Welsh Journals

room. Let's follow him up," said Roberts. All three dashed upstairs after him, and caught him just as he was about to close his bedroom door. They rolled him up in his bed-clothes and Jones sat on his head. Roberts took away his mattress and then began to make a superstructure with his books. On top of these he placed a bedroom utensil and draped it with an old Union Jack. When they finally left Watkins, they tottered downstairs weak with laughter, while their victim, robbed of his trousers, his braces knotted about his neck, harangued them from the top of the stairs It was dark outside when Michael, Roberts and Jones, went out to buy fish and chips for supper. They took him for a stroll along the Promenade, introduced him to parties of acquaintances, and he became one of a long line that marched arm-in-arm along the promenade, kicked the bar simultaneously, and then turned to serenade the women's hostel with lusty voices. Break in Harvest A PLANE like a fish, leap finished, drops Over the leafheads. In the copse Much of the converse stops with rain. The crawl And tick of the twigs is a wall And a half-world against the louder strain Of nerves bundling the brain. In this compendium willow-herb and sorrel Wilt slowly, soften the old quarrel. Beyond the trellis and the lost light Are the shelf of corn and the white Wound that the binder leaves. In the crack of the hill Hide the gate-eyed houses, tapping shrill Orders by the poles that prick the field. That was the world, and is. The high yield It hopes for drags the wound again, Stanched for this moment by the blinding rain. ROLAND MATHIAS.