was a great injustice to have his shortcomings pointed out, as well as his merits praised. Damn the fellow; why doesn't he back his friends?' Ruskin once happened to overhear some one say of himself, and he left off from that date writing criticisms on contemporary painters. That is what I have heard many times directly and indirectly during the last decade." must have afforded him some pleasure in the doing and we submit that the gratification thus procured, and the bondless applause, for example, of two Saturday Review,' ought to be taken into account, as well as the passive pleasure of looking at the leaves in autumn-which is perhaps too fine for flesh and blood. some We may say, however, in re- The comments thus made are spect to Mr Ruskin, in, as it were, often very judicious and a parenthesis, that he has a curious times instructive, and they will gift, when he does not back his give much of the lively pleasure friends, of saying the most stinging of a personal talk and discussions, things possible about them in that to readers interested in art and exquisite diction of his; and also its professors, which means, of that he does back his friends-as course, to most educated persons. for instance the Tuscan young lady What is said of Leighton, Burne, and other protégés-in the most un- Jones, and Rossetti, is extremely abashed and superlative manner; good and discriminating, for inbut this by the way. "It does stance; but what have Miss Kate not much matter," adds Mr Quil- Greenaway and Mr du Maurier ter, with a mournful sentiment, to do among these big names? which perhaps is a little excessive Still more, what the anything in the circumstances, and breathes Mr Quilter pleases--has M. Tisof "a blight," what the world sot to do in this bead-roll of says of one; and though it matters more that our personal affections and sympathies should be withered or stunted, even that may be borne silently. Sun and sky still remain, and the smell of the grasses in the spring, and the silence of summer's full-green life, and the colour of the leaves in autumn." Let Mr Quilter cheer up! There are consolations, no doubt, in store for him more substantial than the smell of the grasses. He has written (and printed) a very pretty book, with much in it that will be delightful for the cultivated classes to talk over and discuss and though he tells us what an anguish it is to point out the shortcomings of his neighbours, and how his friends fall away from him, and abuse and isolation are his lot, he yet proceeds to touch up these friends with many neat little points and pricks, such as no doubt. the greatest artists of the time? "Tissot has but one rival in England, nainely, Alma Tadema," he says; at which we feel a shriek of horror burst from our lips. No command of colour or composition can justify a comparison between one of the most scholarly and refined of painters and the dashing author of so many obnoxious studies from the fashion-books very mal portés indeed, and put upon the meretricious shoulders of ladies from the demi monde. Mr Quilter ought to be ashamed of himself for making such a comparison, according even to his own tenets-which reject the mere art for art theory, and demand meaning and thought and motive, as well as mere "technical mastery," in every piece of painted canvas which claims to be called a picture. We will find only one other fault with Mr Quilter, and that is not his own, but his quotation from Emerson, which is repeated in various portions of his book, and which seems to us to be false all through both in its statement and its theory "As Emerson has finely said of the artist: The hand that rounded Peter's dome, And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, Wrought in a sad sincerity, Himself from God he could not free, It is pretty to see the American Apostle, and Mr Quilter after him, condescending to patronise Michel Angelo. "He builded better than he knew "-did he?-that great rugged, splendid immortal! And Mr Emerson knows better and pats him on the back for it, and an English critic repeats the pat. Did ever modern presumption and opaqueness of vision go further? The great Tuscan who "rounded Peter's dome" (it was early in the history of American culture when this was written, and perhaps Mr Emerson did not know who he was) was the last man in the world to free himself from God, and without doubt that fine cupola suspended itself in the noble firmament of his imagination with a thousand times more grandeur than mortal skill could ever work out in marble or stone. And pray, to drop into a much lower question, where did Mr Quilter or his poet find "groined aisles" in Rome? The man who quotes this pharisaical nonsense makes himself responsible for it. We are going to be serious before we conclude, and discuss higher things: so let us pause and Is We ask again, with bated breath, what does this jingle mean? it a jingle of some profound harmony too high for our comprehension? for it is signed by the name of ROBERT BROWNING, and it is the principal contribution to a funny but a pretty little book called by the not very appropriate title of the New Amphion,1 and designed to help the young men of Edinburgh University to get themselves a club. Why our young men, outnumbering Oxford and Cambridge, and able to make their professors the richest men in professorial Christendom, should not be able to get a club for themselves, is a question which may be asked in passing: but this is not the matter which chiefly occupies us. If Amphion piped like Mr Browning, do the gentlemen of the Fancy Fair think that the most doddered old willow in the Meadows would have lifted a leg, or the simplest shrub in the Princes Street Gardens danced to his music: or still less likely, that the stones in Craigleith quarries would have made one hop towards 1 The New Amphion: being the book of the Edinburgh University Union Fancy Fair. the building of the necessary wall? We are of opinion that these sober listeners, not to be taken in by a name would have remained unmoved, demanding as we do what it means. Is the red an illusion to the student's gown, which, however, does not boast that lively colour in Edinburgh (but Mr Browning might not know), and the white and yellow to the robes of the ladies crowding to their favourite celebration, the bazaar, which is to this age what Ranelagh and Vauxhall were to our fathers? The question is one too abstruse to be answered; but it shows what is the poet's opinion of his own composition, and the respect he has for the intellect of the North. It is too much, perhaps, to expect a happy inspiration from unfortunate persons of the literary persuasion required to contribute to such a collection. Mr Andrew Lang sends a vituperation of the Dog, which is scarcely in his best style; and Mr Robert Louis Stevenson does a similar thing for the student, himself chiefly intended, of which the same may be said. And Mrs Oliphant, with grandmotherly sentiment, essays, so far as we can make out, to awaken the interest of the young men in the perfectly unnecessary tremors of two mothers, who had no occasion to disturb themselves at all-a thing which no doubt sometimes happens among careful women, but calls for little sympathy. Professor Blackie, as is appropriate, carries off the honours of the day. He is like a jovial bird springing from bough to bough, singing his song,--now it is to May, now to a fair lady, anon to a fairer lady's dress, always cheerful and ready with his tag of Greek. His pleasant twitter enlivens the band, who are otherwise dull enough. It was pretty, no doubt, the Fancy Fair, and the book is pretty for the trifle it is; but we doubt if it is very much to the credit of our old University to seek advancement even in social life by such means. We have said that we have left graver themes to the last. One of them comes to us, a piece of history warm from the very making, in Major von Huhn's account of Bulgaria.1 Though professing to be merely a history of the war between Bulgaria and Servia, this book will be found to contain a great deal of interesting and instructive matter relating to the previous condition of the former country, and the progress it has made since 1878. He had already visited Bulgaria as the special correspondent of the Cologne Gazette' at the time of the RussoTurkish war, when he formed but a poor opinion of the people. Instead of an interesting oppressed nationality, he found a collection of ignorant, well-to-do boors, who would probably have been very well contented to form a Russian province, but could not be expected to constitute a State of their own. Russian influence continued alsolutely predominant for a considerable time after the formation of the two Bulgarian States, and it seems only to be by her own incalculable folly that Russia has ever lost that influence. The Bulgarians were grateful to the Czar, and quite willing to live under his control in peace and quietness. Of 1 The struggle of the Bulgarians for National Independence: a Military and Political History of the War between Bulgaria and Servia in 1885. Translated from the German of Major A. von Huhn. London: John Murray. Turkey nobody thought; it is true that the Bulgarians owed a tribute to the Sultan, but as they did not pay it, that was not of much importance. In Eastern Roumelia there was, indeed, a Turkish Governor-General; but that official seems to have been much in the same position as the unfortunate nobleman who lately held the pitiable post of Gladstonian Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. As a rule these governors seem to have acted, very sensibly; finding it useless even to pretend to be the supreme power in the State, they lived quietly in their official residence, and drew their salaries, which were large and regularly paid, and made as little reference to the Sultan as possible, so as not to provoke any open expressions of disloyalty. The real ruler all the time was the Russian consul-general at Philippopolis, and a very arbitrary and imperious ruler he was. In Bulgaria affairs were in much the same state, and the intention was that the nation should be governed from St Petersburg through the "bon jeune prince," who was to be merely the mouthpiece of Russia. This supremacy, however, was wantonly thrown away by the insolent and tyrannical conduct of the Russian officials, who treated Bulgaria like "a tribe of Turkomans, who can simply be ruled with the knout," and insulted Prince Alexander to his face. The good young Prince was thus driven into another course of action, and determined to start a nation on his own account, and, as Major von Huhn puts it, "turn his subjects into 'Bulgarians.'" How he succeeded in this object is shown by the enormous progress that Bulgaria has since made in every way, social and political, the greater part of which Major von Huhn attributes to the excellent ruler who has brought to his adopted country not only victory but Victorias, who has given enlightment to the whole people and European caps to the hotel porters, who has banished bigotry and brought in beer. Yes; after leaving Bulgaria six years ago in a state of semi-barbarism, Major von Huhn landed at Lompalanka in 1885 and found the people drinking beer, "real, excellent beer, straight from the cask and cooled on ice!" Verily Prince Alexander is a great man. On the Eastern Roumelian revolution Major von Huhn Huhn has much to say, and his account of that mysterious transaction, coming as it does from the fountainhead, is worthy of serious attention. That the actual revolution was the work of a small body of men, who were in no sense the authorised delegates of their countrymen, but were the true representatives of the national spirit, he has no doubt. Prince Alexander's reasons for accepting the government of the country are given in his own words. From his statement it appears that he had assured-and honestly assuredM. de Giers at Franzenbad that no such movement was immediately contemplated, to his knowledge, though the desire for unity was widely spread among the people of both States. Hardly, however, had he got back to Bulgaria before he received intelligence of the plot, when he immediately despatched a confidential envoy to Philippopolis to dissuade the leaders if possible from carrying it out. The envoy arrived too late, the revolt had broken out, and the Prince was called upon to assume the government. An immediate decision was We may quote here the following striking instance of the young Prince's insight and practical wisdom: "I cannot help telling a story at this point which does honour to both parties the Prince and the Mohammedans, and which proves that one can sometimes do more by straightforward and true confidence, than by the most artful tricks. During the first days no one in the province could tell what attitude the Prince had assumed to wards Mohammedans at Philippopolis, and consequently telegrams were received from every prefect in the country which were all pretty much of the same substance, and to this effect: All our men capable of bearing arms having now left their vil lages, there is a universal fear lest the Mohammedans, who are left alone behind, should fall upon the Christians. Amongst the former threatening symptoms are already noticed, and we cannot be answerable for anything, unless we receive authority, for which we now pray, to disarm the Mohammedans.' To this unanimous demand, the Prince telegraphed back that he most distinctly refused the desired permission. Then he sent for the Mufti of Philippopolis, and showed him all the telegrams of the prefects. The Mufti read and grew pale. 'You see,' said the Prince, what I am asked to do: I have always been very weli satisfied with my Mohammedan subjects. I have every confidence in you, and ་ therefore I have not acceded to this request. Will you betray my trust in you?' The Mufti replied, My Prince, we know how you have acted and we see how ready you are to conto our co-religionists in Bulgaria, ciliate us; as long as you are in East ern Roumelia no Mohammedan will take up arms against you.' And no one ever did." The account of the war itself, with its startling changes of fortune, is minute and vivid. Throughout the story, the central figure is Prince Alexander, of whose many good qualities the gallant Major can hardly say enough. Not only was he brave and full of resource, but merciful, anxious to pacify and quiet disturbance; springing down from his post of observation in horror at the results of the murderous fire of his own batteries, and cursing the needless war that made such carnage necessary; or changing at once from the soldier to the statesman, and dictating circular notes to the Powers avec accompaynement de trompettes, or rather of shells and musket-balls; or again, charging the German correspondent not to omit to chronicle the gallant behaviour of the enemy's artillery. His appearance throughout is that of a man, gallant, chivalrous, and humane, adored by his own soldiers, and so highly respected by the enemy, that but for the interference of greater Powers, he might have been King of Servia as well as Prince of Bulgaria-not by conquest, but by free election. We seem rather to be reading of a hero of romance than a character in plain unvarnished history, The affairs of Bulgaria are likely to prove of immense importance in Europe, even if there were not this charm of personal and roman |