was not behind his predecessors in cultivating
the poetic faculty. He brought out a small
collection entitled " His Majesty's Poetical
Exercises at vacant Houres," which, even this
vainest of monarchs does not seem to be very
well satisfied with. He says in his preface,
apologising, for their want of revision that,
"When his ingyne" (a favourite word,
evidently) "and age could, his affaires and fasherie
would not permit him to correct them—scarslie
but at stolen moments, he having the leisure
to blenk upon any paper."

It was a time when puns, and all sorts of
literary quips and quirks were much in vogue.
The king was not behindhand in following this
peculiar and distressing fashion. James greeted
his Scottish subjects on a certain solemn occasion
with a string of punning rhymes on the
names of their most learned professors,
Adamson, Fairlie, Sands, Young, Reid, and King.

As Adam was the first of men, whence all beginning tak;
So Adam-son was president, and first man in this act.(!)
The theses Fair-lie did defend, which, though they lies contain
Yet were fair lies, and he the sam right fairlie did maintein.
The field first entred Master Sands, and there he made me see
That not all sands are barren sands, but that some fertile bee.
Then Master Young most subtilie the theses did impugne,
And kythed old in Aristotle, although his name be Young.
To him succeeded Master Reid, who, though Reid be his name,
Neids neither for his disput blush, nor of his speech think shame.
Last entered Master King, the lists, and dispute like a king,
How reason reigning as a queene should anger underbring.
To their deserved praise have I then playd upon their names,
And will their colledge hence be cald the Colledge of King James.

Charles the First was an author of a graver
type than his father. His chief work, which,
it is said, went, first and last, through forty-
seven impressions, was called Icon Basilikè,
a title resembling somewhat that of the opus
magnum of James. This book—the authorship
of which, by-the-by, has been disputed—has won
golden opinions from Hume, Smollett, Bishop
Horne, D'lsraeli—critics who judged of its
merits long after the death of its supposed
author, and who cannot, therefore, be suspected
of flattery. Charles was the author, besides, of
some papers on Church Government, of various
Prayers and Religious Exercises, of some Letters
on Public Questions of the day, and of a poem
on his own sufferings and sorrows, written during
his captivity at Carisbrook.

Charles the Second is supposed to be the
author of a certain song of an amatory nature,
and his brother James, a little more
industrious, wrote Memoirs of his own Life and
Campaigns, besides sundry letters of a political
nature, and a collection of Meditations, Soliloquies,
and Vows, published with a frontispiece
representing himself sitting in a chair in a
pensive attitude, and crowned with thorns.

The wife of William the Third has left
behind her only one small literary claim. An
anagram on the name of Roger l'Estrange, a
gentleman of whose exploits contemporary
history is very full. The anagram,

            Roger L'Estrange,
            Lying strange Roger.

For the rest—though the reign of Anne was
pre-eminently a period of literary activity—the
queen herself was not infected by the prevailing
taste; while as to the house of Hanover
it is certainly not too much to say that its
present representative has shown a greater taste
for literary pursuits than any one of her
ancestors.

The work of our latest royal author is by this
time known to everybody. We therefore
propose to note down no more than one or two
distinctive characteristics which separate it so
remarkably from any of the literary productions
published by some of the queen's predecessors
on the English throne. Let the reader be
mindful of those religious treatises, those
theological disquisitions, those translations from the
classics, and, lastly, those quaint poetical
effusions which we have just been examining. Let
him recal any of the elaborately formal or grimly
fantastic compositions which we have noticed,
and then turn to these unpretending " Leaves."
Had their author merely been actuated by a
desire to " write a book," she might easily have
chosen some ambitious subject, and, with the
help at her disposal, might have produced an
appropriate successor to those treatises and
disquisitions which have been mentioned above.
Queen Victoria, however, has simply written a
record of the experiences and impressions of a
very happy period of her life, to recal them
when one of the chief elements which made this
happiness so great has passed away. Would
Queen Mary, with the dreadful prefix to her
name, have gone to see those old women in their
Highland cottages, and carried good cheer, moral
as well as physical, among them? Would vain
Elizabeth have enjoyed scrambling about Scotch
mountains, hiding away out of sight when the
deer were stalked, and being carried, slung in
a plaid, over the swollen mountain torrents?

For all these things were enjoyed by the
writer of the Highland journal, and enjoyed in
no ordinary degree. The unaffected pleasure
which the author of The Highland Journal
derived from everything that she saw and did
is expressed in almost every line, and in a
manner which is one of the chief attractions of
the book. During a walk which the queen and
the prince took soon after their arrival at Blair
Athol, which is suggestive of a great measure
of enjoyment. They have been rambling on
the hills near the house. " We were high up,"
says the queen, " but could not get to the top;
Albert in such delight, it is a happiness to see