This is high praise; but to those who are familiar with the passages to which Lord Rosebery refers, it will not seem exaggerated or misplaced. They form the peroration to Bute's inaugural address delivered at St. Andrews on the occasion of his election to the lord-rectorship of that University; and they run as follows:-- On the 5th of March, in this year, I took a walk with Professor Knight to Drumcarrow. It was a fine, sunny day. We stood among the remains of the prehistoric fort, and looked over the bright view, the glorious landscape enriched by so many memories, the city of St. Andrews enthroned upon her sea-girt promontory, the German Ocean stretching to the horizon, from where it chafes upon the cliffs which support her walls. And we remarked how God and man, how nature and history, had alike marked this place as an ideal home of learning and culture. And then the view and the name of the Apostle together carried my thoughts away to another land and a narrower and land-locked sea. I do not mean that where Patrai, the scene of Andrew's death, looks from the shores of Achaia towards the home of {145} Ulysses over waters rendered for ever glorious by the victory of Lepanto. I do not mean the City of Constantine, where the first Christian Emperor enshrined his body, and where the union of ineffably debased luxury and ineffably debased misery, which drains into the Sea of Marmora, excites a disgust which almost chokes grief and humiliation. Neither do I mean those sun-baked precipices which, by the shores of the Gulf of Salerno, beetle over the grave where lies the body that was conformed in death to the likeness of the death of the Lord. I mean the land of Andrew's birth--the hot, brown hills, which, far below the general sea-level of the world, gird in the Lake of Gennesareth--that strange landscape which also is not unknown to me, the environing circle of arid steeps, at whose feet, nevertheless, the occasional brakes of oleander raise above the line of the waters their masses of pink blossom, and whence the eye can see the snows of Hermon glistering against the sky far away;--and I pray that some words which he heard uttered upon one of those hills may be realised here--that the physical situation of this place may be but a parable of its moral position--and that it may yet be said of the House of the Apostle that "the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not, for it was founded upon a rock."[8] In 1888 Mr. Gardner of Paisley, publisher of the _Review_, was honoured with the appointment of publisher to the Queen. Bute, who was interested in every detail concerning the periodical, wrote to the editor with one of his quaint comments: _September_ 30, 1888.