A SONG OF THE PILGRIM ROAD-ST. DAVIDS. THE road to old St. Davids AN ENGLISH PILGRIM IN DEWISLAND by Ada M. M. Hales IN the good old days when English people longed to go on pilgrimages, it was not only to Canterbury from every shire's end they went, when two visits to St. David's had the merit of one to Rome. And the modern pilgrim who, having passed the Black Mountain country and the magic realms of Merlin, yet fails to change his gear at the right moment on one of the seven- teen hills between Haverford West and St. David's, realises that a double journey to the Welsh Saint's shrine was not, after all, so much the easier option. When at last he gains the tiny city and looks round for the Cathedral he rubs his eyes. Where is it? Does Merlin still cast spells, or has he lost his way and never reached St, David's at all? Is the white road of the Blest, The olden road that brought the vales The palmer's songs, the pilgrim's tales, When all the wandering roads of Wales Went winding to the West. The road to old St. Davids Goes softly by the sea- The golden sea of Avalon Where silently and one by one The Kings and the Hero-hearts have gone Like a dream and a phantasy. The road to old St. Davids Is like a line of foam That gleams by night in a lonely place Lighting the water's weary face And here the soul of an ancient race Found hostelry and home. The road to old St. Davids Comes winding through the years Born of a glory that has no name And filled with fire that none can tame A road of honour, a road of flame And a shining road of tears. The road to old St. Davids Is a road that has no end, A road of legend and ringing rhymes Of splendid songs and singing chimes A road where every pilgrim climbs To God as to a friend. A. G. PRYS-JONES. The Philistine indeed might come for a meal and go again without discovering that there was any Cathedral. For the great church which enshrines the bones of its patron saint does not dominate her city, as do other Cathedrals. She is not for tripper or tourist, and the pilgrim himself must seek if he would find her. In no sense does St. David's go out of its way to attract visitors. The hub of its social life is a Breton-like inn where the food is good and the fish is fresh, where the cats block the staircase and a car must share the garage with the city hearse. Lured by the battlements of a tower appearing suddenly below him, the pilgrim at last comes on the elusive Cathedral. Turning his back on the City Square with its Cross, he goes down the hill