Welsh Journals

way to villages is lined with villas. Mumbles is a township. The green fields are far from Pentre. With this growth in importance and numbers, there is growing also a general consciousness that there are other things in the count of greatness. Swansea is looking in upon itself and enquiring what shall it profit it to be great in commerce and riches. if it neglects the nobler, the more gracious things of life. It is asking many questions- Is its education sound ? Is its people doing its duty by the children ? Are its homes healthy ? Are its slums to be tolerated? Answers are coming. The dreamers too are not silent concerning their visions. Happy the town which has its prophets. They view the wind-swept sands which inspired Landor and our own Islwyn, and see them the Mecca of a hundred thousand visitors. They think of the Technical College of their day, and see it transformed THE HOME STRETCH M R. PARRY was the most successful butcher not only in Llaneos but also in the surrounding valley he kept two assistants, Bevan and Ned. Bevan, the elder of the two, had been in the master's employ since boyhood, and was now invaluable as buyer and seller of live stock. Ned, the younger man, served in the shop and despatched orders within the confines of the town but the two were fast friends in spite of the fifteen years difference in their ages. Bevan's companion in all his cattle-dealing expeditions was his dog Nick, a rough-looking Irish terrier. Nick, for some mysterious but possibly beneficent end, had been denied the fatal gift of beauty and even his pedigree was totally unillustrious. In short he lacked those subtle points which catch the eye of dog-fanciers and dog-show judges. Bevan, however, had the courage, just once, to enter him at a local dog-show competition. The judge casually glanced at the alleged Irish terrier, and then passed on to the next dog with a twitch of pain in his face, as though the sight of Nick had touched the sensitive nerve of beauty. Bevan resented this treatment; but the judge gently advised him to send his Irish terrier back to Ireland to be re-moulded and re- pointed. As a set-off against what might be called his personal unattractiveness, Nick had, in a unique measure, the gift of poaching game and rabbits and it was hard to decide whether the gift was inherent or acquired under his master's tuition. The game- into a metallurgical university whose courts are opened to the west country. They dream of Swansea as the art centre of Wales and-practical men these-they work with success to make it this. They see Swansea the living home of a wide, irresistible nationalism that fosters the best things in Welsh life, and trains the children in the pure doctrine of a patriotism far removed from exclusivism. It is the day of the dreamers. So one avoids the implication of the title In a dozen years one might meet it fairly. But now we are in the tween" times, with influences working, with dreams being interpreted. As a Welshman first, and a citizen next, one is not afraid of the future. Swansea's feet are upon the high road. They will not stray into paths of ease and extinction. J D.W. keepers of the valley, however, had formed a solemn league and covenant to shoot the scoundrel, the first chance that offered itself. When Mr. Parry heard these ugly rumours about Nick's poaching, he told Bevan plainly that he could not afford to offend the gentry; and that the terrier must vanish. Shortly after the ultimatum Bevan was buying sheep at an upland farm in the North of the valley, and as usual the dog was with him. And while the men were transacting their business, Nick caught sight of a rabbit gambolling down the held so, to relieve the tedium of waiting, he darted away in pursuit and his style argued a long experience of the game. In a few minutes he returned with the rabbit, proudly dropping it at Bevan's feet, and Bevan blushed like a maiden when Nick deposited the little love-token before him. But the farmer was delighted and offered to buy the dog there and then. Bevan jumped at the offer, though he was cautious enough to hide his joy. So, after a little haggling, he bartered Nick for a couple of fowls and two dozen eggs. His troubles dated from the day when he began to barter the Irish terrier. Within a fortnight Nick was back at the butcher's, travel-stained with his long tramp from the remote farm. Bevan received him with mingled feelings of joy and fear; joy, at seeing the dear old rascal once more, and fear, lest the farmer should stir up unpleasantness. Obviously it was no use his returning