to the teeth, with volunteers, who had sold their eabin and the field which supported them to buy a horse and arms, and then quitted their families in order to fly to the defence of their country and their religion. Though destitute of leaders, they committed no acts of violence, no depredations, they peaceably passed through villages inhabited almost exclusively by Christians, and contented themselves with casting a glance of contempt at those Greeks who pretended to conceal themselves on their approach, and then insulted them with their cries after they had passed."

Again, although Turkey has already made such an onward step in the path of reform, it need not be supposed that she will now sit calmly with her hands in her lap, and do nothing more. The treaty of alliance recently signed at Constantinople between England, France, and Turkey, was not limited to the mere stipulation of certain clauses relating to the operations and eventualities of the war. It was also intended to procure new advantages for the Raïah population of Turkey, without distinction of nationality or worship, so as to assimilate them completely with the Mussulmans. If this be carried out, Turkey will emerge from the present crisis, stronger, more compact than she was prior to the war. Even if some of those provinces, which she only governs nominally, are detached and formed into a neutral state under the collective guarantee of the powers, her strength will not be diminished. On the other hand, under the supposition that Turkey grants the right of holding territorial property to Europeans, the progress of that country will become marvellously rapid agriculture and commerce will be fostered by the wealth of Europe, whose arms will defend her against all external attacks.

We cannot do better than conclude this paper by a quotation from Ubicini, to whom we have already been so largely indebted for information: "But even if our anticipations are contradicted by future events, what matter? It is not the cause of the Osmanli we are pleading, whatever sympathy we may feel for that proud and noble nation, but it is our own-it is that of all civilised nations. If experience proves, contrary to our anticipations, that nothing is to be hoped from the Turks, let them disappear-let them return to Asia; let a new nation, more capable of playing their part, be established on the shores of the Bosphorus. The question is not to know whether the Greeks are worth more or less than the Osmanli, and by whom the reforms which must inevitably take place, will be realised in Turkey. That is not the question: "it is reduced,' to quote the testimony of an illustrious English statesman, to knowing if Russia must be allowed to reach Constantinople, and if Europe must prostrate herself at the feet of a great and overwhelming nation.'"

THE BATTLES OF SEBASTOPOL.

"TWAS twice three hundred noble ships bore down upon the main,
Swift as the greyhound from the slips they strove the shore to gain;
One pulse in every proud breast beat that gallant sight to see,
One thought alone ran through the fleet, and that was- -Victory!
Secure the dastard foeman lay behind his granite wall,
But courage yet shall win the day-Sebastopol must fall!

Then well each gallant seaman plied the swift but steady oar,
And soon our troops in martial pride stood on the Crimean shore-
Near sixty thousand valiant men-but ne'er a foe they met.
The battle cry was "Onward!" then, "We'll find the Russian yet.
What, though he couches in his lair, we'll raze his granite wall;
There's honour for the brave to share-Sebastopol must fall!"
Now side by side the hosts advance-two nations but as one;
Hurrah for England! Vive la France! At last the work's begun.
From Alma's heights the desp'rate foe pour dreadful volleys down,
But on the breathless heroes go to gather fresh renown.
Hurrah! their ranks begin to reel-one gallant charge-they run-
They can't withstand the British steel-the victory is won!

At Inkermann the Russian sought the mastery there to gain,
In vain the brave allies he fought, still masters of the plain;
Outnumber'd, still they would not yield-they knew not how to fly,
Resolved on that dread battle-field to conquer or to die!

The flags of France and Britain still shall wave on those proud towers,
The sword shall ne'er be sheathed until Sebastopol is ours!

COURAGE-COURAGE, HEArts of englAND!

Courage courage, hearts of England,
And be not yet dismayed,
Your dearly-purchased laurels

Are destin'd not to fade;
The same old martial spirit
Our brave forefathers knew
Has to our sons descended,

And they shall conquer too!
Courage-maids and wives of England,
Tho' fast your tears may flow,
Think they but sleep in glory
Who fell beneath the foe;
Weep on-but still remember

Brave hearts now proudly swell,
Who nobly will avenge them
Who in the battle fell.

Courage-courage, men of England,
And pour your legions forth ;
The star of glory lights them

To honour, in the North!
Send forth your best and bravest,
Nor furl the flag again,

That as, of old, triumphant,

Still floats upon the main !

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY:

OR, ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF OUR GRAND

FATHERS.

BY ALEXANDER ANDREWS.

LITERATURE IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

THE eighteenth century produced many authors whose works have become standard. History was enriched by the writings of Hume, Carte, Gibbon, Lyttelton, and Robertson-Philosophy and the Sciences, by Berkeley, Bradley, Hartley, Hunter, Adam Smith, Tooke, Black, Maskelyne, Porson, Herschel, Cavendish, and Playfair-Poetry, by Rowe, Gay, Young, Pope, Ramsay, Thomson, Shenstone, Collins, Akenside, Gray, Chatterton, Darwin, Warton, Beattie, Macpherson, and Burns-Romance, by Richardson, Fielding, and Smollett-Dramatic Literature, by D'Urfey, Cumberland, the Colmans, the Cibbers, the Sheridans, Congreve, Vanbrugh, Farquhar, Stevens, and Home-Theology, by Hoodley, Sherlock, Jortin, Warburton, Priestley, Law, Paley, and Price-Jurisprudence, by Blackstone; whilst, under the general designation of Miscellaneous writers, by turns poets, dramatists, essayists, and romancists, we have the glorious names of Swift, De Foe, Addison, Steele, Hawksworth, Sterne, Johnson, Goldsmith, Bolingbroke, Middleton, Walpole, and Burke. This century also saw the birth of those beautiful and original compositions, which sprang up with the Tatler, the Spectator, and the Guardian, and came out under the titles of the Rambler, the Idler, the Adventurer, the Bee, &c., till they formed a class of themselves, which have been justly named the "British Classics."

And yet how miserably were authors requited! Goldsmith's "Traveller" appears to have been sold for twenty guineas, and his "Vicar of Wakefield" only realised sixty guineas, which Dr. Johnson, having in view the scale of remuneration usually paid to authors at that time, says was no mean price." But the price at which books were sold to the public was proportionately low-the general charge for a four-volume novel being only twelve shillings, or twelve shillings and sixpence, and five or six shillings for two volumes.

But we have forgotten ourselves. We are not writing the history of literature in the last century-we have only to describe what were its most curious characteristics.

The "getting up" of books was attended with many difficulties which the progress of art, science, and invention has since removed, in the typographical, illustrative, and even binding departments. We seldom meet with a book published within the century which is not calf-bound, with a cumbrous but elaborately-gilt back, the title-page frequently printed alternately in red and black ink, with an allegorical copper-plate frontispiece, a long preface, and a fulsome dedication.

Any one who has seen, or had the patience to read one of these dedications, would lament that so virtuous a generation should so completely have passed away, for we meet with none but accomplished dukes and in

tellectual earls, who are at once represented as the most generous, the most talented, and the most exemplary of mankind, ornaments of their species, and patterns for angels. But, in too many cases, the noblemen whose virtues were emblazoned in such glowing colours, were the most ignorant and conceited blockheads in the country, otherwise they would have discouraged such disgusting flatteries. How different from the sketch which Horace has handed down of his accomplished patron, the courtly Maecenas-how different from the simple and unaffected testimony which Goldsmith bears to Dr. Smollett, is the following inflated dedication of the play of "The Modern Prophets," which is copied into No. 43 of the Tatler. The author, D'Urfey, thus addresses his patron: "Your easiness of humour, or rather your harmonious disposition, is so admirably mixed with your composure, that the rugged cares and disturbance that public affairs bring with them, that does so vexatiously affect the heads of other great men of business, etc., does scarce ever ruffle your unclouded brow even with a frown. And that above all is praiseworthy, you are so far from thinking yourself higher than others, that a flourishing and opulent fortune which, by a certain natural corruption in its quality, seldom fails to affect other possessors with pride, seems in this case as it only providentially disposed to enlarge your humility. But I find, sir, I am now got into a very large field, where, though I could, with great ease, raise a number of plants in relation to your merits of this plauditory nature, yet, for fear of an author's general vice, and lest the plain justice I have done you should, by my proceeding and others' mistaken judgment, be imagined flattery (a thing the bluntness of my nature does not care to be concerned with, and which I also know you abominate)," &c., &c. To complete the absurdity of this string of compliments, it is only necessary to add that the person to whom they were addressed was an illiterate citizen, who, having amassed a considerable fortune, was enabled to retire from business, and, by its means, to purchase flattery, consideration, and ultimately knighthood! Well might Steele say: "It is wonderful to see how many judges of these fine things spring up every day, in the rise of stocks, and other elegant methods of abridging the way to learning and criticism!" The Guardian, No. 4, on the same subject, says truly enough: "This prostitution of praise is not only a deceit upon the gross of mankind, who take their notion of character from the learned, but also the better sort must by this means lose some part at least of that desire of fame which is the incentive to generous actions, when they find it promiscuously bestowed on the meritorious and undeserving."

The origin of these dedications may be found in the previous century, when the author was compelled to propitiate some man of eminence to introduce his book to the world. Booksellers being few, country agencies almost unknown, and the means of advertising scanty, there was great difficulty in insuring the expenses even of publication-hence the mode of procuring a sale for a book was very different to what it is at present. A poet or author projected a work, issued the proposals, and, having to take upon himself the risk of printing, opened a list of subscribers previous to its commencement, and to head this list, and induce other subscribers to follow, he generally sought the favour of some high nobleman, or fashionable butterfly of the town who had somehow or other picked up

a reputation as a man of taste. This practice, no doubt, partly led to the extravagance of the dedications. Then, again, a man of letters was in the last century, as a jester had been in the previous one, a sort of indispensable attendant at the tables of the great-if he had published but one dull book it was sufficient-it was "fashionable" to have one in your patronage: almost in dependence. He was to furnish his host with ready-made opinions upon all fashionable topics, to applaud every word, and laugh heartily at every abortion of a joke that fell from his lips; he was to laud him to the skies, and declare him at once the gentleman and the scholar, and, like a lap-dog, to submit to the splenetic humours of the great man, when he chose to be out of temper, without complaining. And, whenever the poor, dependent author wrote tragedy or a sermon, a novel or a history, he was expected to dedicate it to his patron, and to inform him--and, at the same time, the world at large that he was the very personification of virtue and excellence, and the beau ideal of a man of taste. And oh! the agonies of fear, apprehension, and suspense that awaited the unhappy author, when, in order to make known his work and to swell his list of subscriptions, he sallied forth with both of them in his pocket to read his manuscript, by gracious invitation, before some party of would-be-thought cognoscenti of both sexes at his patron's house-the half-suppressed sneers, the ironical applause, the drowsy inattention, the unseemly and ludicrous interruptions, the many conflicting suggestions of alteration!

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And thus was the poor poet of the eighteenth century compelled to prostrate himself at the feet of some ignorant peer or clownish knight; to subscribe himself his "most devoted slave to command," and to prostitute his talents to the degrading task of sketching an exemplary and angelic character to clothe a dissipated and vulgar patron in. He could not hope for success without patronage, and he could not purchase patronage without flattery. Even this abuse has not escaped the keen picture-satirist, Hogarth; and in the second scene of the Rake's Progress we see a poem lying on the floor dedicated to the young rake, and an humble poet waiting in the obscure background for the honour of recognition.

These dedications were introduced among a perfect blaze of italics and capitals, and, by dint of large type and "leading," were made to occupy pretty well a third of the volume, and to become the most conspicuous portion. They were also illustrated or embellished with cherubim, little fauns, and a hundred other devices, crowded into a coarsely-executed woodcut-a parallelogram at the heading of the dedication, in which angels, satyrs, and fauns were flying about in the most glorious hurry and confusion, proclaiming with horns and trumpets the manifold virtues of the patron. We have before us an Epistle to the Jews," in which this rectangular device contains a panoramic view of a city, all steeples, with a blank along the centre, probably to represent the river, a short squat monument, with a flame at the top bigger than itself, and a sun surrounded by a glory, encircling its fat face, like the hair standing on end, and with elaborated eyes, nose, and mouth, nicely poised on one of the steeples. Then the first letter of the first paragraph, the initial of the dedication, was to be found lurking in a tree, or hiding behind a hedge, in a small square vignette-now the most conspicuous object in a