Although the office of the Vladika had been formerly purely elective; yet towards the close of the seventeenth century, through the influence of Vladika Daniel Petrovitch of Niegosh, it became hereditary in his own family; a member of which since that time has always been appointed by the Russian emperor.  As the Greek bishops belong to the monastic clergy, who of course are not permitted to marry,—­while the secular clergy are required to do so,—­the succession goes in a collateral line.  The present Vladika, Peter Petrovitch Niegosh, a man of uncommon size, handsome features, considerable talent, and a highly respected character, was partly educated in Russia.  When his predecessor died,—­a powerful man who had ruled for fifty-three years, during which time he had led his flock to many a bloody battle, and who was canonized as a saint by the present bishop,—­this latter was appointed by the emperor Nicholas.  But as he was then only fifteen years old, Montenegro was governed by a sort of guardian; and the Vladika did not enter upon his office until he had completed his eighteenth year.  The wisdom, the energy, the consistency in his improvements, which, he has displayed since that time, constitute him, in connection with his youth, one of the most remarkable personages of our time.  His chief aim seems to be to make Montenegro a member of the great civilized family of Europe, without depriving her of her freedom and independence; and the firmness with which he proceeds further and further in a course, where he meets with difficulties at every step, deserves praise and admiration.

The first circumstance which directed the attention of literary Europe to this remote corner, was a visit of the present king of Saxony, who in 1838 made a botanical excursion into those “black mountains.” [16] Since then, the celebrated Egyptian scholar, Wilkinson, has visited it; and this country is no longer closed against travelling artists.  The Vladika has naturally the manners of a gentleman; he is said to speak French, and to understand German, Italian, and of course Russian.  That he is considered as one of the best riflemen and horsemen in his country, we cannot esteem as of much importance in a bishop; but he studies also the classics and translates the Iliad for his own pleasure.  His Servian poems seem mostly to have been written on particular occasions.  He addressed an ode to the king of Saxony after his return to Dresden, which unfortunately not a person of the whole court could understand; and the author of this volume, who happened then to be at the “German Athens,” was applied to for a translation.[17] In their own productions, all these educated writers imitate the modern literature of other nations further advanced in civilization, especially the Germans.  Milutinovitch has even a tinge of their philosophy.  There is no want of talent; but there is no nationality in them.  Nothing of that wonderful amalgamation of the East and the West; of mountaineer wildness and Christian principles; of barbarism and civilization; nothing of that interesting blending of Asia and Europe, which we feel entitled to expect from the poetry of Servians, who stand on the border between Muhammedanism and Christendom.  Nothing which these educated writers have hitherto produced, can be compared with the effusions of their old blind men, and of their peasant lads and girls, that is, their popular poetry.