that the learned of the seventeenth century should have deemed it a sort of degradation of their character to think or write exclusively for the people. Yet such was the fact. Nor should it surprise us when we recollect, that knowledge was then confined, comparatively speaking, to a few individuals, while the distinction it thus necessarily conferred had a natural tendency to flatter their vanity, and make them look down with an air of superiority, bordering on contempt, on the unlettered multitude below.

- Philosophy was in those days too proud, too aristocratic, if we may say so, to let herself down to the comprehension of ordinary mortals; but to condescend to enter into their views, to come into friendly contact, as it were, with their prejudices, to instruct their ignorance, to contribute to their amusement, or to assist and encourage them in the attempt to approach nearer to that intellectual eminence on which herself was seated, was not once thought of. There can be no doubt, indeed, that the great body of the people were held by the writers of that age as utterly unworthy of their notice. This is apparent from the language they habitually employ whenever they have occasion to speak of them. "The mob," "the canaille," "the vulgar herd,"" and the manyheaded beast," are the courteous epithets bestowed on all who had not received the benefit of an university or formal education, or whose rank and profession did not require or imply it. The following passage from Foster'sadmirable Essay on the Evils of Popular Ignorance is as just as it is forcibly and eloquently expressed." The writers," says he, are habitually seen in the very mode of addressing their readers, recognising them as a sort of select community, and any references to the main bulk of society are in a manner unaffectedly implying that it is just merely recollected as a herd of beings existing on quite other terms, and for quite other purposes than we fine writers, and you our admiring readers." "Indeed," continues he, "it is apparent in our literature of that age, that the main national population were held by the mental lords in the most genuine sovereign contempt, as creatures to which souls were given just to render their bodies

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mechanically serviceable. period was fast approaching when this despised and "rascally multitude," as they were sometimes termed, were to acquire a consideration in the scale of society, that was to render it no longer either disreputable or unprofitable for talents and genius to solicit their notice. The civil wars between Charles I. and the Parliament, however disastrous in other respects, were, nevertheless, attended with this advantage that they accustomed even the lowest of the people to habits of reflection. It was necessary that every man should choose his party, and take his side in the great national conflict. And though it should be supposed that many did so from improper motives or erroneous views, it must also be admitted, that, in a matter of such importance, they would endeavour to justify their choice by such arguments as they were masters of."

It is a common remark, that civil war and other great national emergencies never fail to call forth the talent and genius suited to the occasion. But while they do this, it should not be forgotten, that they do what is of infinitely more importance. They improve and invigorate the national intellect at large, by habituating every member of the state to exercise his judgment on questions of the highest moment-questions not merely interesting to the philosopher as matters of speculation, but which come home to the feelings, and in their results directly affect the personal comfort and interest of the great body of the citizens. Thus even civil war, that worst of national calamities, is not altogether without its advantages, which, though trifling and light as air when put in the balance against the miseries and the mischiefs it occasions, are yet gladly laid hold of by the philanthropist as a slight compensation for ills he deplores, but cannot prevent.

While the political and religious dissensions of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries thus stimulated and prepared the minds of men for the acquisition of knowledge, the diffusion of wealth, and a more liberal establishment for the education of youth, furnished them with the means of making the acquisition. Hence it happened, that, at the accession of Queen Anne, there existed a

E

sort of new order in the state, since known by the name of the reading public, comprising a numerous and respectable body of all ranks, and, in a literary point of view, occupying a middle place between the learned by profession on the one hand, and the totally illiterate on the other. Such were the persons for whom the periodical press of Great Britain was, for the first time we may say, instituted -for whose instruction and ainusement the lucubrations of an Addison, a Steele, and a Swift, were penned. On the character and tendency of the periodical labours of those celebrated authors, it is unnecessary to say much. They are in every body's hands. The Spectator is as familiarly known as the Bible or Book of Common Prayer, and is not unfrequently to be found occupying the same shelf. Perhaps no writings in the English language ever obtained so universal a circulation; and it is not too much to affirm that few or none were ever more deserving. As to their style, it has long been held, by the best authorities, as a model of chaste simplicity-elegant without affectation-perspicuous without being diffuse.

The papers in the Spectator are, with a few exceptions, of a practical tendency. Man, as a moral and accountable being, is the chief object. The authors address their readers, not so much in their political capacity of citizens, as in their more general character of individual men and women, holding certain relations in society, and having duties to perforin, errors to correct, faults to amend, and virtues to improve or confirm. They inveigh against vice with all the cogency of argument. The follies and the eccentricities that elude or defy reasoning, they assail with the successful weapons of wit and satire. They reprove, exhort, remonstrate, laugh, and even frown, with all imaginable good nature. They are circumstantial, but not personal. They attack the sin, but spare the sinner. Their aim is to warn and instruct the fool, not to hurt the feelings of the man. These remarks will apply to more of the other periodical works of the eighteenth century. There is the same manly simplicity of style-the same force of reasoning-the same delicate vein of humour, and the same

practical tendency in all. With respect to the Rambler and some other papers, written at a later period, by the well-known pen of Dr Johnson, though they have the same practical tendency as the works above mentioned, they are yet very different in their style and manner. The style of the Spectator is simple and flowing, often diffuse, and sometimes feeble. That of the Rambler is dignified and concise. The former is distinguished by a sort of playful ease, inclining the reader to look on his author as a frank good-natured companion, who takes the liberty to offer his advice in a friendly way, without presuming to enforce it by his authority. The latter, on the contrary, assumes at once the air and attitude of a master; never relaxes into familiarity; speaks with a tone of decision commanding at once the attention and respect of his readers, and maintaining, throughout, a stateliness of carriage well adapted to the grave sentiments he inculcates. Perhaps no writer ever understood so well the power of the English language. None certainly ever wielded it with more dexterity and effect. In his choice of words, he is determined more by their force, than by a regard to their smoothness. His periods never appear laboured. They seem rather to flow with ease, but it is the ease of majesty and strength. Johnson's style was his own. It was new:-a medium between the manly strength of the old English authors of the time of Elizabeth, and the chaste classic elegance of the days of Anne. It possesses all the vigour of the former, without their stiffness, and nearly all the grace, without any of the feebleness of the latter. Were we writing a critique on his works, we should, as far as style is concerned, give the preference to his Rasselas. There is less of his peculiarities in it than in his other productions, and, both in sentiment and style, is justly considered one of the most beautiful compositions extant in any language.

The leading characteristic of those writings, and that which chiefly distinguishes them from similar productions of our own times, is an almost total absence of politics and political controversy. They were, as I have already said, teachers of good breeding, guardians of good taste and public morals, and nothing more. They

left it to the responsible agents of government-the ministers of state-to manage the affairs of the state, to impose taxes, nominate to places, conclude peace, or proclaim war, just as they thought proper.

This political apathy, so different from what obtains in the present times, and which, to some, may seem to savour of servility, was owing to the state of the country at that period. For a period of more than forty years previous to the Revolution of 1688, the people of England had been engaged in an arduous and painful struggle with despotic power. They had lavished their money, and shed the best blood of the nation, to recover the liberty which they had lost, or to secure and confirm what yet remained. Success was for a long time doubtful. No sooner had they shaken off the yoke of one tyrant, than another, and a worse, usurped his place. So that, by the time they had finally gained their object, they were something in the situation of exhausted combatants, glad to repose from their toils, and forget their past labours in contemplating the victory in which they had Issued. The writers of that age, therefore, like the generality of writers of every age, readily accommodated themselves to the public taste. They neglected politics, and, instead of wearying their readers with the intrigues of courts, or the turbulence of faction, they amused them with the more harmless politics of the drawing-room, the disputes of lovers, or the jealousies of an elderly husband over his young and beautiful spouse.

It was not till towards the close of the last century, that the periodical press of Great Britain began to assume a complexion decidedly political. In this, however, it was not leading, but following in the wake of public opinion. The first American War, and the questions it gave rise to, excited an uncommon degree of interest both in the senate and the nation at large. Everywhere the popular feeling was loudly expressed for or against the measures of administration with respect to the colonies. The press followed, and lent its powerfal aid to the partisans of each of the two great parties into which the state was then, and still continues to be, divided. The ministry, glad to find Support by whatever means, were not

unwilling to display their generosity to a band of hireling writers, whose business it was to defend the measures of their masters, and heap abuse on all who had the courage or honesty to question their propriety. To vindicate themselves from the aspersions of those venal scribes, and expose what they conceived the ruinous policy of their employers, the friends of American liberty had recourse, in their turn, to the agency of the press.

Thus, while the armies of England were employed in an inglorious, and, finally, unsuccessful crusade against the liberties of America, their fellowcitizens at home were engaged with no less zeal, and hardly less bitterness, in a sort of literary civil warfare, of which liberty also was the object. The newspapers, hitherto little more than dry registers of public events, now teemed with reflections, embodying and recommending the political principles of their editors. The example of the daily press was speedily followed by the literary magazines, reviews, and periodical journals of almost every description, which ranged themselves on the one side or the other, as interest or principle dictated, propagating and defending the tenets of their respective parties.

Such was the state of feeling in this country when the French Revolution first broke out. That mighty event, the effects of which are not yet perhaps fully developed, was hailed by one half of mankind as the harbinger of a new and better order of things, and dreaded and detested by the other as a moral plague, that was to destroy all social institutions, and introduce universal anarchy and confusion. No where, however, did it produce a more powerful impression than in our own island. The public mind might be said to have been absorbed in it. All ranks of men not only thought, but felt for or against it. Its principles, its progress, its tendency, its proscriptions, massacres, and murders, were the constant theme of conversation. None were found hardy enough to justify the excesses to which it unfortunately led, but there were many, who, while they lamented its horrors, approved of its principle, and wished it success. In short, popular feeling was roused to the utmost stretch of intensity. Meanwhile, a spirit of republicanism seemed fast gaining

ground. Liberty and Equality, the Shibboleth of the Revolutionists on the Continent, were echoed with rapturous enthusiasm by thousands, and tens of thousands, from one end of the island to the other; and without some prompt and decisive measure, it was evident a crisis was at hand. To prevent, therefore, the spread of Jacobinical notions, and overawe their abettors, the whole force and authority of government soon became necessary. In Ireland the flames of rebellion were already kindled, and it was generally apprehended, that nothing but a spark was wanting to kindle them at home. While men's minds were thus agitated, and their passions heated, it certainly ought not to astonish us, that mere literature, formal criticism, and calm dispassionate dissertations on life and manners, should appear dull and insipid to the majority of the reading public. In fact, there was an absolute impatience of moral maxims and sober precept. Even that more popular species of writing addressed to the imagination failed to arrest attention. Nothing was listened to that had not a reference, more or less direct, to the great principles and events of the day. Nothing else would take, nothing else would go down. And the writer who wished to be read, or even tolerated, was obliged, whatever might be his individual taste, to sacrifice largely to the taste of that tribunal before which he chose to appear. There was no necessity, indeed, for his sacrificing his political opinions, but there was a necessity for his expressing, with energy and decision, those which he held. Nor was this necessity confined to the newspapers, and works professedly political; it extended, in no inconsiderable degree, to periodical publications of almost every description. Not a country magazine that did not find it convenient to take its side, and avow its tenets, while the more eminent publications then existing, or since set on foot, were soon as much distinguished by their party feelings, and attachment to a certain system of politics, as by the talent and ability with which they were conducted.

The same remarks will apply, and perhaps even more forcibly, to all the subsequent periodical writings of the kind mentioned, down till the present day, and in all probability will conti

nue to do so for a long time to come. The recent revolutions in favour of liberty in so many countries of Europe the emancipation of the South American colonies, (for their emancipation is now no longer problemati cal,)-and, above all, the spirit of bold and independent thinking peculiar to the age-afford a moral certainty that the day is yet far distant when politics, in the extended sense of the term, shall cease to interest a British public.

It remains to consider the effect which periodical literature, as at present conducted, is calculated to produce on the learning and morals of the country.

That it is favourable to the interests of learning, cannot, we think, admit of a doubt. It makes knowledge accessible to the very lowest orders of the community. By means of monthly and quarterly publications in a cheap and commodious form, the discoveries of the learned in the different departments of the arts and sciences are made known, explained, and illustrated to thousands, who would otherwise never have heard of them. They keep alive a taste for reading among the people, which is often of more advantage than the value of the information they contain. They are favourable to the cultivation of the intellectual powers, by continually presenting new subjects of reflection, and new topics of conversation to persons whose range of ideas is necessarily limited. They bring down knowledge to the level of ordinary understandings, serving as a medium of communication between the professed philosopher and man of science on the one hand, and the practical man of business, and the industrious mechanic and laborious artizan, on the other. It is not their object, nor do they pretend, to make their readers perfect masters of every subject they treat, or to render them profound scholars and philosophers; but they do what is of far more importance. They make them all more or less enlightened, they remove absolute ignorance, gross prejudices, and increase the aggregate of national intelligence, on which, let it be remembered, national happiness and improvement depend: for it signifies little how many erudite critics or linguists, or how many able divines or lawyers,

or how many eminent poets or paint ers, a country can boast, if the mass of its population be in a state of abject ignorance. Perhaps England could reckon as many men of profound skill and genius in the arts and sciences a century ago as she can at the present time; yet it will hardly be denied that the general talent, and the intellectual attainments, of the nation, are, beyond all comparison, greater now than in the days of George the First.

After this, it would be a mere waste of time and words to attempt to remove the prejudices (for they can scarcely be called arguments) which are sometimes entertained against the publications in question. It has been alleged, for instance, that they tend to encourage habits of indolence -to make knowledge extremely vague and superficial-and, worst of all, to flatter the vanity of every smatterer in learning, who is apt to imagine he can attain all that is necessary of any subject in a single evening, by merely glancing over at his leisure some dozen pages of a manageable octavo, hot from the press, and neatly done up in a blue or yellow cover. It should be remembered, however, that all this, supposing it to happen, is but an incidental evil the abuse of a good thing. If a student, from laziness, or whatever cause, satisfy himself with a popular review of a work, when he should have consulted and studied the work itself, there is no help for it. A student who deserves the name will not satisfy himself so easily; if he do, there are ten chances to one, that, but for the review, he would have remained ignorant of the subject altogether. But that is not the question. Periodical publications are principally designed, not for students, but for the people; and if, as we have endeavoured to show, they have contributed more, perhaps, than any thing else to enlighten and instruct, as far as their education and circumstances will permit, the great body of the people, we may well console ourselves for the vanity of a few self-conceited sciolists and shallow pretenders.

The same arguments that establish the beneficial influence of the periodical press on the literature, are equally conclusive of its good effects on the morals of a country. Indeed, whatever is favourable to the one is, gene

rally speaking, favourable in the same degree to the other. What enlightens the mind improves it. Ignorance is the mother, not only of devotion, but superstition. Mental prejudices generate practical errors, and knowledge, though it may be perverted for a time, directs its possessor, in the end, to right conduct.

The greater part of the periodical press of Great Britain is at this moment so much engrossed with politics, or with the discussion of ques tions and controversies connected with politics, that it is exceedingly difficult to assign the precise amount of influence it is calculated to exert on the moral feelings of the nation. In the days of Addison and Johnson, that influence could be determined at once simply by a perusal of their papers. They were professed teachers of morals, and discoursed directly on the subject. But this is not the age of practical essays. Not one in a hundred of our periodical journals makes it its business directly to influence the religious sentiments or moral conduct of its readers. The influence they exert, therefore, is only indirect and accidental, unknown, at least unstudied, by the writers, and not thought of by their readers. Yet it is not, for all that, the less real. The spirit they breathe, the nature of the subjects they discuss, and, above all, the tone and temper they display towards those who differ from them, insensibly, but powerfully, affect the opinions and habits of the people.

If we look at the temper some of our periodical journals display towards one another in the various controversies they have occasion to discuss, we shall be obliged to confess that it is not the most conciliating. There is an impatience of contradiction, a sort of fretful irritation, discoverable in their discussions, that too often betrays them into a degree of warmth unbecoming inquirers after truth. Were that warmth always confined to the mere attack and defence of principles and opinions, however undignified in literary men, the evil would be less. But, unfortunately, it has, in some instances, carried them farther. It has led them to attack persons as well as opinions. Argument has been exchanged for invective. The exercise of cool judgment has yielded to the display of angry feel