into their mouths with their (the Pashas')
fingers; consent to forget the very existence
of such articles as razors, soap, or nail-
brushes: sleep anywhere; deliver
themselves willing captives to the bow of the
bug and the spear of the flea; treat clean
linen as a myth; wear jack-boots; run,
over and above all these little inconveniences,
the additional risks of perishing by fever,
ague, or dysentery; or of being hanged as
spies, or blown to pieces decently with a
shell or a cannon-ball, according to the usages
of civilised warfare and the laws of nations.
Whereunto must be added the pen of a
ready writer, and the power of compressing
the matter for an essay in the
Quarterly within the limits of a column of long
primer type; the faculty of observation, fertility
of quotation, readiness of illustration, a
retentive memory, a current acquaintance with
all the countries and political systems of Europe.
Furthermore, our own correspondent must be
enduring of fatigue, impervious to weather,
callous to vexation and affront, patient of
delay, unbindable by red tape, quite indifferent
to the objections of high and mighty lords
to his existence, electro-telegraphic in
apprehension, unswerving in industry, unshakeable
in probity, and above all, he must send
smart articles. If he is not this kind of
correspondent, and cannot accomplish all these
things, the sooner he comes back, is called to
the bar of the Middle Temple, and writes an
account of what he has seen in two crushing
volumes that would kill an elephant, the
better.

It is another of the educational amenities
of war, that amidst the roar of cannon and
the clash of sabres, or, as it sometimes
happens, in the dearth of belligerent operations,
those schoolmasters of journalism
who are abroad on our behoof can lind leisure
to enlighten us as to the minutest details of
oriental life. Between the lulls of shot and
shell, shrapnel and grape, mine and countermine,
assault and sortie, covered ways and
têtes-de-pont, our instructors tell us soothing
tales of the Turkish ladies' boots, the Sultan's
band-master, the price of fowls at Gallipoli,
the scarcity of London porter at Scutari.
We are told how the Turks were unmoved
by the terrific bearskins of the guards, but
were somewhat melted into admiration by the
kilts of the Highlanders; how the Zouaves
and the Rifles fraternised together; how
much brandy the coquettish vivandières
sold; how officious wives carried revolvers
in their belts; and the camp lines of the
British troops on their departure for Varna
were marked by broken jam-pots, pomatum-
pots, sardine-cases, and bones of fowls. As
we read, comes forth with a burst, and an
additional fifty thousand circulation, the
Great Illustrated Paper; and in the magic
mirror of the engraved block, forthwith we
see the guardsman unpacking his
portmanteau in his barrack quarters at Scutari;
the lean, savage dogs quarrelling over
carcases by moonlight on the yellow sands;
the smoking Turks, the bustling Greeks.
Mosque and minaret, fez and yataghan,
steamer and caïque, bombarded city and burning transport—we can see them all, without stirring from our firesides, for sixpence. A shilling, and half-an-hour's walk, and Messrs. Grieve and Telbin, or Mr. Beverley, will transport us to the seat of war, and show us water as blue, and minarets as white, and within an ace as real, as the actual things of three thousand years ago; while the urbane Mr. Stocqueler, or the voluble Mr. Kenney, will talk like agreeable books, and save us the trouble of reading and travelling, and yet teach us more than we might gain by either.

It is one distinctive feature of the present
war, that it carries its educational arteries
into the very lowest members of the body
corporate. In the last war, the great mass of
the people had but two definite opinions as
to the conduct of hostilities. In the first
place, that Boney was an incarnation of all
human evil, whom it was expedient by all
means, fair or foul, to demolish; in the
second, that one Englishman was equal to
three Frenchmen. With some old ladies of
the period, there was a supplementary notion
added to these two great canons of faith:
namely, that whenever the wind howled rather
boisterously among the chimney-pots at
night, or a door was violently slammed,
the French were coming. It is comfortable
now-a days to compare these crude and
prejudiced views of matters, with the calm,
earnest, and intelligent manner in which the
people discuss the progress and conduct of
the war. Impatience of taxation may yet exist,
but ignorant impatience is no more. We
know—in short, we WILL know—what we
go to war for, and why; and though
the wicked jack-booted Czar is turned to
considerable account as a mark for caricature,
as the moral acuity or adornment of
every tale in a political street-ballad, we
don't make Nicholas a boguey for our
children.

Some of the amenities of war have found
their way into that ordinarily ferocious
library, the very low literature of the people.
I have observed with considerable gratification,
in the thickly populated districts of
London, as well as in the lesser Londons of the
provinces, where the toil-burnt men of the
clogs, and anvils, and spindles, congregate, that
the news of the war, albeit greedily looked
out for, is of a healthier and more intellectual
character than the other exciting literary
dishes served up for the refectation of the
masses.

I do not think the English people are, or ever
will be, at all in danger of being bitten by that
mischievous tarantula, Glory. Therefore, I
would sooner see the sons of England reading
the bold exploits of England's martial worthies,