Welsh Journals

he shaved the corners, and how graphically he entertained us with detailed accounts of the excellencies of his team. On such occasions it was without a doubt better to travel than to arrive. At first the motor-cars only troubled him on the high road near the town that was in the early stages, but even then he seemed to recognise the enemy. To draw aside for a motor-car to pass was for Robert an act of humiliation that left a mark on his soul. Gradual encroachments were made on his territory, motor-cars began to pass by Tynbwlch, they were encountered in obscure by-roads, last of all a garage was built in the parish, and a regular motor service was run to the market town. Robert's supporters stuck valiantly to the brake, but we all recognised that all was lost, and that it would not be very long before the jaunty motor-bus monopolised the whole service, Sunday School trip and all. So the unequal struggle went on until Robert had lost at every point-except one; there re- mained one service that the motor-car had not acquired. However frequently the people of the parish journeyed by motor-car, their last journey to their long rest was invariably made in Robert's horse-drawn hearse. In spite of their previous waywardness and dissipation, they returned at last in true penitence, anxious to leave the world in the odour of sanctity. That, at least, was how it seemed to Robert, whose contempt for the motor-hearse was indescribable. To be taken to the graveyard, he would remark, in a motor-car belching dirty fumes and piercing the silence with the grind of changing gears, was surely a fit home-coming only for those whom Satan had claimed for himself. The righteous would for certain prefer to go in his hearse behind the two faithful horses straining steadily towards the church-yard on the hill, with the bell sending forth its solemn sound over the valley. I verily believe that Robert would not have found it incongruous were the church-yard gates transformed before him into the very gates of heaven, disclosing God and His holy angels waiting within. It was in such fashion, he argued, that Elijah had entered heaven. Did not his illustrated Bible at home show the prophet making his ascent behind two steeds ? Some of us remember Robert's amost worshipful devotion to the minister who preached from that text about the "chariot of fire, and horses of fire," that took the prophet "up by a whirlwind into heaven." That week's seiat, when Robert got up to speak in apprecia- tion of the sermon, must have been the nearest approach to a religious meeting being used for business propaganda that the annals of Welsh Methodism can show. Robert's last illness was made miserable by the rumour that the enemy was attacking his last stronghold,-that a motor-hearse would soon be added to he cars already at the garage. One day, when he had recovered so far as to take a walk in the farmyard, he saw the hateful thing go by. It went past with a rush, with gleam- ing brasswork and shining glass. Robert felt a stab in the heart, and immediately took to his bed. But the memory of the motor-hearse haunted him all the time. He thought that he who had loved religion and the brave smell of horses might be dragged to his grave to the accompani- ment of dirty fumes and grinding gears. That would be repugnant enough. But then another thought supervened. Would the motor-hearse's first journey be to Tynbwlch ? and would he be its first occupant? Could he depend upon his family keeping the monster out ? Would William Jones say to Eben Parry at his funeral, "Poor old Robert! Who'd have thought that he would be the first to be buried from the motor-hearse?" These thoughts drove him almost mad with dis- traction, but get rid of them he could not. Every motor-horn that sounded on the road outside led by the most diabolical association of ideas to the new motor-hearse, and every dream was a night- mare in which the new motor-hearse crushed out his life. Until at last he could endure no more. It was a mellow day in September. The mem- bers of the family were away for the afternoon. Robert got up from his bed and dressed himself with very great care as one about to take part in a grand ceremony. He put on the sober clothes in which he had accompanied so many of his fellows on their last journey, and strength and resolution returned as he put on each familiar garment. Then he went out, harnessed his two trusty horses, put them in the hearse, and drove out of Tynbwlch. Robert's hold on the reins was weak, but the horses instinctively made their way to the church-yard on the hill. As the horses breasted the slope Robert's confidence turned to delirium he was driving again to market, and the woman standing in the lane was astonished to hear the greeting, "Jump up, Mrs Evans; jump up. There's plenty of room inside." He tried to urge the horses into a trot to forestall the motor-bus. When the sun came out from behind a cloud and kindled into flame the purple of the hedgerows, a frenzy seized him, and again he urged on the patient team. Were not the gates of heaven opening for him? Was he not Elijah going home in his chariot of fire ? The horses stopped by the church-yard gate, and when the caretaker who lived by the entrance came out, he found the hearse and a corpse.