nor are they likely to be. The honour of Britain is not dead, her might is not broken, her destiny is not fulfilled, her ideals are not shattered by her enemies. She is more than alive; she is more potent, she is greater than she ever was. Her dominions are wider, her influence is deeper, her purpose is more exalted than ever. Why should her children not sing? I know war means suffering, war means sorrow. Darkness has fallen on many a devoted household, but it has been ordained that the best singer amongst the birds of Britain should give its song in the night, and according to legend that sweet song is one of triumph over pain. There are no nightingales this side of the Severn. Providence rarely wastes its gifts. We do not need this exquisite songster in Wales; we can provide better. There is a bird in our villages which can beat the best of them. He is called Y Cymro. He sings in joy, he sings also in sorrow; he sings in prosperity, he sings also in adversity. He sings at play, he sings at work; he sings in the sunshine, he sings in the storm; he sings in the daytime, he sings also in the night; he sings in peace; why should he not sing in war? Hundreds of wars have swept over these hills, but the harp of Wales has never yet been silenced by one of them, and I should be proud if I contributed something to keep it in tune during the war by the holding of this Eisteddfod to-day.

Our soldiers sing the songs of Wales in the trenches, and they hold the little Eisteddfod behind them. Here is a telegram which has been

received by the secretary of the Eisteddfod from them. The telegram says: "Greetings and best wishes for success to the Eisteddfod and Cymanfa Ganu from Welshmen in the field. Next Eisteddfod we shall be with you." Please God, they will. That telegram is from the 38th Welsh Division. They do not ask us to stop singing. There is not one of them who would not be sorry if we gave up our National Eisteddfod during the war. They want to feel that while they are upholding the honour of Wales on the battlefields of Europe, Asia, and Africa, we are doing our best to keep alive all the institutions, educational, literary, musical, religious, which have made Wales what it is to them. They want the fires on every national altar kept burning, so that they shall be alight when they return with the laurels of victory from the stricken fields of this mighty war. That is why I am in favour of holding this festival of Welsh literature and of song even in the middle of Armageddon.

But I have another and even more urgent reason for wishing to keep this Eisteddfod alive during the war. When this terrible conflict is over a wave of materialism will sweep over the land. Nothing will count but machinery and output. I am all for output, and I have done my best to improve machinery and increase output. But that is not all. There is nothing more fatal to a people than that it should narrow its vision to the material needs of the hour. National ideals without imagination are but as the thistles of the wilderness, fit neither

for food nor fuel. A nation that depends upon them must perish. We shall need at the end of the war better workshops, but we shall also need more than ever every institution that will exalt the vision of the people above and beyond the workshop and the counting-house. We shall need every national tradition that will remind them that men cannot live by bread alone.

I make no apology for advocating the holding of the Eisteddfod in the middle of this great conflict, even although it were merely a carnival of song, as it has been stigmatised. The storm is raging as fiercely as ever, but now there is a shimmer of sunshine over the waves, there is a rainbow on the tumult of surging waters. The struggle is more terrible than it has ever been, but the legions of the oppressor are being driven back and the banner of right is pressing forward. Why should we not sing? It is true there are thousands of gallant men falling in the fight-let us sing of their heroism. There are myriads more standing in the battle-lines facing the foe, and myriads more behind ready to support them when their turn comes. Let us sing of the land that gave birth to so many heroes.

I am glad that I came down from the cares and labour of the War Office of the British Empire to listen and to join with you in singing the old songs which our brave countrymen on the battlefield are singing as a defiance to the enemies of human right.

VERDUN.

SPOKEN IN THE VAULT OF THE CITADEL OF VERDUN,
SEPTEMBER, 1916.

FIRST of all I wish to tell you how glad I am that you asked me to sit at table with your officers in the heart of Verdun's citadel. I am glad to see around me those who have come back from battle, those who will be fighting to-morrow, and those who, with you, General, are sentries on these impregnable walls. The name of Verdun alone will be enough to to arouse imperishable memories throughout the centuries to come. There is not one of the great feats of arms which make the history of France which better shows the high qualities of the Army and the people of France; and that bravery and devotion to country, to which the world has ever paid homage, have been strengthened by a sang-froid and tenacity which yield nothing to British phlegm.

The memory of the victorious resistance of Verdun will be immortal because Verdun saved not only France, but the whole of the great cause which is common to ourselves and humanity. The evil-working force of the enemy has broken itself against the heights around this old citadel as an angry sea breaks upon a granite rock. These heights have conquered the storm which threatened the world.

of the great Empire which I represent here. They bow with me before your sacrifice and before your glory. Once again, for the defence of the great causes with which its very future is bound up, mankind turns to France. "A la France! Aux hommes tombés sous Verdun!"