nople and Scio, might have settled the affairs of Greece by accepting conditions grounded on the concession of an independent administration for the Morea, with Turkish garrisons in its strong places. Sultan Mahmoud, deceived by misrepresentation and self-confidence, determined otherwise, and the results were not only the establishment of a Greek monarchy, but, to our great regret, the battle of Navarino and the Treaty of Adrianople.

It was not long before we displayed the true character of our policy in the Levant. At the risk of a war with France we bombarded St. Jean d'Acre, and helped to drive the forces of Mehemet Ali out of Syria, and later, at the price of much blood and treasure, we declared war against Russia for the protection of the Porte, and undertook in concert with France those vast expeditions which terminated so brilliantly for us and our allies.

The fall of Sebastopol, which most of us are old enough to have witnessed, had the effect of placing us in a new position towards the Ottoman Empire. For the first time in history the Porte has taken part, by means of a solemn treaty, in that international system which has long prevailed among the Powers of Christendom, and we have pledged ourselves by an express and formal guarantee to maintain the independence and integrity of the Sultan's recognised dominions. We are no longer exposed, as heretofore, to the mere hazard of having, in virtue of a traditional policy, but also at our own convenience and discretion, to step forward in support of Turkish interests when threatened with some impending danger. We are henceforward bound by a distinct, imperative obligation, as in the case of Portugal, to redeem the pledge we have given in concert with our allies. Should any aggression be made on the territories or national independence of Turkey, we could not in honour reject the appeal which would doubtless be made to our good faith, even if it were to involve us in hostilities with an aggressive power or an aggressive coalition. It may be said that such a contingency is remote or improbable. The answer is obvious. What has happened already more than once may at any time happen again. What in earlier times required a long period and an unusual concurrence of circumstances to bring it about, may in these days of frequent innovation, of rapid movement, and of almost morbid impatience, be at our very doors before we are more than vaguely warned of its approach. Is this a fanciful representation? Let us test it by the experience of facts. Who, in the first week of February 1848, foresaw that the political movement in France announced more than the overthrow of a ministry and some extension of the popular franchise, that before the close of the month not only a sovereign but a dynasty would be expelled from the throne and realm of France, and that a republic would as suddenly be established on the ruins of the

exploded monarchy? Who could have imagined that, in little more than eight weeks from the period of those events, Berlin would be in the hands of its populace, Vienna at the mercy of its students and volunteers, Metternich an exile, and the Pope a fugitive? Who among those who went to bed in authority on the night which preceded the famous coup d'état at Paris, suspected that by daylight next morning he would be a prisoner or a convict, holding his life at the will of a successful conspirator who but two days before had sworn fidelity to the commonwealth over which he presided? Let us not forget that a few words addressed by the French Emperor to the Austrian ambassador at his court, on New Year's day in 1859, gave to Europe the first intimation of a war which in less than six months made the dream of Italian resurrection a reality, and that the colossal struggle now frantically raging in America from one end of the Union to the other was unperceived by European forethought less than a year ago, and was then, even to American vigilance, no bigger than the prophet's embryo cloud on a remote horizon. Did not the massacres in Syria come upon us by surprise? Did we not feel the necessity of hastening to assist in their suppression? Were we not placed in the alternative of either sending out an expedition ourselves, or relying on the arms and good faith of a rival power? Have we any substantial security against the recurrence of similar horrors, of a similar necessity, and of a similar hazard?

But those who respect the faith of treaties, and acknowledge the claims of international law, may give full credit to others for acting upon the same principles. Such, consequently, may find in the terms agreed upon at Paris a sufficient barrier against any danger to which the Ottoman Empire might otherwise be liable from inherent weakness or habitual misgovernment. For my own part, I should be glad to share this confidence, and to find it borne out by the consistent practice of nations. I fear, however, that experience, which cannot be discarded from political calculations with safety, points but too often in a contrary direction. A temporary pressure or change of political relations will never be wanting to excuse a loose attention to formal engagements. Duty has the pliancy of a sentiment; interest operates with the force of a mechanical power. When the wind is too strong for plain sailing, we take in our canvas, and drive before the gale sometimes even under bare poles. The Congress of Vienna has something to teach us in this respect. Never were the interests of Europe more generally and deeply concerned than at that period. Never did plenipotentiaries meet under circumstances of greater solemnity. Never was there a louder call for honest dealing, and durable settlements. Lo! half a century has not elapsed since the completion of its labours, and where are now the results of them? Can anyone deny that they have become little

more than a record and a name? Have they held good in Italy? Have they prevented the territorial aggrandisement of France? Have they protected the rights of Switzerland? Have they not been openly violated or tacitly disregarded in favour of the very parties whom they were expressly intended to restrain? When the Emperor Nicholas suggested the dismemberment of Turkey, was he not bound to that treaty which in 1841 declared the maintenance of the Turkish Empire in its integrity to be a point of solemn agreement amongst the parties who signed it? During the negotiation of the last treaty of Paris in 1856 and since its conclusion, have not appearances in some measure warranted the prevailing impression that France and Russia were prepared to act in concert, though cautiously, for bringing on a solution of the Eastern Question? On a distant and very different theatre, have more than seventy years of brotherhood in the same constitutional system prevented the two great divisions of Washington's Union from tearing their mutual ties asunder, and treating each other, respectively, as tyrants and rebels, the former enforcing and the latter dissolving those mutual obligations with equal injustice and questionable faith? In fine, there is too much reason to apprehend that the treaty guaranty may prove a snare to the Turks as well as to ourselves, without furnishing any reliable security against the dangers to which their dilapidated empire is exposed from other quarters. They, while relying on the guaranty, are tempted to neglect their internal resources, and we, in the sincerity of our purpose, are disinclined to counteract their negligence by adequate exertions.

A very important interest, already alluded to, comes in aid of the motives suggested by our obligations under the treaty. We are dependent on the Porte for our most direct and speediest communication with India. In proportion as Her Majesty's territories in that country become more identified with the Government at home, it is desirable that the established means of intercourse between both should be, as much as possible, rapid and sure. Whether the telegraphic wires, and eventually the conveyance by steam, be carried over the Isthmus of Suez or along the valley of the Euphrates, both lines must necessarily stand in need of Turkish protection, and it is evident that whatever tends to weaken or endanger that protection must be injurious to our interests in no common degree.

Let us imagine Egypt in the possession of a power whose population, active, warlike, intelligent, and ambitious, is ever prone to entertain a jealous, and not unfrequently a hostile, feeling towards England. The Mediterranean shores of Egypt are so well fortified-thanks to the skill of French engineers-that whether the Viceroy were to raise the standard of independence, or to be overpowered by foreign stratagem, we should have little chance, and the Porte still less, of forcing his

hands, except, perhaps, from the side of Syria, and not even there if the famous canal, with its intended system of defences and its magnificent breadth of water, were completed. In the time of the late mutiny we should have acted with far more immediate effect if a continuous line of electric wires had been at our disposal, and how much greater would have been our difficulties had the passage by Suez been closed to our despatches and our officers-had Sir Colin Campbell, for instance, been compelled to reach the scene of his future triumphs by a voyage round the Cape! The case here supposed may be improbable, the very supposition of it may be unjust; but where such momentous interests are at stake, it is our business to look out, and our duty to guard against the worst that may happen.

These eventualities, remember, are to be taken in connection with the magnitude of their consequences, should they at any time occur. We must take them also in connection with the requirements of our trade in those inland seas which bathe the extensive coasts of European and Asiatic Turkey, with the vast political interests which may be said to constitute us the natural supporters of the Ottoman Empire, and with the treaty obligations which, if they be let to come practically into force, can hardly fail to involve us in many perilous embarrassments and costly sacrifices. Our minds are thus involuntarily brought to an inquiry, bristling indeed with obstacles, but also overflowing with interest and instruction. What is the real condition of that empire in whose destiny we cannot but feel that our country is deeply concerned? How far is the prevailing opinion of its decay and approaching downfall borne out by facts? What are the nature and extent of its remaining resources? By what means can they be so drawn out as to avert or postpone indefinitely its utter ruin and dismemberment? These questions, in truth, are not of easy solution; but they lie in our path, and must be examined, if not removed, before we can hope to arrive at any distinct and satisfactory conclusion.

We owe to Macchiavelli, who is generally considered to be a strong-minded and unprincipled writer, the remark, which no doubt possesses much truth, that a conqueror has no middle course between the two extremes of mixing his own people with the vanquished race or exterminating the latter. The Turkish camp, with a Sultan on horseback for its leader, acted neither on the one nor on the other of these two principles. Jew, Christian, Hindoo, idolater, all, on submission and payment of tribute to the conquering Mussulman, were left in the enjoyment of their property, in the exercise of their respective forms of worship, and, to a certain degree, under the local authority of magistrates belonging to their own race and creed. Macchiavelli's maxim is vividly illustrated by the consequences

of this undecided policy, and the Sultan's government is now reaping in progressive weakness what it originally sowed in the plenitude of self-relying power. Its Christian subjects, those of the Greek Church in particular, live and, in despite of much past oppression and continued humiliation, thrive, apart from their Mussulman fellow-subjects, as objects of mistrust, rather than as sources of strength, to the Empire at large. The modern changes in their favour, though mitigating in practice the disadvantages, have not essentially altered the character of their political position. Their numbers, wealth, and knowledge are generally on the increase, while the professors of Islamism decline for the most part in those respects under the influence of circumstances peculiar to their social condition.

The Sultan exercises a supreme sovereign authority over all classes of the population in his empire. He is at the same time a Caliph, hereditary successor of the Prophet, and, in our language, Commander of the Faithful. The laws by which he governs, and distributes justice through his ministers, are fundamentally those of the Koran and its supplementary traditions, constituting in the estimation of Mussulmans, as we all know, the revealed will of God, immutable and all-sufficient. This rule of administration derives an obstructive character from its want of capacity for conforming to the variable wants of society and the expanding views of mankind. It operates moreover as an ever-growing source of discontent among those portions of the population who have no convictions to reconcile them to an arbiter of life, property, and honour, by no means invariably consistent with sound reason or common experience, and gradually more and more discredited by the evasions and corruptions which stain while they facilitate its administration.

The original mission of Islamism to force all nations into its pale, either as conformists or as tributary subjects, had naturally the effect of placing its professors in a state of hostility, at least virtually, with all independent neighbours. It sanctified aggression, not otherwise justified, on the rights of all, and made resistance, even of the preventive kind, a duty and a necessity on their part. The process, impulsive as it was, and long most wonderfully successful, carried in its bosom a principle of exhaustion, which eventually made further progress impossible, and reduced the spirit of conquest to a stagnation more fatal to its energy than productive of a sounder vitality. The same development of power which enabled the border states to say to the Turkish Empire, Hither, and no further,' rendered more apparent and less tolerable the vices of its internal system of government. The Christians within and the Christians without found in their mutual sympathies a fresh aliment of hope for the former and of ambition for the latter.

6

It may readily occur to anyone who compares the East with the