, 1886-02-04
ON THE TRAMP.

annex every pretty or wild bit Of scenery,
every quaint homestead, every living
thing about you, with al enlarged and
conquering individuality. Crowds OPP
press. cities tire, books weary; but on the
tramp, you are free to enjoy, to receive,
and to romance, The junior tramp,
however, is a limited individual, and he
never gets far away from society and
civilization in our island home. The
senior tramp, on the contrary, takes ship
over sea, and has a wider range. He is
everywhere at home. This elder brother
is justly entitled a traveller; the junior
has To be content with the less ambitious
and sometimes shady designation Of a
tramp. Wandering and little-known
tribes are not for him. He foots it at
home, with good hope of reaching rail-
ways and hotels somewhere, il he turns
his back upon them with fine scorn, and
a philosophy warranted TO endure for
twelve OF fourteen hours, but good
enough while il lasts and renewable with
morning light.
Alasl there are others on the tramp,
whose philosophy has little warrant at
all, and whose burdens are ever pressing,
not gayly left behind! Apart from fine
scenery, freedom, and rude health, il is
in chance meetings with such specimens
II the junior tramp, bright or dull-cyed,
that an observing man will find much of
the omance of his revolt against acres of
bricks and mortar and the elbowing OF
crowds. The division just made is an
induction from a pretty large experience.
The bright-eyed tramp is always n an
with an object and character. He ms
either "A home before him or behind, to
reach or to brighten. He will converse
freely with you, tell you his history, and
accept little kindnesses in a manly spirit.
The dull-eyed man does not like you to
look him in the face too closely. Scenery
seems 10 Cypress him. He ambles along
ing down a back slum. He is a waif; he
has no home-only a native parish. He
begs, whines, bullies. and | fear he also
steals; so true is it that home has its
subtle effect on the eye, the character,
and the conception Of nature. Meeting
such men on n lonely moor, we ask our
selves what restraints them from robbing,
and perhaps numbering? The answer
comes clear;
~The other idea that sways their minds,
the lawlT Cruel nature, and almost
omnipresent law-these are the only two
ideas that rule them.
Walking across a lonely moor, the
white road winding ribbon-like over dis
tant brown hills, I was nce thinking in
n dreamy way, over some scenes in
Scotch history, wherein the sound OF n
pibroch suddenly filed an apparently de
serted hillside with human life, when
two men, who had been lying on the dry
roadway, making n pillow of their boots,
started up, and sent my heart into my
mouth. / was never so startled in all my
life. for it seemed rs II my thoughts had
been heard. Looking straight into their
steady eyes, and noting there a hopeful
look. though the men were almost as
startled as l was, | said:
Good morning. How's work, mates =
1t was a policeman's hint | was acting
upon. To know anything about a man,
he had told me--his NAME, occupation
object-always gives you a certain com,
mand over him in "A critical moment.
Exchanging glances, the tramps an
swered:
-Bad-awful badl Do you know of a
job. gov'norYT
wished l did. They are making a
new road seven miles off at p; they
might inquire there.
Work-seekers' stories are often most
pathetic.
What, you on the tramp was my re
mark one day 10 a young fellow, out at
elbows, and with frayed garments,
who visited me Mt home, hand
ing me an envelope addressed
to him in my own handwriting.
Yes; he had lost his situation in a cotton
mill in Lancashire, and had truged south
westward through many counties round
to London, and her through the Mid
lands, w%ithought getting a single job. OF
late he had not tried; his clothing forbade
it. He was clever; a hard, philosophic
student; an original man in every way.
Yet he had been hsrding with the mean
est. sleeping anywhere, mostly out-of-
doors, living in aboriginal fashion on
raw vegetables, and occasionally sharing
what Others begged. His wife and child
had gone home TO her friends, and he had
never heard Of them for mint months,
though he had written TO his wife at first
regularly. She might be dead.
How had he endured it all? He could
scarcely say. He dare not think. Then
followed a charming bit. As he had
tramped along, it had beer his custom to
recite all the prose and poetic passages
he could remember from his favorite