much to me; and no wonder you shine so much in Caniadau'r Bont, when you had such a pattern in your eye. I am still of opinion, as far as I can trust my memory, that Hugh Morris is the first song-writer in our language that copied Nature, or that wrote anything tolerable. Sion Tudur, William Cynwal, William Llŷn, and the rest of the writers of Queen Elizabeth's age, were, in a manner, strangers to it. And I do not remember to have seen anything in the shape of a song till the merry reign of Charles 2nd, about which time song-writing began to sprout, in imitation of the English and French, and all good, substantial Cywydds and Awdlau (Odes) about that time hid their heads. It is true Hugh Morris wrote a little in the time of Charles 1st and Oliver, but it was very loose and incorrect, and I suppose you have hit upon some of his youthful pieces in the picture you drew of him. There is also an allowance to be made to merry, jocose, light subjects, in which a prudent mixture of languages looks pretty enough. I admit song-writing to be of very ancient date in all languages, and I do not except the ancient Celta, whose bards did certainly make use of it. But the Britons fell into a kind of heroic poetry when we came to be Roman provincials, which was new modelled by Gruffudd ap Cynan, and, as it were, religiously followed till the time of Queen Elizabeth, when it began to dwindle, and song-writing occupied its place soon after, much in the taste we have it now, though not in that perfection. This is the light I see things in; perhaps you see them through better glasses, and I am sure you have better eyes. Now, since I see you allow of great liberties in song-writing, nay, even claim them as your own undoubted right, not only as an ancient nation, but as descendants from Troy, I will venture to lay one of these funny songs before you for your approbation, and in expectation, I warrant you, of a little perfume. The subject is a particular friend of mine, a Fellow of Jesus College, Oxon., who,

according to the laws of the College, durst not marry without losing the benefit of his Fellowship, and also losing the chance of having a fat College living, which he has waited for these 30 years. At last, about two years ago, a rich benefice fell to him at Nutfield, in Surrey, and he soon took to him a wife in that neighbourhood, which action of his, in his old age, produced the inclosed song. The loss of him in Anglesea is a very heavy one, for he was a real good man, gave freely to the poor, and shined in good works. I never ventured upon Hugh Morris's long, heavy measures; they are too laborious for me. A little Triban, or short-winded double couplet, is the utmost of my ambition in song-writing. I hate slavery and imitation. The D-- owed me a grudge, as well as Parson Ellis, and he, or somebody, inveigled me to suffer Hugh Jones of Llangwm to publish my foolish productions in verse, which he is now doing in London by subscription for his own benefit, together with the works of Gronow Owen and Hugh Hughes. When that wise affair comes public, O! how I shall be torn to pieces by critics! then will be the time for such a strenuous assertor of Licentia Poetica (poetical licence) as you are, for I am sure I shall want a defender. Was I not a weak fellow for running the gauntlet for the diversion of the public, when I might have died in peace with some little character in poetry, had I kept the fool within? O! fie upon it! how happened this weakness? Dear Sir, if you knew how troublesome it is to me for to write, you would excuse me, and not expect a long letter, and there are few men in the world (I do assure you) that I would take pains to write so much for their diversion, for what is all this but to raise your spirits, and to make you laugh heartily, to see a man without the gifts of nature or art in any perfection, endeavour to please one of the most accomplished scholars in his country; but, for all this, believe me to be, your obliged friend and servant,

"LEWIS MORRIS."

THE EISTEDDFODAU OF 1878.

EISTEDDFODAU are multiplying and becoming ubiquitous. Two have been held during the present year, and with fair success: one at Porthaethwy (Menai Bridge) in August, and one on English ground at Birkenhead in the month of September. We would we could record improvement in the conduct of the business of the several days; but that consummation, though devoutly wished for, has yet to come. The adjudications were, perhaps, more condensed, and consequently less wearisome than heretofore. But the great evil of too many prizes of a trifling value, not only exhausted the patience of the audience, but aided to increase the already too abundant worthless compositions which the Eisteddfod fosters.

There was a decided improvement in the choral singing at both places. The competitions for the great prize at Birkenhead were marvellous feats-almost perfect. If literature has not advanced, music and song have made rapid strides towards the highest excellence. We except, of course, from this roll the higher literary prizes, such as that of the Chair Prize at Birkenhead, which produced a poem worthy of the occasion.

To chronicle the whole work of the Eisteddfod would be little more than the reiteration of what has been said of previous gatherings. It is amazing how determinedly the bards keep to the old ways. As we look back on the several Eisteddfodau held at Pwllheli, Wrexham, Carnarfon, Menai Bridge, and Birkenhead, they seem, as in a dissolving view, to blend or rather melt into one another, so that no distinct VOL. II.

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impression of any one is left on the retina of the mind. This sameness of character and of action offers no high promise of continuing success. In fact, it points out a want, the supply of which can alone make the Eisteddfod prosperous and enduring-an elected governing body to control its operations. This was admirably pointed out in an earlier number of Y Cymmrodor by Mr. and Mrs. Thomas. Until it is done, the Eisteddfod will be held here and there at random; obsolete performances will be continued usque ad nauseam; and the most devoted patriot and lover of the institution grow weary of its horse-in-the-mill iterations.

The Chairs at both places were efficiently filled-at Menai Bridge by Richard Davies, Esq., M.P.; Morgan Lloyd, Esq., M.P.; Lewis Morris, Esq. (the author of the Epic of Hades); and the Lord Bishop of Bangor. The several addresses by the Presidents were worthy of themselves, and of the Eisteddfod.

We have no room for them in Y Cymmrodor. But there are circumstances connected with the appearance of Mr. Lewis Morris that must not be passed by.

The great-grandson of Llewelyn Ddu o Fon, whose bardic compositions have become almost household words on the lips of the Welsh people, and whose antiquarian and philological researches were positively marvellous in a century when neither of these sciences had as yet emerged out of its early and rudimentary state, Mr. Morris's presence at the Eisteddfod bespoke for it a new life. We could almost fancy that the shade of his honoured ancestor hovered over the chair on which his descendant sat, to cheer and to welcome him. But this is not all; Mr. Morris has already raised himself to fame by his own brilliant exercises in the arena of song. As the Poet Laureate, in increasing splendour and glory, descends toward the horizon, Mr. Morris's achievements point him out as the light which rises in the eastern sky to illumine

and cheer us in the coming time. For the honour of Wales we pray that it may be so.

Mr. Morris was enthusiastically cheered on rising to address the audience. Having thanked them for the kind manner in which he had been received, he said there were a great many reasons why he should not come to the present Eisteddfod. He was conscious that he had never attended an Eisteddfod before, and this, together with the fact that he was but partially acquainted with the Welsh language, were some reasons why he should not attend. On the other hand, there seemed to him very good reasons why he should put aside all such objections, and come amongst them that day. One reason was, that great honour had been done him by requesting him to take the chair; though this might not have been a sufficient one to win him from habits of seclusion. He came there, feeling that honour was done to his great ancestor, Llewelyn Ddu o Von, and his great friend the illustrious poet, Goronwy Owain. If this be the true view of the reason why he came there, perhaps it might not be out of place for him to give a short sketch of the Morrises of Von. They were, in the beginning, in comparatively humble circumstances, and had but few educational advantages offered them; but yet they all attained very considerable eminence. William Morris, who was Comptroller of customs at Holyhead, was a very true friend of all Welsh poets, and had a very large collection of Welsh manuscripts; and any appeals made to him for literary support, were, he believed, never refused. Richard Morris, his brother, was a more distinguished man. It was he who revised the Welsh Bible and Prayer Book. As regards the Welsh version of the Bible, he was well aware that it formed the main literature of their country; and apart from its sacred character, he thought there was no Welsh book more admirable as a literary work than the Welsh Bible. He was also the founder and president of the