The times and democrat. [volume] (Orangeburg, S.C.) 1881-current, 1886-02-18
ON THE TRAMP.

sky, comfortably equipped, on tbs tramp
through a pleasant country; world of
meadows-a rocky dale-a stretch OF
brown, billowy moorland? The pulse
beats freely, thoughts chase each other
Like summer butterflies, and you seem to
annex every pretty or wild bit of scenery,
every quaint homestead, every living
thing about you, with an enlarged and
conquering individuality. Crowds op-
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 trayeler;the Junior
has to be content with the less ambitious
and sometimes shady designation of
tramp. Wandering and ittle-known
tribes are not for him. He foots it at
home, with good hope of reaching rail-
ways and hotels somewhere, if he turns
his back upon them with fine scorn, and
q philosophy warranted to endure for
twelve or fourteen hours, but good
enough while it lasts and renewable with
morning light.
Alas! 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, it is
in chance meetings with such specimens
of The junior tramp, bright or dull-eyed,
that an observing man will find much OF
the romance 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 man
with an object and character. He has
either 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 manly spirit.
The dull-eyed man does not like you to
look him in the face too closely. Scenery
seems to oppress him. He ambles along
through the finest bits as if he were pass
ing down back slum. He is a walf; he
has no home-only 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,
ard the conception of nature. Meeting
such men on a lonely moor, we ask our
selves what restraints them from robbing,
and perhaps numbering? The answer
comes clear;
1.-THE other idea that sways their minds,
the law!" 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 once thinking, In
q dreamy way, over some scenes in
Scotch history, wherein the sound of a
pibroch suddenly filled an apparently de-
serted hillside with human Gfe, when
two men, who had been lying on the dry
roadway, making a pillow of their boots,
started up, and sent my heart into my
mouth. Twas never 50 startled in all my
life, for it seemed as if 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 I was, I said:
aGood morning. How's work, mates"
It was poiceman's hint was acting
upon. To know anything about man,
he had told me-his name, occupation,
object-always gives you certain COM
1nand over him in critical moment.
glances, the tramps an
swered:
aBad-awful bad! Do you know Of
job, gov'nor"
wished did. They are making
new. road seven miles off q. p; they
might inquire there.
Work-seekers' stories are often most
pathetic.
aWhat, you on the tramp?" was my re-
mark one day to young fellow, out at
elbows, and with frayed garments,
who visited me at 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 then. through the Mid
lands, withought getting 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 herding 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 nine 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 charming bit. AS he had
tramped along, it had been his custom to
recite all the prose and poetic passages
he could remember from his favorite