The clergyman at Home who has challenged anyone to show him a Bible text prohibiting Sunday, games has not produced a very sound argument in support of his ease because, as has been pointed which his great contemporary in' modern romance, Rudyard Kipling, tells us drove the mourning fairies away from Dymchurch, 'THE Prince of Wales laughed at the Archdruid's promise that any poem he would at any time submit to the Eisteddfod "would be duly and truly considered." And, indeed, is a long time since any of the royal line has taken to poetry. It would be almost lose-majesty to connect the word with Queen Vietoria or any of the Georges (the first two of whom did not know enough English). Charles LI. might, have come under suspicion, but pro-ably any offering of his Muse was suppressed as unfit for publication. James 1. wrote widely and tediously, fof theology and polities and tobacco, but scorns to have thought poetry too frivolous a pursuit for his argumentative pen. But with the Tudors we reach a freer air, and Henry VII. was as unabashed a Poet as he was a musician. Even Elizabeth, woman of affairs as she was, did not disdain the lyre, though her biographer is unkind enough to dismiss her few attempts at English verse as "worthless." But for a royal poet whose poems are worthy of a better epithet, we have to g0 back to James I. of Scotland, whose "Kingis Quair" ranks with the minor DISTORTED VIEWS OF;
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.