamber; that the most judicious tax which a financier could devise would excite murmurs if it were called the Shipmoney; and that the words Standing Army then had to English ears a sound as unpleasing as either Shipmoney or Star Chamber.  He declared therefore that he abhorred the thought of a standing army.  What he recommended was, not a standing, but a temporary army, an army of which Parliament would annually fix the number, an army for which Parliament would annually frame a military code, an army which would cease to exist as soon as either the Lords or the Commons should think that its services were not needed.  From such an army surely the danger to public liberty could not by wise men be thought serious.  On the other hand, the danger to which the kingdom would be exposed if all the troops were disbanded was such as might well disturb the firmest mind.  Suppose a war with the greatest power in Christendom to break out suddenly, and to find us without one battalion of regular infantry, without one squadron of regular cavalry; what disasters might we not reasonably apprehend?  It was idle to say that a descent could not take place without ample notice, and that we should have time to raise and discipline a great force.  An absolute prince, whose orders, given in profound secresy, were promptly obeyed at once by his captains on the Rhine and on the Scheld, and by his admirals in the Bay of Biscay and in the Mediterranean, might be ready to strike a blow long before we were prepared to parry it.  We might be appalled by learning that ships from widely remote parts, and troops from widely remote garrisons, had assembled at a single point within sight of our coast.  To trust to our fleet was to trust to the winds and the waves.  The breeze which was favourable to the invader might prevent our men of war from standing out to sea.  Only nine years ago this had actually happened.  The Protestant wind, before which the Dutch armament had run full sail down the Channel, had driven King James’s navy back into the Thames.  It must then be acknowledged to be not improbable that the enemy might land.  And, if he landed, what would he find?  An open country; a rich country; provisions everywhere; not a river but which could be forded; no natural fastnesses such as protect the fertile plains of Italy; no artificial fastnesses such as, at every step, impede the progress of a conqueror