ing one word in defence of poloa defence from certain accusations made by a class of sportsmen whose very name should prevent them from doing or saying anything against a pastime which, as far as horsemanship and the many qualities that make both a good soldier and a good man to hounds are concerned, are so intimately connected with their own favourite sport. I allude to the plea put forward by many keen foxhunters, that polo takes men away from the hunting field. Doubtless this may occur in one or two isolated instances; but where such is the case, the man who gives up following hounds for polo is no great loss to the huntingfield.

Hunting and polo are both sports that call forth the exercise of all those manly qualities that make Britons what they are, and what, please God, they ever will be—and, as such, should not clash. Personally, I have a very wide circle of acquaintances who are both polo - players and huntingmen, and as far as my experience goes, they are hunting-men first and polo-players after-in fact, I could not name one polo-player of repute, and I know most of them, who is not a keen huntingman. The two sports call forth so much the same qualities, that they should not in the least degree be antagonistic. Indeed they should be to a certain extent auxiliary; for at the time of the year that one flourishes the other is dormant, and vice versa. It has also been argued that, on account of its expense, a man cannot both play polo and hunt, and that therefore, in order to hunt, he should give up polo. I would answer this argument by asking— In what country a man, who wishes

to take part in both sports, means to hunt, and where he means to play polo? If he has but a moderate income, and desires to hunt in the Shires and play polo at Hurlingham, why, he will not last long. On the other hand, if he is content to hunt with his county pack, and keep his couple of hunters and couple of ponies who will earn their corn as hacks or harness ponies in the winter, why, he will see a lot of fun and enjoy both sports. We cannot all be Leicestershire Hurlingham "Peats," and the majority must be content to take a "back seat." Yet, after all, the "back seat is often very comfortable, very enjoyable, if we seat ourselves in it as we should

customers

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particularly if we be but humble individuals who have no reputation to keep up, and can enjoy our fun at our ease; for, once attained, the "keeping up a reputation" is an onerous and weary task as often as not. No-polo and hunting should go hand in hand; and he who would detract from the merits of the most ancient game of which we have any record-for it dates back to 600 B.C.-I would only say, "Be tolerant, and do not brand it as either a dangerous or cruel pastime because a few incautious votaries have lost their lives at it, or because now and then a pony breaks down or gets a crack on his head or his legs.'

In these days of luxury any sport that tends to take away our youth from enervating influences, that trains their physical powers, and makes them men, ought surely to be encouraged and fostered; and those who have seen polo played as it should be played, and have mastered the scientific aspect of the pastime, will allow that few games are more apt to bring to

the front all those qualities which make the flower of our manhood what it ought to be. The mantle of Whyte-Melville has not yet fallen on any who, like him, could have done ample justice to the sport. Had the game been in his day what it is now, his magic pen and powerful rhetoric would have done much to dispel many of the illusions surrounding it, and we should have had, in all probability, a polo song that would have stirred the blood in the most lethargic temperament, and the "" Royal game" would have been clothed with a halo that, till some worthy scribe arises, now only looms indistinctly in the future.

Well indeed may those who have once taken part in a good game quote, with a slight alteration, those stirring lines of Campbell of Saddell —

-for once the keen delights of polo have been tasted, and the game played on a perfectly educated pony, the mad rivalry, the stirring gallop, the gaudia certaminis of a hustle, and all its other entrancing charms been experienced, the remembrance will linger long, and the mere sight of a keen-fought match will be like the trumpet to an old war-horse, the horn and merry music of the pack to a worn-out hunter, and past triumphs will arise in the mind of the veteran poloist, who may well, as he recalls past days, exclaim, "Hæc olim meminisse juvabit!"

J. MORAY-BROWN.

AT a time when the efficiency of our army and the strength of our navy are being constantly called into question, and when battles are raging as to the wisdom or folly of short service in the ranks, and of converting our old men-ofwar into floating forts, it is well to look back to the deeds done by our soldiers and sailors in bygone days, when, though their weapons were rude and their vessels cumbrous, they succeeded in making themselves masters of the world both on land and sea. A retrospect of this kind is now most opportunely afforded us by the appearance of an edition of a quaint chronicle of the fourteenth century, in which are recorded the victories won by our arms during that eventful period. The author, one Geoffrey le Baker of Swinbrook, in Oxfordshire, tells us that he finished writing the second part of his "Chronicle at Osney, on Friday, the festival of St Margaret [20th July] 1347; and that the work was done at the request of Sir Thomas de la More." The production of the larger and more important part was also doubtless due to the initiative of the same worthy knight, who himself took a part in the politics of the time, and who may not improbably have contributed some pages to Baker's Chronicle.

scripta a generosissimo milite, Thoma de la Moore." It happens, however, that the evidence on which this assumption was based proves exactly the opposite contention. The occurrence of the name of Sir Thomas More in the Chronicle is the only countenance given to it; but this appears in such a connection as pointedly to prove that he was not the author. In his description of the circumstances relating to the abdication of Edward II. at Kenilworth, Baker apostrophises Sir Thomas in these words: "Quorum comitivam adherens predicto Episcopo Wintoniensi, tu, generose miles, qui hec vidisti et in Gallico scripsisti, cujus ego sum talis qualis interpres, te dico, domine Thoma de la More, tua sapienti et inclita presencia decorasti." As Mr Thompson points out in his admirable introduction to the Chronicle, this can mean nothing but that the author was indebted to Sir Thomas More for the detailed account of the melancholy scene at Kenilworth. Stowe, of whose 'Annales,' as also of the 'Brute Chronicle,' we shall make use in the following pages, says that the work was written originally in French by Sir Thomas More, and was at his "request translated and more orderlie penned in the Latine toong, by Walter (sic) Baker, alias Swinborne, chanon of Osney, besides Oxford." But whatever may have been the extent of the help given to Baker by Sir Thomas More, it is certain that in the Chronicle we reach the fountain-head of authority for the events of the period.

It is always interesting to discover the authorities for history. It is like tracing a river to its

source.

It enables one to estimate how much of the lower course of the stream owes its volume to the fountain of truth, and how much to the affluents of misrepresentation, party prejudice, and ignorance. But more especially it is interesting when the authorities cover a period so full of important issues and national triumphs as that which includes the last years of Edward I., the reign of his degenerate son, and the first twentynine years of the reign of Edward III. A contemporary chronicle which contains the record of such events as the battle of Bannockburn, the fall of Edward II. and his murder, the battle of Sluys, the march of Edward III. through the north of France and the battle of Crecy, the siege and capture of Calais, the Black Prince's march from Bordeaux to Narbonne and the battle of Poitiers, besides a host of other political and social matters, must always claim the attention of those who take a pride in their nation's difficulties and triumphs.

Fortunately for future generations Geoffrey le Baker was moved to write down as they occurred those events of his day which came to his knowledge; and it is on his Chronicle that all the later histories of that period are based. Unlike, however, the river's source of the above simile, this fountain-head is in many details infinitely fuller than the stream which has flowed from it; and supplemented as it is by Mr Thompson's notes, which are everything that notes should be, it contains an endless variety of curious national traits and romantic incidents.1

It seems difficult to imagine that at an interval of time which might be covered by seven long lives the only two powers in the State were the king and the nobles; that battles between contending armies were sometimes decided by single combat; that lepers were burnt alive; that bands of robbers met in troops like armies and overran the country; that an annual tribute was paid to the Pope; and that the king was able at will to plunder and banish the Jews, and to appropriate so much of the money and plate of the monasteries and churches as suited his purpose. Yet such was the state of things when Geoffrey le Baker took up his pen, and when Edward I. sat on the throne as King of England and France and Lord of Ireland. At that time Scotland owed no allegiance to the English crown; but on the contrary waged a perpetual war against her southern neighbour, mainly on account of the constant interference of the English king in the matter of the Scotch successions. Those were days when "the good old rule

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his advice. In the latter days of Edward I. the country went through a prolonged crisis of disputed succession. Wallace had been cruelly executed on Tower Hill, and Bruce was intriguing to succeed him. Leagued with Bruce was a certain nobleman, John Comyn by name, who, however, in a moment of faint-heartedness revealed the conspiracy to Edward, at whose Court Bruce was then staying. As is common in such cases, the person most interested knows least of that which concerns him nearest, and it was not until a friendly English courtier sent Bruce a pair of gilt spurs and a purse of gold that he was aware that danger was hanging over him. Taking the hint he fled, and meeting with the treacherous Comyn in the cloisters of Greyfriars, Dumfries, he ran him through the body. When he came forth, his friends saw that something was amiss. "I doubt," said Bruce, "that I have slain the Red Comyn." Thereon one of his followers named Kirkpatrick, who would have no doubts about such a matter, said, "I mak sikar I make secure-and stabbed the dying man to the heart. From that day, as it is said, "I mak sikar" has been the motto of the Kirkpatricks.

The news of this murder, coupled with the escape of Bruce, roused the anger of Edward, who, with all the warlike impetuosity of his naturę, at once made preparations to avenge the death of his ally and the flight of his foe. Before, however, he took the field, as it proved for the last time, he held high court in Westminster Abbey, which was even then growing old and hoary, when, with much pomp and ceremony, he knighted his son Edward, and invested him with the

Duchy of Aquitaine. At the conclusion of the investiture there followed one of those quaint ceremonies which carry us back into the classical ages. Two swans, covered with a net of gold, were lifted on high before the king, who vowed a vow, "Deo cœli et cygnis," that he would punish the perfidy of the Scots; and he further laid this burden on his son, that if he should die before he accomplished his revenge, the prince should carry his bones at the head of an invading army across the Tweed. There was something almost prophetic in his desire to provide for a posthumous campaign; and when, in the following year, he was called to his account, his son strove so far as in him lay to carry out his instructions. But the late king's mantle was as a giant's robe to Edward II., in whose character persistency had no place. He was everything by turns, and the mere tool of his favourites. Even before his father's death his devotion to Peter Gaveston had proved to be so mischievous that the favourite had been banished from the kingdom. But no sooner did he succeed to the throne than Gaveston was recalled, and thenceforward enjoyed the favour of his patron in an even greater degree than formerly. It is difficult to understand the bond which bound the king to his favourite's chariot - wheels. For there was nothing in Gaveston's character to inspire admiration, beyond his skill as a soldier and the ready tongue which distinguished him. Like most weakminded men, he was completely demoralised by the great and sudden prosperity which he enjoyed, and assumed prerogatives which attached by right only to the king. Though created Earl of Cornwall and guardian of the king