uf 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
By the same Author 
 Poetry 
 
 The Soul's Destroyer. 1906. 4th edition. 
 IS. Fifield. 
 
 New Poems. 1907. 2nd edition. is. 6d. 
 Mathews. 
 
 Nature Poems. 1908. 3rd thousand, is. 
 Fifield. 
 
 Farezvell to Poesy. 1910. 2nd thousand. 
 IS. Fifield. 
 
 Songs of Joy. 191 1. 2s. 6d. Fifield. 
 
 Foliage. 1913. is. 6d. Mathews. 
 
 Birds of Paradise. 1914. is. Methuen. 
 
 Child Lovers. 1916. 2nd edition, is. 
 Fifield. 
 
 Prose 
 
 The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp. With 
 Preface by G. Bernard Shaw. 1 907. 
 3rd edition. 6s. Fifield. 
 
A POET'S 
 PILGRIMAGE 
 
 By 
 
 W. H. DAVIES 
 
 Author of "The Aiitcbiograp'ny of a Super-Tramp 
 
 LONDON : ANDREW MELROSF, LTD 
 3 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C 
 
 1918 
 

 1 
 
 ^iZj^c 
 
 
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 M "- 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 The Start , . . . . 
 
 9 
 
 II 
 
 Children . . . . . 
 
 17 
 
 III 
 
 Old Sailors . . . . 
 
 29 
 
 IV 
 
 At Swansea . . . . 
 
 53 
 
 V 
 
 The Lost Sex . . . . 
 
 65 
 
 VI 
 
 In Neath Valley 
 
 81 
 
 VII 
 
 The Prophetess . . . , 
 
 93 
 
 VIII 
 
 Welsh Song and Prize-Fighting 
 
 105 
 
 IX 
 
 The Sin of Mountains 
 
 121 
 
 X 
 
 Playing for Coppers . 
 
 139 
 
 XI 
 
 Tintern Abbey . . . . 
 
 155 
 
 XII 
 
 The Rag and Bone Man 
 
 169 
 
 XIII 
 
 The Blind Boxer 
 
 181 
 
 XIV 
 
 Old Acquaintance 
 
 197 
 
 XV 
 
 A Familiar Country . 
 
 207 
 
 XVI 
 
 A Valley of Industry 
 
 221 
 
 XVII 
 
 A Long Walk 
 
 233 
 
 XVIII 
 
 William .... 
 
 251 
 
 XIX 
 
 The Commercial Travellers 
 
 273 
 
 XX 
 
 Wasting Time 
 
 281 
 
 XXI 
 
 The Hunt .... 
 
 291 
 
 XXII 
 
 The Savernake Forest 
 
 . 307 
 
 XXIII 
 
 The Other Lodger 
 
 325 
 
 XXIV 
 
 Jane's Shadow 
 
 . 337 
 
 XXV 
 
 Slug and Another 
 
 . 349 
 
 XXVI 
 
 The End .... 
 5 
 
 . 865 
 
 495720 
 
THE START 
 
CHAPTER I 
 THE START 
 
 When dogs play in the sun outdoors, 
 And cats chase sunbeams on the mat ; 
 
 When merry maidens laugh for joy, 
 
 And young men cock their ears at that ; 
 
 And babes can see in panes of glass 
 
 A better light than firegrate has ; 
 
 When to my teeth ale is not cold, 
 And sweeter than hot toast is bread; 
 
 When I, no longer charmed by books, 
 Seek human faces in their stead ; 
 
 And every stranger that I meet 
 
 Will seem a friend whom I must greet; 
 
 When I no sooner up at morn, 
 Must like a turkey bolt my food. 
 
 To tramp the white green- bordered roads, 
 And hear birds sing in many a wood : 
 
 When such a time of year has come. 
 
 The whole \\ide world can be my home. 
 
 Some time ago, in the month of INIay, I 
 went by train from London to Car- 
 marthen, with the intention of walking 
 through South Wales, after which I would 
 extend my travels into England. 
 When I reached Carmarthen it was even- 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 hig. Bac on my way from the station 
 into the town there was still light enough 
 to see the old castle. I found Carmarthen 
 to be an old-fashioned little town of 
 about ten thousand inhabitants, with 
 those sleepy little streets that always 
 make a place beautiful and interesting. 
 It was not long before I had arranged 
 for my lodgings, the house being in the 
 main street. At this house I had tea 
 and supper together, owing to the late 
 hour. As I did not want to start drink- 
 ing in taverns so early in the evening, I 
 made inquiries for the Public Library. 
 But I was told Carmarthen did not possess 
 one, in spite of its ten br twelve thousand 
 inhabitants. However, there was a pri- 
 vate Institute which had its members 
 who paid subscriptions, and risking all 
 interference, I entered boldly into the 
 place and began to read the papers. To 
 my surprise no one interfered with me, 
 although they all recognized me as a 
 stranger who had no right to be there. I 
 could tell this by the way in which the 
 members, about fifteen or twenty of them, 
 10 
 
THE START 
 
 whispered to each other and cast eyes 
 in my direction. In spite of all I sat 
 reading for a considerable time, as long 
 as I felt a pleasure in doing so. 
 
 Leaving the Institute at last I soon 
 entered a tavern, to have my first drink 
 of the evening. There were quite a num- 
 ber of customers present, but only one 
 drew my attention, because of his wild 
 behaviour. This was a youth of about 
 seventeen years of age who, I judged, 
 was now taking the first intoxicating 
 drink of his life. He did not seem to 
 be at all dangerous, in spite of the manner 
 in which he threw his body here and 
 there, and the whole company appeared 
 to be amused at him. " I wish that 
 I could meet my father now," cried 
 the youth, shaking his head and giving 
 the bar a kick. I gathered that the 
 landlord had refused to serve him with 
 more drink, for two of his friends, one 
 on each side, were trying to lead him to 
 the door. At last they managed to get 
 him there, and the last words I heard 
 as they went into the street were, "Oh, 
 11 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 that I could meet my father now." No 
 doubt this youth had been chafing for a 
 long time under his father's restraint, 
 and now, thinking he was made a man 
 by a glass of beer, he was eager to speak 
 his mind and claim his future independ- 
 ence. " I hope the mother's there to 
 protect her son, if her son meets his 
 father now," thought I. 
 
 Thinking of taking a walk before bed- 
 time, I made my way towards the railway 
 station, knowing that I would not lose 
 my way by going in that direction. The 
 street was not very well lighted, not being 
 the main street — and if people recognized 
 a friend across the road they would 
 do so only by his height, shape and gait. 
 As I was walking along I suddenly heard 
 a loud cheerful voice exclaim, " Good 
 evening, Will." When I heard this I 
 turned my head, naturally, my name 
 being Will — forgetting I was not known 
 in the town of Carmarthen. When I had 
 done so I saw a man across the road who 
 was looking my way, and who, when he 
 saw my face turned towards him, cried 
 12 
 
THE START 
 
 out again, " Good evening, Will." How- 
 ever, I now began to realize that it was 
 a case of mistaken identity, so I passed 
 on without an answer. But I had hardly 
 gone ten yards when another voice called 
 across the road, " Good evening, Will." 
 
 " Good evening," I called back, not 
 liking to pass this second man without 
 an answer. I had not gone far after this 
 when I was greeted for the third time by 
 another cheerful voice, " Good evening. 
 Will." 
 
 I answered this man's greeting in the 
 same cheerful way, for the sake of the 
 man I was mistaken for. The other Will 
 must have been well liked, respected and 
 popular ; and I considered it my duty, for 
 his sake, to acknowledge the kind greet- 
 ings in the same manner as he would 
 have done. I not only must have been 
 very much like him in height and shape, 
 but must also have had the same peculiar 
 walk. Before I got back to my lodgings 
 four men had greeted me in the distance 
 with the words, " Good evening. Will." 
 The first man was the only one I did not 
 13 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 answer, for I not only returned good 
 evening to the other three — I even waved 
 my hand to them. These Welsh greet- 
 ings were so cheerful and kind, and so 
 hearty, that after having had several 
 glasses of ale, I said to myself before I 
 got into bed that night, " Good evening, 
 Will " — thinking I was the idol of that 
 pleasant town of Carmarthen, and flatter- 
 ing myself into a pleasant sleep. I had 
 persuaded myself that I was back in my 
 native town and was loved and respected 
 by every one. 
 
 14 
 
CHILDREN 
 
CHAPTER II 
 CHILDREN 
 
 As the clock struck nine on the following 
 morning, I was leaving Carmarthen, full 
 of joy at the thought of going on and on, 
 the uncertainty of where I would get my 
 next meal, what kind of people I would 
 meet, and where I would sleep that night. 
 Being in this fine mood, I spoke to a little 
 boy, whom I saw playing alone in the 
 road, asking him what he was going to 
 be when he grew up. Of course I expected 
 to hear him say a sailor, a soldier, a hunter 
 or something else that seems heroic to 
 childhood, and I was very much surprised 
 when he answered innocently, " A man." 
 However, I did not question him any 
 more, but gave him a penny and passed 
 on. 
 
 I was now without doubt a free man, 
 and did not care whose company I had, 
 whether it was a grumbling farmer or 
 
 ir B 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 the lazy beggar that had left fleas in the 
 farmer's barn. 
 
 When I got about a mile clear of the 
 town, I made inquiries for about the third 
 time, so as to make sure I was on the right 
 road to Kidwelly. "It is eleven miles 
 to Kidwelly," said the man I inquired of, 
 who was wheeling a bicycle, and whose 
 clothes were shabby and patched. How- 
 ever, the next moment he, seeing me 
 walk with a limp, very considerately 
 reduced the distance, saying, " It is about 
 nine miles from Carmarthen to Kid- 
 welly." 
 
 " Are there any villages on the way ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " None of any consequence," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 " The reason I ask," I said, " is that 
 I don't want to go hungry or thirsty on 
 my way. If there are any inns, I can do 
 well enough until I get to Kidwelly. 
 Do you mind telling me if I pass any 
 inns ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed you do," answered the 
 shabby-looking stranger ; " but if you 
 18 
 
CHILDREN 
 
 will take my advice you will keep out 
 of places of that kind. I have not 
 been inside one for thirteen years. If 
 I had, I would not be the owner of 
 this." 
 
 With these words he pointed to his 
 bicycle, which he at once mounted and 
 rode off. When I was left alone I could 
 not help laughing at the stranger's words, 
 for the bicycle was old and rickety, and 
 was not worth thirteen shillings. If that 
 man, who was so ill dressed, had nothing 
 more than an old, rickety bicycle to show 
 for thirteen years' total abstinence, it 
 was not much to be proud of. The 
 machine was worth, as I have said, about 
 thirteen shillings, and he had been an 
 abstainer for thirteen years. According 
 to that he had saved a shilling a year, 
 being one penny a month and a farthing 
 a week. 
 
 Not long after this I went into a way- 
 side inn and had a pint of ale, where I 
 again inquired if I was on the right road 
 to Kidwelly. On being told yes, I left 
 and continued my journey. But that 
 19 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 pint of ale plunged me into such a deep 
 reverie, that it must have been nearly 
 an hour before I came out of it. When 
 I did so, I found that I was in front of 
 another inn, which I entered, and again 
 inquired if I was on the right road to 
 Ilidwelly. 
 
 " No, indeed you are not," answered 
 the landlord's daughter ; " you are now 
 going to Llanelly." 
 
 " What's the name of this village ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " This is Minke," she answered. The 
 W^elsh pronomice it jMinker. When I 
 heard this I knew that I had gone wrong, 
 for I had been told in Carmarthen that 
 I must not go through ]\linke. However, 
 although Llanelly was fifteen miles from 
 Carmarthen, and it was up and down steep 
 hills all the way, I made up my mind to 
 reach it before six o'clock. I had intended 
 to have made two days of my journey to 
 Llanelly, Kidwelly being one day's walk 
 and Llanelly the next. I was now making 
 one journey of it, under wretched con- 
 ditions, for it was drizzling rain, and I 
 20 
 
CHILDREN 
 
 could not get my feet to grip the slippery 
 road. 
 
 I could not help noticing the fine green 
 banks at the side of the road, on top of 
 which the hedgerows were allowed to 
 grow wild. What surprised me was the 
 number and variety of flowers that were 
 to be seen. All my old favourites were 
 there in abundance : daisies and butter- 
 cups, primroses, violets, bluebells, ground 
 ivy, herb Robert, speedwell, milkwort, 
 dandelion and strawberry blossom. There 
 were also a number of other beautiful 
 wild flowers, which I knew by sight, but 
 whose names I could not remember. 
 
 When I got to Pontyates, about half- 
 way between Carmarthen and Llanelly, 
 I saw a well-known name on the signboard 
 of an inn, and made up my mind to 
 patronize that house at once. So I 
 entered and, going into the taproom, gave 
 the landlady my order for a small portion 
 of bread and cheese and a glass of ale. 
 She thanked me and, when leaving the 
 room, very considerately closed the door, 
 so that I could not be seen by any others 
 21 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 that came in. In a few moments Mrs. 
 
 E brought me the usual amount of 
 
 bread and cheese, for which innkeepers 
 charge twopence, and a glass of ale, which 
 costs three halfpence — threepence half- 
 penny altogether. But I was not very 
 hungry, and had only eaten two or three 
 small mouthfuls when I felt surfeited. 
 So I finished the ale, and finding Mrs. 
 
 E inquired the amount I owed her. 
 
 When I heard her answer, I was amazed 
 at her impudence. " Sevenpence half- 
 penny," she said, looking me boldly 
 in the face. I gave her a shilling with- 
 out a murmur, wishing to God that 
 I was dealing with William her hus- 
 band. 
 
 I had never experienced such a bare-faced 
 imposition in my whole life. It was so 
 ridiculously in excess of the usual charge, 
 that I grieve every time I think of it, in 
 spite of my indifference to money. This 
 woman thought I was a rich man, which 
 surprised me. For not long before this 
 a tramp to whom I had given a penny — 
 he had not begged of me — asked in a kind, 
 
CHILDREN 
 
 considerate voice, " Are you sure you can 
 
 spare it ? " However, perhaps Mrs. E 
 
 thought I was drunk, and did not know 
 what I was doing. 
 
 I left this inn at an unfortunate time, 
 for on looking down the road I saw about 
 thirty children playing outside a building 
 which I knew must be a school. There 
 were also a number of other children 
 in twos, threes and fours, coming up the 
 road. I did not know how they would 
 receive me, for in out-of-the-way places 
 children often pelt strangers with stones. 
 But when I got in the midst of them they 
 only looked with a mild curiosity, and the 
 oldest among them greeted me respect- 
 fully, saying, " Good afternoon." 
 
 What struck me was, that although 
 they were talking among themselves in 
 Welsh, yet, for all that, they addressed 
 me in English. I asked one of the boys 
 if he always spoke Welsh when he was 
 out of school and he answered, " Yes." 
 " But," I questioned, " your school lessons 
 are in English, are they not ? " " Yes," 
 he answered. 
 
 23 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 Having reached Llanelly I went into 
 an inn to have a drink and a rest before I 
 went in search of lodgings. It was a 
 quiet old-fashioned inn, for I was not yet 
 in the business part of the town. When 
 I entered I found it occupied by two very 
 old men, with white beards, who were 
 laughing like two little children. They 
 had had a drop too much to drink, and 
 were now standing up with their arms 
 round each other's necks, and without 
 the least reserve were saying how much 
 they loved each other. 
 
 " Jim boy," cried one of them, looking 
 lovingly into his companion's face, — " Jim 
 boy, I have known you now for forty 
 years, and I have loved you ever since the 
 first day." 
 
 "Tom boy," answered the other with 
 the same fond look, — " Tom boy, I have 
 always loved you the same. We have 
 had many a drink together, Tom boy, 
 and I hope, indeed, we will have many 
 more." 
 
 " Nothing will stop us, Jim boy ; no- 
 thing whatever," answered the other, 
 24 
 
CHILDREN 
 
 " for I have never met a man that I loved 
 better. No, indeed." 
 
 I was somewhat confused at hearing 
 two men speak in such a manner, and was 
 very glad that they were too much 
 occupied with each other to take notice 
 of a stranger. 
 
 I slept well after my fifteen miles of 
 up and down hill from Carmarthen to 
 Llanelly. 
 
 25 
 
OLD SAILORS 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 OLD SAILORS 
 
 I loved a ship I'rom early boyhood days ; 
 It seemed to me a thing that lived and felt, 
 To pet and coax, that knew the captain's voice. 
 I heard the captain shouting to his men, 
 And, as that voice which calleth home the cows, 
 Will make the far off sheep look up and bleat, 
 So in my heart that captain's voice found ears. 
 Meant for his men. Oh, what a jo}^ was mine 
 To see in dock the little boat that sailed 
 Across the deep Atlantic with one man ! 
 I saw the two old warships made of oak. 
 That in days gone had spake out fierce and loud 
 With iron tongues in bodies of hard wood. 
 I saw the steamship that could go its way 
 Without consulting any wind or tide ; 
 That ship of steam, and its propeller with 
 Four mighty arms of iron that could churn 
 The sea for miles when it lay calm and blue. 
 I watched the sailors, every move they made ; 
 Those sailors true, whose eyes would grow more 
 
 bright, 
 Like glow-worms, when they saw a coming storm. 
 This world on which we live is but a ship 
 Without a port on an eternal cruise ; 
 Oft taking fire, it burns its living crew. 
 Then sailing into a cold void, its hull, 
 Encased in ice, takes a warm current back, 
 And a new crew is born for peons more. 
 
 29 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 The next morning on inquiring, I learnt 
 that Swansea was only thirteen miles 
 from Llanelly — a comfortable day's walk. 
 So, after having had an early breakfast, 
 I started on this walk, but found to 
 my annoyance that for six miles 
 out of Llanelly there were houses all the 
 way. 
 
 When I was about six miles from Llan- 
 elly I crossed the river Lougher, into the 
 town of that name. From the bridge I 
 could see miles of beautiful yellow sands, 
 but there was not much sign of any human 
 life. After having had a drink at the first 
 inn I came to, I continued my way towards 
 Swansea. But I had scarcely gone a 
 quarter of a mile, when a man overtook 
 me, and said in a friendly voice, "You 
 have got as far as this, then ? " 
 
 Turning my head, I saw at my side a 
 working man, who was dressed in his best 
 clothes. In the course of conversation 
 he told me that he had been to Llanelly, 
 in which town he had seen me, but had 
 lost his train back ; and that he had to 
 change his clothes so as to begin work at 
 30 
 
OLD SAILORS 
 
 two o'clock. At that time it was about 
 twelve, and seeing we were in front of an 
 inn, and that he had told me tliat his 
 home was only half a mile away, I at once 
 invited him to have a drink. He readily 
 agreed to this proposal, and we entered 
 the inn, which was called the Globe. 
 This was the first friendly voice that had 
 greeted me for some time, and I was 
 determined to get something out of this 
 man, especially as he told me, almost at 
 once, that he was not a Welshman, 
 having been born in Staffordshire. 
 
 " What a poverty-stricken place this 
 is ! " I exclaimed. " I have now walked 
 six miles from Llanelly with houses all 
 the way, and have not seen one house 
 with a rent that could be more than ten 
 shillings a week. Where do the people 
 live that earn three or four hundred a 
 year ? " 
 
 When I asked this question I was 
 thinking of the fine villas near London, 
 where people live in comfort and style 
 on three or four hundred a year. How- 
 ever, I saw that I had made a mistake in 
 31 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 the way I put my question, and corrected 
 myself at once. For this man received 
 weekly wages and did not understand 
 money by the year. So I said almost 
 immediately, " \Yhere do the better classes 
 live, who earn about six or seven pounds 
 a week ? " 
 
 " Why," answered my companion, who 
 worked in the tin-plate trade,—" why, 
 they live all around you. John Thomas, 
 who lives a few doors from here, has a 
 very nice house, as I will show you. He 
 makes seven pounds a Aveek, and his 
 rent is six shillings. I myself, look you, 
 earn between five and six pomids a week ; 
 and I pay five shillings and sixpence a 
 week for my house." 
 
 " Some of you earn a lot of money," 
 I said. "Now, tell me, how is it that 
 when you go on strike, and are out of 
 work for a month, you are penniless, and 
 live on the subscriptions of the large 
 Welsh towns ? " 
 
 But I could get no satisfaction to this 
 question, and his only answer was, " The 
 money goes somehow." 
 32 
 
OLD SAILORS 
 
 In fact this man told me that six and 
 even eight pounds wages went every week 
 into some of the Uttle cottages I had passed, 
 the rents of which were only five or six 
 shillings a week, and clear of all rates and 
 taxes. I was very much surprised at 
 hearing this, for I knew that there were 
 thousands of men near London who dressed 
 well and kept a large house with a couple 
 of servants on eight pounds a week. But 
 these common tin-plate workers in Wales 
 had no servants, and only had a second 
 suit of clothes — where did their money 
 go to ? With a wife that knew nothing 
 about fashion, two or three children that 
 received a common school-board educa- 
 tion, and little rent to pay, this rich work- 
 ing man would yet be penniless and 
 starving after being out of work for little 
 more than a month. 
 
 After we had had one drink at my 
 expense, my companion insisted on pay- 
 ing for another. However, in spite of his 
 boast of earning between five and six 
 pounds a week, I was determined to be 
 the richer man. So I paid for another 
 33 C 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 and we then left the inn, for he had to 
 change his clothes and start work at two 
 o'clock. 
 
 In about ten minutes after we had left 
 the inn my companion came to a halt 
 in front of two small cottages at the side 
 of the road, and pointing to them said, 
 " Look you now, these cottages look 
 small, but you would be surprised to see 
 how large they are inside." 
 
 " Yes," I answered, thinking of the 
 large wages some of these men earned, — 
 " yes, and no doubt they contain some 
 fine furniture." 
 
 " Aye, indeed they do," he answered 
 eagerly. 
 
 The next moment he shook me by the 
 hand, and to my surprise went into one 
 of the cottages. I could now see that 
 my companion had been praising his own 
 mean-looking little house. 
 
 As I went along I began to think of 
 the mistake I had made. It appeared 
 that quite a number of working men in 
 Wales had an income of two hundred 
 a year, and when I had asked where the 
 34 
 
OLD SAILORS 
 
 better classes lived I should have men- 
 tioned men with £800 or £1,000 a year. 
 After I had considered a while I began 
 to account for the high pay and poverty 
 in Wales. For instance, this man lived 
 principally on solid meat — no good for 
 his pocket or his health — ^for he mentioned 
 how he could eat steaks and chops in 
 spite of having no teeth. Again, he drank 
 three pints to my three glasses, and 
 appeared to be impatient of the restraint, 
 although ashamed to call for more. Again, 
 the Welsh ale was not very strong, and 
 an ordinary man could drink it all 
 day and still be little the worse for it at 
 night. 
 
 This man had also mentioned that he had 
 three pictures in the house that had cost 
 him fifteen pounds. Knowing something 
 about pictures — for I had framed many 
 a print for Jew hawkers to take into the 
 Welsh hills — I came to the conclusion 
 that his pictures were not worth thirty shil- 
 lings. The same man also advised me when 
 I complained of my long walk from Car- 
 marthen to Llanelly, without a chance to 
 35 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 ride, to hail a motor-car if the driver was 
 without his master, and give him a couple 
 of shillings for a ride. He said that he 
 had often done this when walking to Llan- 
 elly, which was still a mile or more away. 
 No wonder these common workers in 
 Wales, who pay so little rent and noth- 
 ing to educate their children, cannot save 
 anything out of two or three hundred 
 pounds a year. 
 jrf It had not been a very pleasant walk 
 
 from Llanelly to Swansea, because of the 
 houses all the way, with no pretty little 
 cottages with trees in front of them. So 
 I was not sorry when I reached my jour- 
 ney's end and was done with the road 
 for that particular day. As soon as I 
 had paid for my bed at a restaurant kept 
 by one Daniel Evans, I went out for a 
 walk, making my way towards the ships. 
 It was not long before I entered a quiet 
 inn, where I saw three men, who, it was 
 quite clear, were sailors of the old school. 
 Two of them were seated, but the other 
 was standing at the bar and talking in 
 a loud free voice. This man, who was 
 36 
 
OLD SAILORS 
 
 shaped roundly like a barrel, was dressed 
 in a blue knitted jersey, and had a pair 
 of very wide, dark pilot-cloth trousers. 
 His face was very large and red, covered 
 with a curly, brown beard, and his neck 
 was thick and stout. He was one of those 
 men with big, long bodies which make 
 them look giants when seated, but who 
 stand no taller than ordinary men. His 
 legs were not only short, but bowed as 
 well, and in that way lost their real 
 length. In fact, he looked very much 
 shorter than he really was, owing to his 
 shape. 
 
 His two companions, who were quietly 
 listening to him, were dressed in the same 
 way, but were younger and of usual pro- 
 portions, without any unusual feature. 
 
 When I gave the landlord my order, 
 the speaker, who had his back turned, 
 faced around and nodded familiarly. 
 After doing this, he continued to address 
 his companions, who were quietly smoking 
 their pipes. No doubt the old sailor was 
 on his pet subject, for he did not appear 
 to be at any loss for ideas or words. The 
 37 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 subject was sailing ships and steamships, 
 and the kind of men that man them. 
 The old sailor was now speaking in great 
 scorn of engineers, firemen and stokers, 
 and wanted to know how such men could 
 call themselves mariners, seeing that their 
 life was below deck. 
 
 " Have they ever been in the shrouds 
 or rigging ? Damn my breeches, no," cried 
 the old fellow. " Have they ever shouted 
 ' Light on the port or starboard side,' or 
 ' All's well,' or ' Land ahead ' ? Have 
 they ever been on deck in a hurricane ? 
 Damn them, no. They're always below 
 deck, shovelling coal into furnaces. Damn 
 my guts. Are these our sailors nowa- 
 days ? The only time they come on deck 
 is when they are passing from the stoke- 
 hole to the forecastle. Look at their faces 
 — the white-livered sharks." 
 
 The old sailor poured forth his scorn 
 without end, saying that such pale sickly 
 men were what were called mariners now- 
 adays, who went to sea and saw no water. 
 Other ships were passed, icebergs, islands 
 and whales, but these men never saw them. 
 38 
 
OLD SAILORS 
 
 The salt winds could blow while these 
 so-called mariners were down in a stoke- 
 hole breathing nothing but hot smoke. 
 The spray could be tumbling on the deck 
 while these so-called mariners were wiping 
 the sweat off their brows. They never 
 wore sea-boots, and when they came on 
 deck had to be as careful as cats not to 
 wet their feet. 
 
 When the old man's companions heard 
 this they gave a hoarse guffaw, in which 
 he joined with great heartiness. 
 
 After a while he continued, saying, 
 " Damn my skin, if these white-faced 
 mariners don't take a spell when their 
 furnace work is done, because their blood 
 must cool before the winds touch their 
 bodies. If they didn't do that they would 
 catch cold and cough, etc., perhaps die — 
 poor dears ! " When the old sailor said 
 this there was another hoarse laugh from 
 his companions, in which he again joined 
 as hearty as ever. 
 
 I was not at all surprised to hear these 
 ideas, for I had heard them often from my 
 grandfather, who was an old mariner of 
 39 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 the same kind. He would never admit 
 that engineers, firemen and stokers were 
 sailors, although they went to sea and 
 called themselves by that proud name. 
 He always said that the wind and not fire 
 was the care of the true mariner. He 
 had no interest in anything except the 
 weather, and his chief conversation was 
 the doings of the wind. My grandfather's 
 opinion of man, woman or child that came 
 into the house and could not answer as to 
 which way the wind blew, was not very high. 
 He did not need the information, 
 but he was never satisfied if others 
 did not show the same interest. If 
 they did not, he judged them to be of 
 small account and took no trouble to 
 entertain them. Any kind of answer 
 would do, for the old man Would then 
 speak according to a compass. If he got 
 up early in the morning — which he nearly 
 always did — he never sat down to break- 
 fast until he had told us all, which way the 
 wind blew, although I cannot remember 
 seeing my grandmother show the least 
 concern. When night came no one could 
 40 
 
OLD SAILORS 
 
 go out of the house for even a minute and 
 come back in, back door or front, with- 
 out being asked, " Is everything made 
 fast ? " If the maidservant went out to 
 the back with rubbish, she was always 
 asked on her return if she had made 
 everything fast. No sooner would my 
 grandfather see us all preparing for bed, 
 than he would stand in the middle of the 
 kitchen — a big, red-faced, bearded old man 
 — and roar, at one in particular, " Is 
 everything made fast ? " The maid- 
 servant would always answer for the back 
 door, saying, " I have bolted the back 
 door. Captain Davies." But in spite of 
 these words my grandfather was always 
 the last to go to bed, and he was to be 
 heard trying all the locks, bolts and latches 
 for some time after we had all gone upstairs. 
 Other people locked their doors and 
 fastened their windows at night for one 
 reason only — to keep out thieves. But 
 that old sea captain knew the power 
 of a strong wind, and feared no other 
 housebreaker at night. One morning my 
 grandmother said she had heard in the 
 41 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 night some one fingering at the front door, 
 and the maidservant had heard also. 
 But when my grandfather was told of 
 this he wanted to know what else it could 
 be but the wind. On this occasion he 
 loudly expressed his disgust at being " sur- 
 rounded by a parcel of women that could 
 not tell the difference between the wind 
 and a thief." 
 
 - My own wandering blood comes from 
 my seafaring grandfather, who, after he 
 had left the sea and settled on shore, still 
 governed his house by a ship's rules. I 
 was quite young at the time of his death, 
 but I remember it well. I had been left 
 in the room to watch him, with orders, 
 which I did not understand, to call for help 
 if anything happened. A small fire was 
 burning in the grate — a proof that the 
 old sea captain was far gone, or he would 
 not have had a coal fire in a bedroom. 
 This fire made the room look cheerful, 
 and I never had one thought of death. 
 Moreover, I had a very interesting book 
 of wild adventure, which I was about half 
 way through, and eager to continue to 
 42 
 
OLD SAILORS 
 
 the end. Being deeply interested in this 
 book I could not say whether my grand- 
 father called once or twice ; all I know 
 is that I was suddenly made aware of his 
 voice, and remembered that I had to call 
 for help if anything happened. Taking 
 the book with me I went to his bedside 
 and leaned over him. His face, which had 
 always been so red, was now quite pale. 
 He looked hard at me for a long time, but 
 said nothing. I was just about to return 
 to my seat at the fire, when he began to 
 mutter indistinctly. But, in spite of his 
 difficulty, his last word was quite clear — 
 it was the word " fast." Of course I 
 knew at once that he was then asking if 
 everything was made fast, so I nodded 
 " Yes." Seeing him now looking satis- 
 fied I lost no time in returning to my 
 book. But I could not have been read- 
 ing very long when I heard a struggle in 
 the bed. This sound made me tremble 
 with fear, for I thought my grandfather 
 had gone mad and was about to rise and 
 attack me. Waiting for a little time, to 
 see if he succeeded in rising, when I 
 43 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 intended to run out of the room, I felt a 
 great relief to see Jiim at last lying quiet 
 again, and to hear him breathing hard. 
 But soon after this I became more fright- 
 ened than ever, for he was now taking 
 very long breaths, which I did not know 
 the meaning of. At last these breaths 
 became so very long that I felt it impos- 
 sible to remain in the room, for I expected 
 something to happen, although his hands 
 and feet made no motion at all, However, 
 I sat still for a while longer, but had now 
 forgotten all about my book. While my 
 mind was in this state, not knowing 
 whether to stay or go, I heard a sound — I 
 had never heard its like before — coming 
 from my grandfather's bed ; a sound 
 that frightened me more than heavy 
 breathing — it was a rattle in the old man's 
 throat. In less than half a minute after 
 hearing this I was down in the presence 
 of my grandmother and her comforters. 
 As soon as they saw my face they all 
 knew that something had happened. 
 
 But to go back to my pilgrimage. 
 The old sailor at Swansea was still 
 44 
 
OLD SAILORS 
 
 talking in a loud voice, to the delight of 
 his companions and myself, when another 
 voice, clearer than his, but not so strong, 
 interrupted him suddenly with these 
 words : " England — bloody good country ! 
 Englishman — bloody good man ! " 
 
 Turning my head in the direction of 
 that voice, I saw to my surprise the tall, 
 lean figure of an Indian coolie, who had 
 opened the door and now stood half in 
 and half out. I then looked at the old 
 sailor, to see the effect of this strange 
 figure and the words it had uttered. When 
 I did so, I never saw so much scorn in a 
 human face before. 
 
 " What's that you're saying ? " roared 
 the old man, turning on the intruder. 
 
 " England — bloody good country ! 
 Englishman — bloody good man ! " cried 
 the coolie, stepping into the room and 
 showing his white teeth. 
 
 " Of course it's a b good country 
 
 and Englishmen are b good men," 
 
 snapped the old sailor, nodding his head 
 vigorously. 
 
 " Yah, yah, me know it," said the 
 45 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 coolie, stepping forward and patting the 
 old sailor on the back. " Yah, yah ! 
 England — " and again he repeated his 
 extraordinary phrase. After saying this 
 for the third time he stepped back and 
 raising his arm slowly towards heaven, 
 as if to attest before God the truth of his 
 statement, he cried for the fourth time : 
 " England — bloody good country ! English- 
 man — bloody good man ! " 
 
 By this time the old sailor was looking 
 puzzled, and I was beginning to wonder 
 how it would all end. The landlord was 
 standing attentively behind the bar, wait- 
 ing for the coolie's order. 
 
 " Here," cried the old sailor impulsively, 
 " drink." Saying this he held out his 
 pint of beer, which he had scarcely 
 touched. The tall, lean coolie took the 
 beer with a rapid movement, and did not 
 return the mug until it was quite empty. 
 After doing this, he stepped back into 
 the middle of the room and, raising his 
 arm again, cried in a loud voice of triumph, 
 " England — bloody good country ! Eng- 
 lishman — bloody good man ! " 
 46 
 
OLD SAILORS 
 
 The next instant he was gone, going 
 as silently as he came, for he was in his 
 bare feet. 
 
 As soon as the coolie had gone, the old 
 sailor looked at his companions, and then 
 at the landlord, in a rather shamefaced 
 manner, for he could now see that he had 
 been tricked. 
 
 " Yes," said the landlord bitterly, " Eng- 
 land is certainly a good country and Eng- 
 lishmen are good men, when such things as 
 that can come into an inn and get drink 
 for nothing." 
 
 "But," roared the old sailor, " I thought 
 he came in to buy a drink, and I only 
 offered him a mouthful of beer, to show 
 there was no ill will. England is a 
 damn rotten country, and Englishmen 
 are damn fools, when a dirty foreigner 
 like that can get what he wants so 
 easily. If he comes back here again 
 
 I'll wring his b neck, the yellow 
 
 swine ! " 
 
 I was just on the point of saying some- 
 thing to this old sailor, but left it too late, 
 for all at once one of his companions 
 47 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 mentioned a place they had to go to. So 
 they finished their beer and left, wishing 
 me a good day as they went out. How- 
 ever, even if they had not gone so soon, 
 it is hardly likely, on second thoughts, 
 that I would have opened my mouth at 
 all. i^'or instance, to get into their good 
 graces, it would have been wise to show a 
 generous nature by placing money on 
 the bar and inviting them to drink. I 
 would have been pleased to have done 
 that, Ibut was afraid of what would follow. 
 For these sailors are so independent and 
 good-natured that they would have in- 
 sisted on paying for more drinks in return, 
 which I did not want just then, as their 
 company would have been hard to leave. 
 If they had been on the rocks, without 
 money to spend, the case would have been 
 different. 
 
 This old sailor at Swansea was not only 
 like my grandfather in looks — except that 
 my grandfather was longer in the legs — 
 but also had exactly the same ideas. He 
 mentioned several vessels by name, such 
 as the Mary Jane of Bideford, and the 
 48 
 
OLD SAILORS 
 
 Polly Ann of Penzance, but none of 
 the grand names that are given to ships 
 of iron and steam. The old sailor was 
 a man of Devon, I believe. 
 
 49 D 
 
AT SWANSEA 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 AT SWANSEA 
 
 I INTENDED on the following day to walk 
 to Neath, but when the morning came I 
 decided to stay in Swansea for another 
 day so as to have a thorough clean up. 
 I had not had a bath for several days, 
 neither had I troubled about clean boots. 
 However, although I had no journey to 
 make, I still got up at my usual time, which 
 was about eight o'clock, and was down- 
 stairs for breakfast before the half-hour 
 had struck. Seeing the landlady's young 
 daughter I ordered two fried eggs, some 
 bread and a small pot of tea. I was 
 travelling without baggage of any kind, 
 and even if I had had the money I could 
 not apply for accommodation at superior 
 places. This house, where I was now 
 staying, catered for the very poor, for 
 they sold faggots, and green peas at two- 
 53 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 pence a plate, and a small cup of tea at a 
 halfpenny. So I judged that my break- 
 fast would be sixpence or sevenpence at 
 the most. When it came I did not trouble 
 to inquire the charge, but gave a shilling, 
 expecting change. But the girl looked 
 at the shilling and then looked at me in 
 a way I did not understand. Then going 
 to a china cup that was behind the 
 counter she dropped the shilling into it, and 
 then went to her mother who was sitting 
 behind a screen and began whispering to 
 her. 
 
 At this I began to think of Mrs. E , 
 
 and could not help thinking that Mrs. 
 Evans was her sister in cheating a stranger. 
 I had seen pots of fresh tea advertised 
 in the windows at superior-looking restaur- 
 ants at twopence, two fried eggs would 
 not be more than fourpence, and two thin 
 slices of bread without butter would not 
 be more than a penny — sevenpence in 
 all and very profitable to the landlady. 
 So, when I did not receive my change in 
 ten minutes' time, I said to the girl, who 
 had passed me several times, casting 
 54 
 
AT SWANSEA 
 
 suspicious glances, " You have forgotten 
 my change." Without saying a word 
 she returned to her mother, and there 
 was another whispered consultation. The 
 next moment Mrs. Evans snapped in a 
 loud voice, " Change," and sprang to her 
 feet. Coming from behind the screen, 
 she went to another china cup and, taking 
 out the change, brought it forward and 
 laid it on the table, at the side of my 
 plate. When I looked, feeling sorry that 
 I had said anything at all, I was stupefied, 
 for my change was only one halfpenny. 
 Mrs. Evans knew that I was entitled to 
 change, but was determined to make it 
 as small as possible. 
 
 After having had breakfast, I again 
 made my way towards the docks, which I 
 found to be reasonably full of all kinds of 
 craft. I was surprised to see several fine 
 large wooden barques, and came to the 
 conclusion that wooden vessels still had 
 a long time to live, in spite of the much 
 greater number of steamships. 
 
 When I was returning from the docks 
 I saw two little girls looking into a con- 
 55 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 fectioner's shop. So I stopped at once 
 and gave them a penny, telUng them to go 
 inside and buy some sweets. 
 
 " Om' mother is going to take us to the 
 Mumbles soon," said one of the Httle girls, 
 looking up into my face with wide-open 
 eyes. 
 
 The IMumbles were the seaside sands 
 about five miles from Swansea, which I 
 had been to years before, when I was 
 young. 
 
 " What lucky little girls you are," I 
 exclaimed. " When you get there please 
 give the lobsters my love and tell them I 
 couldn't come." 
 
 " If we see any we will, yes, indeed we 
 will," said the same little girl, looking at 
 me seriously. 
 
 I like to make game of little children in 
 this way, but sometimes they ask questions 
 that make me suspect them of having the 
 same design on me. 
 
 For instance, one morning some years 
 ago I saw a little fellow standing out- 
 side a shop, looking very disappointed 
 indeed. Knowing me, this little fellow 
 56 
 
AT SWANSEA 
 
 came forward immediately, and began to 
 relate his trouble. " I have been into 
 this shop to buy some fireworks," he said, 
 " but the man won't serve me because I 
 am not old enough. Will you buy some 
 for me? Are you over thirteen ?^^ As a 
 man of forty, who had no objection to 
 being told he looked younger by years, I 
 looked hard at that little boy, but could 
 see no sign of mischief in his clear eyes. 
 I was surprised and shocked to see the 
 number of wretched-looking men, women 
 and children in Swansea. For I soon saw 
 another little mite staring into a cake 
 shop. I touched him lightly on the 
 shoulder, and when he turned his head 
 held a penny out to him. But this ragged 
 little fellow no sooner had the penny in 
 his hand than he ran off like a thief, with- 
 out saying a word or giving me a second 
 look. No doubt he had often stared into 
 shop windows, and no man or woman 
 had ever given him anything for his 
 trouble. So when such a thing did happen, 
 he thought there was something wrong ; 
 that I was a poor simple, half-witted idiot 
 57 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 that gave my money away for nothing, to 
 anybody, not knowing what I was doing ; 
 and that if he did not get away at once I 
 would grow wise and repent and demand 
 my money back. This poor httle mite 
 was very dirty and ragged, with no boots 
 or stockings on his feet ; no cap, no coat 
 and no waistcoat ; only a torn shirt and 
 a pair of torn breeches. 
 
 I like to give pennies to children, but 
 unfortunately a man cannot do these 
 things if he lives in a small village or town 
 where his face is known and seen every 
 day. For children take advantage, as 
 I know to my cost, and would gather 
 round him like hens around a farmer 
 when he scatters grain. Moreover, if you 
 buy a child's goodwill with money, it 
 takes money to keep it. I have found 
 children and birds to be alike in this : it 
 is no wiser to give money to one than it 
 is to give crumbs to the other. Children 
 are best left in the hands of their parents, 
 and birds to the care of nature, for they 
 both quarrel over a stranger's bounty. 
 One morning I saw a robin with only half 
 58 
 
AT SWANSEA 
 
 a head^ — just enough head to hold one eye. 
 This was owing to deadly strife with other 
 birds, because he would not seek fresh 
 quarters, and still remained for my crumbs. 
 But, as I have said, it is different in a large 
 town or city where a man meets strange 
 children that do not know his house or 
 haunts, and never saw him before and may 
 never see him again. 
 
 My walk from Llanelly to Swansea, a 
 distance of twelve miles, had taught me 
 this — that where there were no people of 
 wealth and culture, there was no beauty. 
 For twelve miles I had on both sides of me 
 mean, dirty-looking houses, without one 
 garden of sufficient beauty to make me 
 give a second glance. And yet I had seen 
 quite a number of fine sites on the hills 
 where a beautiful house could have been 
 built and several acres of green made 
 into a pleasant garden. But no people 
 of wealth and culture had had the courage 
 to do so, owing I suppose to the mean 
 little modern houses that stretched in 
 every direction. Things are arranged 
 differently in English towns, where the 
 59 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 rich and poor live side by side without 
 spoihng the beauty of their surroundings. 
 
 On inquiring for the pubhc baths I 
 heard that they were at St. Helens, which 
 I could reach by a tram ride that would 
 cost three-halfpence. This was a fine 
 ride all the way, with beautiful houses 
 and shops of a superior class. In fact, 
 the road looked so rich, comfortable and 
 pleasant, that I made up my mind to walk 
 back, especially as I had caught sight of 
 the gates of a green park. 
 
 I had another idea in walking back, in- 
 stead of riding, which no doubt will appear 
 a very foolish one. I had seen a certain 
 house, not marked by any peculiarity at 
 all, except that it was between two 
 shops, and I was curious to know who 
 lived there, for I had noticed that both 
 of the shopkeepers were named Evans, 
 and I began to think that was the most 
 popular name in Swansea, seeing that I 
 had noticed it so many times. 
 
 When I had got back to the two shops I 
 took up a position on the other side of the 
 street and questioned the passers-by as 
 60 
 
AT SWANSEA 
 
 to who lived in the private house over the 
 way. For a long time I could not get any 
 satisfaction, as no one seemed to know or 
 care. So I went into another shop close 
 by, and there I was told, to my delight, 
 that the man who lived in the private 
 house was a Mr. Evans. I felt a great 
 satisfaction in hearing this, for I would 
 have been quite disappointed if any other 
 name had been mentioned. Here was a 
 private Evans, living between two public 
 Evanses, and I had been right in my sur- 
 mise. I was so pleased with myself at 
 making this discovery, that I gave two- 
 pence, without being solicited, to the 
 first poor-looking man I came to. I even 
 went back to Mrs. Evans, in spite of the 
 way she had overcharged me, and told her 
 that I would keep my room for another 
 night. 
 
 61 
 
THE LOST SEX 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE LOST SEX 
 
 What, still another woman false, 
 Another honest man betrayed : 
 
 Then Heaven is made for only men. 
 And Hell for women made. 
 
 Now, with that false deceitful sex, 
 Henceforth I have for ever done ; 
 
 Only one Judas lived a man. 
 But every woman's one. 
 
 Send down, O Lord, ten thousand Christs, 
 Each one as great as Christ Thy Son ; 
 Not for all men, but just to make 
 One woman true, just one. 
 
 On the following morning, it being Satur- 
 day, I started for Neath, which was nine 
 miles distant. I had four miles of the 
 same little wretched houses and hovels, 
 until I had passed through Llansamlet. 
 When passing through this industrial vil- 
 lage, I often had my attention drawn to 
 the children, and was surprised at their 
 dirty appearance. Of course I made 
 65 E 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 allowance for the conditions, seeing that 
 there were numerous smoking stacks, and 
 came to the conclusion that it would be 
 impossible to keep children clean for a 
 whole day in a place of that kind. How- 
 ever, I caught sight of several children 
 looking through the windows and, seeing 
 that it was half-past ten o'clock, I knew 
 that the dirt on their faces belonged to 
 the day before, and that their mothers 
 had not yet washed them. It was quite 
 apparent that the children were neglected. 
 In fact, the squalor of these industrial 
 villages, where men earned good money, 
 compared very unfavourably with the 
 agricultural villages where low wages and 
 cleanliness went together. 
 
 A few moments after I had passed 
 through Llansamlet I met a man coming 
 towards me, whom I judged to be out of 
 work and a stranger in that part of the 
 country. 
 
 " Are you out of work ? " I asked some- 
 what timidly, for he did not look like a man 
 to be patronized. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, " I am." 
 66 
 
THE LOST SEX 
 
 " How long have you been out of a 
 job ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Two days," he answered. 
 
 " Slackness of trade ? " I ventured. 
 
 " No, there was plenty of work, and I 
 left of my own accord," answered the 
 stranger. 
 
 " I suppose you had a few drinks and 
 a lazy fit came on you," I said. 
 
 '-' No, I didn't drink at all," answered 
 the stranger. " I have worked hard all 
 my life and like work, and am quite 
 satisfied with no more than rest on Satur- 
 day afternoons and Sundays, and the usual 
 holidays." 
 
 I did not know what to make of this, 
 but dared not ask him any more questions. 
 Here was a young man, healthy and 
 strong, who had work and liked it, but 
 would not do it, who did not drink — here 
 was this young man found on the road 
 hungry and penniless, it seemed. I was 
 very curious over this matter, but as long 
 as he liked to hold his tongue I could not 
 very well question him any more. How- 
 ever, I thought perhaps a little help in 
 67 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 the shape of money would win his confi- 
 dence. With this thought I put my hand 
 into my pocket and took out twopence, 
 all the coppers I had, and gave them to 
 him. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, " you are very 
 kind. I don't know what will become of 
 me in the end. Most likely I shall die of 
 hunger, for I have no heart to work, after 
 what has happened to me. I have been 
 disappointed in a woman, and that is 
 why I am here now, wishing I was 
 struck by lightning or drowned in a 
 flood." 
 
 Saying this, he began to stare up the 
 road, as though he had forgotten all 
 about my being present. After he had 
 stood for a moment or two in this way, he 
 turned his face again and said, " If I 
 had remained in Cardiff any longer I 
 would have killed the both of them. As 
 it is, I feel strongly tempted to go back 
 and do it." 
 
 " Whatever they have done," I advised, 
 knowing nothing of his affairs, — " whatever 
 they have done, take my advice and don't 
 68 
 
THE LOST SEX 
 
 get into trouble on their account. Did 
 they serve you very badly, then ? " 
 
 " They did," he answered bitterly. 
 
 In a few moments after this I had the 
 whole tale from him, which related to a 
 woman's heartlessness of a most cruel 
 kind. He had been courting a woman 
 for over two years, during which time he 
 had been a strict teetotaller, in steady 
 work, and had saved over £50. Think- 
 ing this amount was quite enough to make 
 a comfortable home for the wife of a 
 working man, he gave her the money to 
 get things ready, so that they could get 
 married as soon as possible. But this 
 woman had, during the last month, met 
 another man she liked better, an old 
 sweetheart of hers who had no money 
 to get married with, and was never likely 
 to have any. The truth of the matter 
 was that he was a common loafer, a public- 
 house crawler and a beggar of beer. 
 However, this man was the woman's real 
 hero, and now came her chance to marry 
 him. She knew that her man was unfor- 
 tunate, had no money and no immediate 
 69 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 prospects of making any. Knowing this, 
 she made up her mind to make a home for 
 him, seeing that he was not capable of 
 making one for her. With this idea she 
 went to him at once with the money and 
 they got married. When my new ac- 
 quiantance fomid out that he was not 
 only jilted but that a false woman had 
 made him pay for a lazy worthless man 
 to take his place in marriage, he was 
 almost distracted. All his future was 
 darkened, and feeling that he would 
 be tempted to kill both of them 
 outright he left the town as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 I was so sorry for this poor fellow that, 
 though I am far from being a rich man, 
 I could not find it in my heart to offer 
 him less than a shilling. 
 
 However, although he took it, it seemed to 
 be with the utmost indifference. This made 
 me think that his grief had had such an 
 effect on him that he did not value his life 
 at all, and for that reason was quite in- 
 different to the things that maintained 
 it. For, while he was in this troubled 
 70 
 
THE LOST SEX 
 
 state, he would not be able to feel hunger 
 acutely ; and, as he would not be able to 
 sleep well, he had no particular care to 
 lie in a comfortable bed. 
 
 After advising him to harden his heart, 
 and settle in some strange town where 
 he would not be likely to meet anyone to 
 remind him of the past, I left him and 
 continued my journey towards Neath. 
 
 As soon as I got within a mile of Neath 
 I began to be struck by the unusual beauty 
 of my new surroundings. I had passed 
 several fine houses and pretty cottages, and 
 saw that the owners of them took a joride 
 in the beauty of their homes. On my left 
 there was a fine old church and cemetery, 
 and, looking to my right, I saw before me 
 the leafy ruins of Neath Abbey. But the 
 approach to the abbey ruins from where 
 I then stood was spoilt, owing to a railway 
 being there and dirty coal cars standing 
 between us. However, I w^as told soon 
 after that the approach from the other 
 side was as pleasant as it should be. I 
 had seen enough beauty to like Neath 
 before I entered the town at all. 
 71 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 I had an old friend at Neath, in business 
 for himself, whom I had not seen for years 
 and whom I sought without delay. As 
 soon as I found him I received a cordial 
 welcome not only from him and his wife 
 but also their friends that came to see me. 
 It was a proof of Welsh good-nature ; so 
 long as I had a friend that knew and could 
 introduce me, the whole Welsh people 
 would do anything to entertain, and would 
 even neglect their business to do so. But 
 as a stranger in Wales, it is difficult to 
 break through their suspicion and mis- 
 trust. 
 
 The following morning, being Sunday, 
 I went out walking with my old friend 
 and two others, so that they might show 
 me the surrounding country. They took 
 me up an avenue of trees, quiet and a real 
 lovers' walk. After walking for about 
 half an hour it was time to turn back, 
 but before doing so we stepped on to a 
 high bank, from where we could see the 
 green Welsh mountains stretching for 
 miles. One mountain in particular drew 
 my attention, and I inquired its name. 
 72 
 
THE LOST SEX 
 
 " That is Drymma," answered one of my 
 friends, who had been speaking to me of 
 it the previous night. He had then told 
 me of how he had spent a summer's day 
 on that mountain, and had remarked to one 
 of its inhabitants, a woman, that it must 
 be very healthy to live up there. " Yes," 
 answered the woman, " doctors often come 
 up here, but it's only for confinements." 
 
 The same evening we had a certain 
 social gathering which is quite common 
 in Wales. Several friends who are fond 
 of song meet together and sing to their 
 hearts' content until a late hour. So 
 full of song were tliese friends of mine 
 that it was one o'clock before we parted, 
 although they were all business men and 
 had to rise early the next morning. Their 
 enthusiasm for song was pure and simple, 
 and needed no help from stimulants. If 
 anything, their last notes were as full- 
 hearted as their first, and their minds were 
 so full of sweet music when ^ve parted that 
 I imagined that they would beat time 
 with their hands and feet when they slept. 
 They all had good voices and the hostess, 
 78 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 who accompanied them on the piano, had 
 won her certificate of R.A.M., which was 
 framed on the wall above her head. 
 
 The following morning I took another 
 fine walk to the hill called Cimla, from 
 Avhich I could command other extensive 
 views of Neath in the valley, and the green 
 hills beyond. In fact, wherever I went I 
 could not help being struck with the beauty 
 all around. 
 
 During my stay in Neath I heard very 
 little Welsh spoken, and saw very little 
 to remind me of the Welsh people. For 
 instance, people did not openly stare at 
 me, although they must have recognized 
 me as a stranger, and it was like being 
 in an English town. My most painful 
 experience had been in a small industrial 
 village between Llanelly and Swansea. 
 I had gone into a shop to buy tobacco, 
 and on coming out saw that a funeral 
 procession was about to pass. There hap- 
 pened to be about twenty men standing 
 at a corner, who I naturally thought 
 would have their attention drawn to the 
 funeral and take no particular notice of a 
 74 
 
THE LOST SEX 
 
 stranger. So I stood there bareheaded 
 out of respect to the dead and waited 
 for the funeral to pass. But these men, 
 instead of looking at the funeral, stared at 
 me with such open curiosity that I almost 
 dropped with confusion. This was a most 
 trying experience, for instead of looking 
 pale, as the mourners would expect me 
 to look, I turned very red and, being con- 
 scious of this, wished that I had gone my 
 way instead of showing any concern at ail 
 for a Welsh corpse. 
 
 After I had told my friend at Neath 
 what I was doing — taking a walking tour 
 through England and Wales, and that I 
 had found my fellow-countrymen inclined 
 to be suspicious, he, being an English- 
 speaking Welshman from Monmouthshire, 
 quite believed me and began to tell me 
 his own experience since he had become 
 his own master. Tie had been a journey- 
 man for a number of years, until he had 
 saved enough money to begin business for 
 himself, and had settled to it in the little 
 town of Neatli. But, he explained, he 
 could never do any clean, fair and open 
 75 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 business with real Welsh people, unless 
 prepared to use their own language ; who, 
 as soon as they are forced to speak English, 
 become suspicious and tliink they are 
 being robbed. He related for instance, when 
 he first settled down as his own master, he 
 could not understand why, when he told a 
 Welshman or his wife that a certain article 
 would cost four shillings, he or she would 
 haggle worse than a Jew to have the price 
 reduced to two shillings and sixpence. So 
 he consulted some of his fellow-tradesmen, 
 and they told him that he must put a 
 good price on his wares, so as to make 
 allowance for taking something off. But 
 my friend, being a fair, honest man, 
 argued against this, saying, " If I do that 
 I shall be taking a mean advantage of 
 other customers, who, trusting to my 
 honesty, will give me the price I ask without 
 a second question." 
 
 After a great deal of thought my friend 
 came to the very sensible conclusion that 
 he would have to study his customers. 
 If a customer spoke English in a natural 
 way, and with apparent pleasure, my friend 
 
 76 
 
THE LOST SEX 
 
 would not make allowance for reducing th e 
 price of an article. But if he judged his 
 customer to belong to that class who arc 
 suspicious when trading in English, he 
 would deal ^vith that customer as he would 
 with a Jew. My friend had lost several 
 customers when he first opened his shop, 
 all because he had uttered these simple 
 words : "I have only one price for this 
 article, and if I do not get it I may as well 
 close my shop." But, after losing those 
 customers, he priced an article not so much 
 according to its worth as by the kind of 
 man or woman he was trading with. 
 
 77 
 
IN NEATH VALLEY 
 
CHAPTER YI 
 
 IN NEATH VALLEY 
 
 Between two rows of trees, 
 
 Here let me take my ease ; 
 
 To see the light afar, 
 
 Shmmg like one big star. 
 
 Is it not fine to lie 
 
 With boughs to change my sky ; 
 
 Alone in this green Avay, 
 And let my fancies play ? 
 Now as a growing boy 
 Will sometimes stand for joy 
 Tiptoe behind men small, 
 And raise himself as tall — 
 So shall my fancy's eye 
 See none more great than I. 
 
 It was very pleasant to breathe the pure 
 air and hear the birds singing on this 
 bright morning in May. I could lie on 
 my belly in the grass like Nebuchadnezzar 
 and feel more exalted than he felt abased. 
 I knew from report that I would pass 
 through fine country on this one day in 
 particular, and seeing that it was only ten 
 miles from Neath to my journey's end, and 
 
 81 F 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 I had all the day to do it in, I had an enthu- 
 siasm that I knew would last till the end. 
 
 I was in no great hurry to reach Glyn- 
 Neath, so when I came to Cadoxton, one 
 mile from Neath, I stood for a while to 
 admire the beautiful little church at the 
 side of the road. Seeing the quiet little 
 churchyard, with the gate wide open, I 
 went into it for a few moments, to look at 
 the stones and graves. It was very quiet 
 in there, and few people passed on the road 
 to make me feel uncomfortable by being 
 stared at for a stranger. I always like to 
 read gravestones ; and a very small stone, 
 that has a grave no more than three feet 
 long where a child lies buried, always 
 affects me more than large stones and 
 monuments of full-grown women and men. 
 
 After reading a few stones I came to a 
 large dark one, which I probably would 
 not have read had I not been startled by 
 one word in large capital letters on top. 
 The word was " murder," and when I 
 read on I was astonished, for I had never 
 seen or read anything like it before in any 
 churchyard I had been in. Here was no 
 
 82 
 
IN NEATH VALLEY 
 
 quaint verse to smile at, and no mention 
 
 of the virtues of the poor girl that lay dead 
 
 in the earth. The whole writing was a cry 
 
 of vengeance on the murderer, who had 
 
 escaped justice and still lived. This is 
 
 what I read : — 
 
 To record 
 MURDER. 
 
 This stone was erected 
 
 Over the body 
 
 of 
 
 MARGARET WILLIA:\IS 
 
 Aged 26, 
 
 A native of Carmarthensliire, 
 
 Living in service in this parish, 
 
 who was found dead 
 
 With marks of violence on her person, 
 
 In a ditch on the marsh 
 
 Below this churehj'ard, 
 
 On the morning 
 
 Of Sunday, the fourth of July, 
 
 1822. 
 
 Although 
 
 THE SAVAGE MURDERER 
 
 Escape for a season the detection of man, 
 
 yet 
 
 God has set His mark upon him, 
 
 Either for a time or eternity, 
 
 and 
 
 THE CRY OF BLOOD 
 
 Will assuredly pursue him 
 
 •To a certain and terrible righteous 
 
 JUDGEMENT. 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 When I read the last part of this stone, 
 about the murderer, I was astonished. 
 For up till now I had always seen that 
 space allotted to a peaceful little verse 
 that praised the dead for their virtues, 
 and saying that they had fallen asleep in 
 Jesus's arms, or something else that was 
 tender and beautiful. On very rare 
 occasions I had read something quaint, but 
 nothing so terrible as this. As soon as I 
 had recovered from my astonishment I 
 came to the conclusion that it was the 
 most honest writing I had ever seen on a 
 gravestone, and after reading it again I 
 said " Amen " three times. 
 
 In about half an hour's time I came to 
 the village of Aberdulais, where some very 
 fine waterfalls are to be seen. I had been 
 told of these falls, so when I heard them 
 and located the sound I made my way 
 towards them, for they were not many 
 yards off the main road, although they 
 could not be seen from there. But when 
 I stood in a good position to see them I 
 felt considerably disappointed, because of 
 the scarcity of water. What made my 
 81 
 
IN NEATH VALLEY 
 
 disappointment .^greater was that I knew, 
 had there been no drought, these falls of 
 Aberdulais would have been magnificent. 
 The great bare rocks which I could now 
 see should have been hidden in a torrent of 
 water ; and the pools below them, shallow 
 and quiet now, would have been one great 
 body of dancing spray. The voice of this 
 great waterfall ought to have put an end 
 to human talk, but now it was no difficult 
 matter for two friends to hear each other 
 without raising their voices. In fact, I 
 could hear the birds singing, and was 
 sorry I had not come when these falls 
 could have been seen in their true beauty 
 with every drop of water turned into silver 
 by its fierce wild life. 
 
 This walk up the Neath valley was 
 wonderful. No doubt in my many travels 
 I had often been in beautiful places, 
 but they had been seen under a dull con- 
 dition of life, ^^'hereas now I had no other 
 object than to seek beauty and, finding it, 
 give full leisure to its enjoyment. I had 
 great hills on either side of me, parts of 
 them being clad with trees and other parts 
 85 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 green and bare. These hills were not 
 always so close to the road but that there 
 was room for a meadow or two ; and when 
 I came to places of that kind I always 
 stood at the gates and looked at the horses, 
 cows and sheep, and the little lambs that 
 made such strange antics when they ran to 
 suck the ewes. Sometimes I had a canal at 
 my side, quiet and without a ripple, which 
 further on made a loud deep sound as it 
 forced its way through locks. And some- 
 times I came to dingles that had little 
 streams running through them ; streams 
 that were still in active service, in spite of 
 the long drought. Eyes and cars were 
 not the only organs tliat were tempted by 
 this fine walk, for my nostrils often took 
 in long breaths of air that was scented by 
 the blossoms of May. 
 
 My mind was so full of nature that I 
 did not trouble about human nature. 
 Although I had passed quite a number of 
 tramps, I had very little interest in their 
 lives and characters. However, I was* 
 not to complete my walk without meeting 
 one that would insist on being heard. As 
 86 
 
IN NEATH VALLEY 
 
 I have said, I had met several tramps, but 
 they had all been men who, seeing that I 
 was not inclined to notice them, had passed 
 on without a word. But this time it 
 was a woman, and as soon as I had caught 
 sight of her I knew that human nature 
 would have to be attended to. As we 
 drew nearer I saw that she was ill-dressed 
 and dirty, but, of course, I could not 
 expect anything different. 
 
 " Kind sir," began this woman, placing 
 a large basket she was carrying on her 
 arm directly in my path, — " Kind sir, 
 remember that you have had a mother, 
 and whether she's alive or in her grave 
 give me a little help for her sake. Wlien 
 I married Joe Williams, my first husband, 
 I was very young, and I am novv^ old enougli 
 to be your mother. Give me a penny and 
 God bless you." 
 
 This old woman was so dirty and ill- 
 favoured that I gave her a penny at once, 
 and stepped round her basket so as to 
 continue my journey. 
 
 " God bless you," she cried again in a 
 halting voice. I tliought the break in her 
 87 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 voice was due to disappointment that she 
 had not asked for more, seeing that she 
 got the penny with such httle trouble, 
 and not due to grateful emotion. As 
 soon as I was clear of the basket I made off, 
 leaving her standing there and looking 
 after me. But I had not gone three feet 
 when she brought me to a standstill by 
 crying, " Wait a minute, sonny." Turn- 
 ing round I saw that she had her hand in 
 her pocket, and was curious to see what 
 she would produce. 
 
 " Here," she cried, coming forward as 
 fast as she could, and holding something 
 in her hand, — " Here, sonny, have a pinch 
 of this." With these words she held out 
 a box of snuff, which I did not accept, 
 but thanked her all the same. " God bless 
 you," she cried again, as I continued my 
 journey. 
 
 When I reached Glyn-Neath, I found it 
 such a tiny little place that it would be 
 difficult to get lodgings without going to a 
 certain large hotel. I did not care to go 
 there, seeing that I had put on old clothes, 
 which were none the better for the rough 
 
 88 
 
IN NEATH VALLEY 
 
 travelling I had already done. Thinking 
 of these things, I went to the railway 
 station and took train to Aberdare. When 
 I looked from the train windows I was not 
 at all Sony to have taken a ride, for I am 
 sure I caught certain grand scenes that 
 would have been entirely missed on the 
 common road. In fact, some of the views 
 were so grand that I had seen nothing 
 more impressive even in America ; and I 
 began to see that we had scenery in our 
 own country that w^as more than pretty 
 and beautiful — that was sublime. I could 
 see great deep valleys so full of trees that, 
 to my fancy, races of pigmies or giants 
 could live in them without being dis- 
 covered. The train went up an incline 
 seven miles long, from Glyn-Neath to 
 Hirwain, and that accounted for the long 
 wild distances that passed before my eyes. 
 I reached Aberdare in about three- 
 quarters of an hour, where I arranged to 
 stay at a restaurant near the railway 
 station. 
 
 S9 
 
THE PROPHETESS 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE PROPHETESS 
 
 The next day I started for Merthyr, 's\ hich 
 was only four miles distant. However, 
 it was the worst four miles I had ever 
 walked in all my life. Not because it was 
 two miles up a steep mountain, and two 
 miles down the other side, but because of 
 the roughness of the road and there being 
 no fine scenery. And going down was 
 Avorse than going up, for w^hen I got into 
 Merthyr I w-as so shaken by the last two 
 miles that I could feel every part of my 
 inside ; my heart was beating, stitches 
 were in my sides, a blister burngd my 
 heel, and something was gnaAving at the 
 pit of my stomach. I could now well 
 understand the reason why the A\>lsh 
 people hated walking, and rode to every 
 place over a couple of miles from where 
 they lived. I had been told in Aberdare 
 that only one mountain divided that 
 
 93 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 town from Merthyr, and that a strong 
 able-bodied man would walk it in little 
 over the hour. But the ^\Velsh people 
 did not walk it and preferred paying more 
 than a shilling to ride in a train that 
 went a roundabout way, and took an 
 hour over the journey. Travelling in 
 '\ Vales is often a strange experience. One 
 man told me that being in a small town 
 and missing his train, he made inquiries 
 as to walking, for it wanted three hours 
 before he could get another train. The 
 fare by rail was tenpence, and the journey 
 took more than half an hour. To his 
 surprise he learned that the place he was 
 going to could easily be reached in three- 
 quarters of an hour by simply crossing a 
 hill. Starting on this journey he got to 
 his destination only fifteen minutes after 
 the train he had missed. 
 
 On this particular morning there was a 
 continual downfall of fine rain— a morning 
 like this is common in the Welsh hills — 
 and it was impossible to see far in the 
 distance. However, I could see far enough 
 to learn that the leafy country was at my 
 
 94 
 
THE PROPHETESS 
 
 back ; and that I was now facing hills 
 that were bare, on which the grass — the 
 most determined of all life — had a hard 
 struggle to exist. The comitry I had come 
 through from Neath to Aberdare had been 
 trees all the way. In fact, I feel certain 
 a squirrel could have run through the 
 trees the whole ten miles from Neath to 
 Glyn-Neath without once coming to the 
 ground, or making any extraordinary 
 leap. 
 
 When I reached the Halfway House I 
 decided to have a glass of ale and rest for 
 a while. But I had such a hostile recep- 
 tion that I was soon on the move again. 
 At this house there was a big black dog 
 which, when he saw me coming towards 
 the house, began to bark and look danger- 
 ous. I thought it was very strange that 
 a dog of this kind should be kept by a 
 publican — a dog that tried to frighten 
 customers away. However, I pressed my 
 way past him and entered the house, where 
 there was not one customer to be seen. 
 When the landlady came, after I had been 
 knocking for some time, I ordered a glass 
 95 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 of ale, in spite of licr cold looks. Taking 
 the glass out of her hand I thanked her, 
 but she did not thank me for my money, 
 neither did she tell the dog to lie down, 
 that was still barking at me. Without 
 paying any heed to the good or bad graces 
 of the landlady, I tried to make friends 
 with the dog, but failed, to my surprise. 
 For up till then I had always succeeded 
 in making friends with dogs, just by utter- 
 ing a few simple words. When I left the 
 house and continued my journey I began 
 to wonder why a few soft words, which 
 had always succeeded before, had had no 
 good effect on that ^^articular dog. After 
 a little while I came to the conclusion 
 that he hated and suspected the English 
 language, and that if I had addressed him 
 in Welsh he would have taken my advance 
 in a better spirit, and his mistress would 
 have done the same. 
 
 Just before I reached Merthyr I met 
 one of the strangest women I had ever 
 met in all my travels ; I expected this 
 woman to beg of me, and was not at all 
 surprised when she did so. However, 
 96 
 
THE PROPHETESS 
 
 when I gave her a penny, I was quite sur- 
 prised to see her still standing in my way, 
 as though she had some strange news to 
 tell, and either did not know how to 
 begin or whether I was the right kind of 
 man to hear it. I could not help noticing 
 her serious expression and the mournful 
 light in her eyes. 
 
 " Are you ill ? " I asked. 
 
 " No, I am not ill," she answered in a 
 quiet voice, and looking hard into my face. 
 " I am not ill, but I believe you come 
 from London." 
 
 " Yes, I do," I said. 
 
 " If you do," she said, her face being 
 now all alive with a strange emotion, — " If 
 you do, mark my words, there's going to 
 be a death in the royal family." 
 
 " How do you know that ? " I asked, 
 not daring to laugh in her face because of 
 its earnestness. 
 
 " How do I know," she cried in a high 
 
 ' voice, — " haven't I got second sight ? It's 
 
 an awful thing to have, I can tell you. 
 
 Still, I wouldn't be without it, no more 
 
 than a mother would be without a child 
 
 97 G 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 that worries her. Now, mark my words 
 again ; there's going to be a death in the 
 royal family." 
 
 " How long have you known this ? " 
 I asked, pretending to be deeply im- 
 pressed. 
 
 " I have known it since early this morn- 
 ing," she answered. " Last night I had 
 a certain dream — the same dream as I 
 had when I i^rophesied the death of King 
 Edward. I dreamt that a tall man with 
 a red beard came to my bedside, and lean- 
 ing over me cried in three sharp tones, 
 ' Alice ! Alice ! Alice ! ' ' Take your 
 beard away from my face,' I said, ' and 
 tell me is there going to be a death in the 
 royal family ? ' Now, wliat do you think 
 he did for an answer ? He put his hand 
 up to his mouth like this, and taking out 
 three teeth placed them on the pillow at 
 the side of my head. After doing this he 
 nodded his head and left the room. Do 
 you believe me now ? " 
 
 Although I could not see anything in 
 this dream that had any bearing on the 
 royal family, yet, for all that, I could not 
 
 98 
 
THE PROPHETESS 
 
 help being impressed by this woman's 
 strange personahty. 
 
 " Before you go," I said, seeing her about 
 to move on, " tell me whether it is a man 
 or woman that will die." 
 
 " Perhaps it will be a man, perhaps a 
 woman, perhaps a child. All I can say 
 is, there's going to be a death in the royal 
 family." Saying this she waved her hand, 
 and began to walk away slowly. 
 
 " Tell me," I said, detaining her, " what 
 brought you to Wales, seeing that all your 
 interest appears to be in London." 
 
 " I'm going to Swansea," she answered, 
 " to look for a sister who was there ten 
 years ago — but perhaps she is dead now." 
 
 This poor woman's second sight was 
 connected with the lives of kings and 
 queens, but it could not tell her whether 
 her own sister was alive or dead. It was 
 hardly likely that this woman showed 
 her peculiar madness to everyone she met. 
 There was not the least doubt that all her 
 thoughts were in London, and connected 
 with the royal family ; but had I not 
 confessed that I came from that city, it is 
 99 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 hardly likely she would have told me her 
 dream. She had expected me to be deeply 
 impressed, and I not only did not let her 
 go away disappointed in this, but I also 
 gave her three pennies instead of the one 
 she had asked for and expected. 
 
 I reached Merthyr about noon. It was 
 still raining and I could see that the whole 
 day was doomed as far as sunshine was 
 concerned. Judging by the great number 
 of wretched little houses I saw, I think 
 the housing of the poor could have been 
 made a very important subject in Merthyr. 
 I could see hundreds of houses that were 
 as bad as anything I had seen in the slums 
 of London. One little boy told me that 
 there were four rooms in his house, which 
 not only accommodated his father, mother, 
 three brothers and two sisters, but also 
 lodged Mr. Jones who worked with his 
 father. He had only told me what I had 
 expected. The Welsh people were as over- 
 crowded as the j^eople in the slums of 
 London. But there was this strange differ- 
 ence : the people in the slums of London 
 were very poor and could not afford to 
 
 100 
 
THE PROPHETESS 
 
 pay for more room, whereas these Welsh 
 people earned good wages and could afford 
 to live in better and larger houses but could 
 not get them. 
 
 On going into an eating-house for 
 dinner I made inquiries and found that 
 they could put me up for the night. I 
 was very glad of this, for I had seen some- 
 thing on the wall that gave me a little 
 confidence in the respectability of that 
 house. It was a card on which I read the 
 following words : — 
 
 Christ is the Head 
 Of this house ; 
 The Unseen Guest 
 At every meal ; 
 The Silent Listener 
 To every conversation. 
 
 There was also a card which said : " Put 
 thy trust in the Lord." And another 
 which said : " No trust, pay on dehvery." 
 
 101 
 
WELSH SONG AND PRIZE- 
 FIGHTING 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 WELSH SONG AND PRIZE-FIGHTING 
 
 On the following morning I started for 
 Tredegar, which was about eight miles 
 from Merthyr. But I had three miles 
 of houses before I got into the open coun- 
 try, because of Dowlais on the hill. It 
 was not a very pleasant walk, for I saw 
 the same wretched dirty little houses of 
 which I had seen so many in Wales. 
 
 As soon as I got clear of Dowlais I 
 was on the bleak, bare hills, and was sur- 
 prised to feel a cold, cutting wind, in spite 
 of its being the month of IMay. In fact. 
 I had not gone far when I had to cover 
 my left cheek with my hand, owing to a 
 stinging pelting of hailstones ; and the wind 
 was so strong that I was sometimes almost 
 lifted off my feet. I could now well under- 
 stand why people often fell and died of 
 exposure when crossing these bare hills 
 on a winter's night and being caught in a 
 10.5 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 storm. It was not very long before I 
 passed Rhymney, which lay to the right 
 of me about a mile off the road. I knew 
 from report that it was a dirty smoky 
 little town, but it looked pleasant at this 
 moment, for the sun made the roofs of the 
 houses shine like silver, and the smoke 
 that went up from the various chimneys 
 was as white as the summer clouds they 
 travelled to. I was very much surprised 
 to hear the cuckoo, seeing that the country 
 was so bare of leaves. My experience of 
 that bird had always led me to place its 
 haunts where there were plenty of trees, 
 and not such a place as this, where bushes 
 were scarce and big trees were entirely 
 absent. 
 
 When I arrived at Tredegar it was just 
 about noon. But I was not hungry, and 
 only wanted a glass of ale as a reward for 
 my eight miles' walk. With this thought 
 I entered an inn, where I found only one 
 man present, who was the landlord. How- 
 ever, I had hardly been seated two minutes 
 before another man entered, by his appear- 
 ance a collier, smoking a short clay pipe. 
 106 
 
WELSH SONG AND PRIZE-FIGHTING 
 
 This man greeted me in a friendly way, and 
 I answered him with the same cheerfulness. 
 However, he did not appear much inclined 
 to talk, and I could not sit there at his 
 side in comfort without saying something 
 or other, but had no idea of what subject 
 to start on. I knew that the poorer 
 classes in Wales have very few interests 
 besides singing, football and fighting, al- 
 though I had had proof that cricket as a 
 summer game was beginning to create a 
 little interest. Unfortunately the foot- 
 ball season was now over, and that subject 
 would not meet the ready welcome I 
 desired. Now I do not know what possessed 
 me that I should start on the dangerous 
 subject of fighting, but I certainly did, 
 almost immediately, saying, " Have you 
 got a good fighting man in this town of 
 Tredegar ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed we have," answered the 
 Welsh collier, looking at me with a great 
 amount of interest. 
 
 " What has he done ? " I asked, mean- 
 ing that I was interested in an account 
 of his battles, and feeling very pleased 
 107 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 that I had started on a welcome sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " He has beaten everything around 
 here," answered the colUer. " He has 
 fought ten battles, look you, and never 
 been defeated." 
 
 " Have a drink," I said, to show how 
 well I appreciated his friendly talk. 
 
 '^ Thank you," answered the collier, 
 drinking his ale and pushing his glass 
 towards the landlord to be refilled. 
 
 As soon as the glass was refilled he raised 
 it to his lips, saying in Welsh, " Here's 
 health to us all." Hearing this I nodded 
 to let him know that I understood, and 
 taking a drink at the same time, which 
 was expected of me. 
 
 " So he's a good man, is he ? " I began, 
 returning to that most welcome subject. 
 But before I could say another word the 
 Welsh collier said, looking at me kindlj^ 
 " Wait here, mun, for one moment, and I 
 will come back." Hearing this I remained 
 seated, not so much to wait for him as to 
 have a few moments' rest. 
 
 I had not been seated there more than 
 108 
 
WELSH SONG AND PRIZE-FIGHTING 
 
 two minutes when the coUier returned 
 with another man at his heels. The 
 stranger, whom I looked at at once, was 
 clean shaven and young, not being more 
 than twenty- four or twenty- five years of 
 age. 
 
 "Now, look you," began the first col- 
 lier, " here is the man I told you of, and 
 although he is not much more than a boy 
 he will fight you for anything from five 
 shillings to ten pounds." 
 
 " Ay, I will, mun," exclaimed the young 
 fellow, looking at me with a pleasant 
 smile. " I will fight you for anything you 
 like, and at any time. Ay, indeed I will." 
 
 " You have made a mistake," I said at 
 last, feeling somewhat alarmed at the turn 
 things had taken, — " You have made a 
 mistake. I have not come to Tredegar to 
 fight, and am not much good at that kind 
 of a game." 
 
 " Indeed, I am truly sorry, mun," said 
 the first collier. " But I thought you 
 would fight the best man in Tredegar ! 
 Ay, indeed, mun — but you have a man 
 that will fight him ? " 
 109 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 " No," I hastened to say, " I am neither 
 a fighting man, nor a fighting man's 
 manager. You have made a mistake, 
 but there is no harm done." 
 
 After the matter was thoroughly ex- 
 plained, the collier insisted on paying for a 
 round of drinks, and made me understand 
 in further conversation that he thought 
 he was doing me a kindness by bringing a 
 man forward to fight me. I could not 
 account for my indiscretion in starting so 
 dangerous a subject, being a stranger in a 
 strange place. Of course I knew that all 
 these little towns had their fighting men, 
 and were proud of them, and that the 
 subject would be popular, but it was quite 
 dangerous for a stranger to show interest 
 in the matter of that kind. 
 
 I reached Ebbw Vale, two miles from 
 Tredegar, about half-past one and, having 
 had a good dinner at a temperance res- 
 taurant, arranged to stay there for the 
 night. In the afternoon I walked about 
 the town, and found it much more pleasant 
 than I had expected, in spite of the great 
 ironworks that was surrounded with 
 110 
 
WELSH SONG AND PRIZE-FIGHTING 
 
 black smoke. It had been a wretched 
 morning — hail, rain and a strong, cold 
 wind — and most likely a fine afternoon, 
 which tm'ned out to be sunny, accounted 
 for my pleasant time in Ebbw Vale. I 
 found a small green space, perhaps a 
 couple of acres, that had seats, and there 
 I sat sunning myself, with the hills all 
 around me. The works close by made a 
 noise like great waves beating against 
 rocks, and made me sometimes think I 
 was near the sea. In the evening I went 
 out again and called at an inn for a glass 
 of ale. 
 
 It was all quiet in the front bar, but I 
 could hear several loud voices in a back 
 room. But although I felt strongly in- 
 clined to join their company, yet for all 
 that I did not like to walk boldly into their 
 midst, knowing that they were all strangers. 
 Moreover, they were Welsh, and I have 
 spoken enough about Welsh suspicion. 
 If one of them addressed me in that 
 tongue, and found I could not answer him, 
 my presence would have been none too 
 welcome. Of course I knew enough of 
 111 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 their nature to know what answer to make 
 if addressed in English. I would not have 
 said that I came from any part of Wales 
 at all, for they would then have despised 
 me for not knowing the Welsh language. 
 And it would not have been safe for my 
 life to have said that I came from an 
 adjoining town, for I knew how these 
 Welsh towns, divided by a mountain 
 only, hate each other, as I will show 
 in the next chapter. If anyone asked me 
 where I came from, and I answered 
 London, I knew well that that answer 
 would mean safety and respect. London 
 is such a great mystery to the inhabi- 
 tants of small towns that anyone is re- 
 spected who calls such a place his home. 
 While I was thinking of these things 
 the men in the back room began to sing. 
 Hearing this, the temptation to join them 
 was so strong that I picked up my glass 
 of ale and walked boldly into the room. 
 As good fortune would have it, there 
 happened to be an empty chair near the 
 door, and I sat down without causing any 
 interest, so I thought. But in this I was 
 112 
 
WELSH SONG AND PRIZE-FIGHTING 
 
 wrong, for it was not long before all eyes 
 were turned my way — the eyes of ten 
 colliers — and the next moment not a sound 
 was to be heard, for they were all using 
 their eyes to converse with each other. 
 I never felt so uncomfortable in all my 
 life, for I saw that my coming had upset 
 their comfort. My only course was now 
 to say something to win their confidence. 
 So I began this way : " Don't let me dis- 
 turb your singing. Although I am a 
 Welshman, belonging to London, I still 
 have to come to Wales to hear good voices 
 — except when Wales sends good voices 
 to London." 
 
 The London bait took well, as I had 
 expected, for one of the colliers asked at 
 once, " What is your part of London ? I 
 have a cousin there, and his name is David 
 Wilhams." 
 
 " But look you, Johnny Jones," inter- 
 rupted one of the others. " London is a 
 very big place and I will now bet you a 
 quart of beer that this stranger has never 
 seen Dai Williams." 
 
 At this moment one of the others, who 
 113 H 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 appeared to be more interested in beer 
 and song than in mc, London or David 
 Williams, began to sing. This was fortu- 
 nate, for he had not sung a dozen notes 
 before they all joined him. 
 
 The singing I heard in this inn was 
 quite remarkable, and I don't know any 
 other part of the world where in a common 
 public-house such fine harmony could be 
 heard. For it must be remembered that 
 these men were no more than rough 
 colliers whose voices had not received any 
 training at all. I noticed with surprise 
 that although one of the singers was small, 
 delicate and consumptive-looking, yet 
 for all that he had a powerful bass voice 
 that was rich and deep ; whereas another, 
 who was a giant of flesh, had a voice as 
 soft and sweet as a boy in a cathedral 
 choir. 
 
 I always like the old ^A>lsh hymns 
 which these colliers sang, and could have 
 sat listening to them all the night. 
 
 There is one thing that must always be 
 said to the credit of the Welsh, and that is, 
 no matter what they do, whether they 
 Hi 
 
WELSH SONG AND PRIZE-FIGHTING 
 
 drink, burn or riot, they never forget to 
 sing liymns, and sing them too with 
 splendid feehng. 
 
 After we had had quite a number of 
 serious songs, in which I had joined in the 
 chorus with thorough enjoyment, the whole 
 company looked towards a quiet, very 
 respectable-looking man of about middle 
 age, as a reminder that he was expected 
 to sing. As soon as he became aware of 
 these glances he rose to his feet, and clear- 
 ing his throat began his song. The song 
 was an old negro melody, which I had 
 often heard before in America and this 
 country. 
 
 The words and the music are so good 
 
 that it still sounds fresh every time I 
 
 hear it, and it always rouses me to help 
 
 with my own voice. For the landlady's 
 
 sake, who had looked into the room and 
 
 laughed, we sang the chorus several times 
 
 over. It only consisted of a few simple 
 
 words, and here they are : — 
 
 Make way for my black Venus, 
 No coon can come between us ; 
 Along the line we'll cut a shine — 
 That high-born girl of mine. 
 
 115 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 Not caring to drink too much, and being 
 ashamed to sit longer than an hour over 
 two glasses of ale, I left that bright com- 
 pany and went down through the town 
 for a walk. However much I disliked 
 this dirty and smoky little town by day, 
 I could not help being struck by a certain 
 grandeur about it when, standing on the 
 hillside at night, I saw the great works 
 in the distance, the fires of which were 
 kept burning day and night. The great 
 volumes of smoke looked very impressive 
 at this time, and it was almost uncanny to 
 see the men moving like black shadows 
 in the fire. 
 
 I found the people of Ebbw Vale 
 inclined to be more friendly than in 
 other parts of Wales — with the exception 
 of Neath. The English language seemed 
 to be expected of me and caused less sus- 
 picion. In fact, I had not been in the 
 town ten minutes before a man told me 
 his life's history in a few words. This 
 happened at the place where I had had 
 my dinner. After he had gone the land- 
 lady came in and appeared very friendly 
 116 
 
WELSH SONG AND PRIZE-FIGHTING 
 
 indeed. And when I went back there to 
 tea, after arranging to stay there over- 
 night, she told me all her domestic troubles ; 
 of how she had left a drunken husband, 
 how he had tried to take the furniture 
 from her, and how she had won the law- 
 suit by herself. She appeared to be a good 
 kind of woman and I was very sorry to 
 be the only lodger she had that night. 
 Perhaps my own manner had something 
 to do with my friendly reception in Ebbw 
 Vale, for knowing that I was now in my 
 own native county of Monmouthshire I 
 had entered the town with confidence. No 
 doubt my face had a pleasantness that 
 people liked to see. 
 
 117 
 
THE SIN OF MOUNTAINS 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE SIN OF MOUNTAINS 
 
 On the following morning I went into the 
 main street of Ebbw Vale so as to get a 
 newspaper before starting on my journey 
 to Abergavenny. When I was returning, 
 for my road lay the other way, I saw two 
 men standing still and staring at another 
 who had just passed by. " Is that an 
 Abertillery man ? " asked one of the two, 
 addressing his companion, and pointing 
 towards the third man, who was now some 
 distance away. Hearing these words I 
 turned my head and then saw that the 
 man who had spoken was frowning fiercely 
 and had his two fists clenched, as he stood 
 waiting his companion's answer. 
 
 " No, come along," answered his more 
 sober companion, " he is not an Aber- 
 tillery man." Saying this he started to 
 move forward and his companion followed, 
 now frowning with disappointment. I 
 121 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 could see, ol course, that these two men 
 had been drinking, early as the day was 
 — rspirits most likely — and knowing the 
 meaning of their words I was very glad 
 to see the third man escaping without 
 bodily harm. For had he been an Aber- 
 tillery man these two Ebbw Vale men 
 would have assaulted him at once, without 
 the least provocation. Why ? Because 
 there was a steep rough mountain betv.ccn 
 Ebbw Vale and Abertillery, and this 
 mountain prevented the two towns from 
 growing and joining together, and for that 
 reason they were bitter enemies. When 
 the men of Ebbw Vale visited Abertillery 
 they were set upon and beaten, and when 
 Abertillery men went to Ebbw Vale they 
 were served in a like manner. The same 
 state of feeling is often caused by a river 
 when it divides two towns, especially 
 when the towns are in different states or 
 counties. 
 
 I remember once making a trip to 
 
 Glasgow on a cattle ship, which would 
 
 have been pleasant had it not been for a 
 
 quarrelsome cattleman. When we had 
 
 122 
 
THE SIN OF MOUNTAINS 
 
 paid for our own beds at a lodging-house 
 this quarrelsome fellow, who was called 
 " Shanks," began to quarrel with another 
 cattleman called " Cigarette." We were 
 then in the lodgers' kitchen where there 
 were about a dozen Scotchmen, most of 
 them being seated at a long table with 
 porridge in front of them. But we had 
 not been in the kitchen more than five 
 minutes when Shanks began to quarrel 
 with Cigarette. At last Cigarette said 
 to me, " Come, let us go out for a walk 
 and see the city." Saying this, he turned 
 to Shanks and said, " We don't want to 
 quarrel with you, but if you are deter- 
 mined to make trouble, all you have 
 to do is to stand up in this kitchen and 
 tell these men that you are a Ilicland 
 mon." 
 
 " Do you think I am afraid to do that ? " 
 cried Shanks with a savage look. The 
 next moment he shouted at the top of his 
 voice " I'm a Hieland mon ! " But the 
 poor fellow had no sooner uttered these 
 words than there was a dreadful silence, 
 for all the Scotchmen looked at each other 
 128 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 in savage amazement. The next instant 
 all these porridge eaters dropped their 
 spoons, and sprang to their feet like one 
 man. Before I could make the least move, 
 being astonished at this effect, I received 
 a heavy blow in the breast that sent me 
 spinning into a corner, where I lost my 
 balance and fell. But by good fortune 
 the manager, whose office was in the next 
 room, came rushing into the kitchen before 
 more damage could be done, shouting in a 
 voice of thunder, " What is the trouble 
 here ? " At the sound of his feared voice 
 the Scotchmen shrank back to their por- 
 ridge, while Shanks and I began to scram- 
 ble to our feet. It was then that I saw 
 poor Shanks with his face covered with 
 blood and his clothes in tatters. If it 
 had not been for the quick arrival of the 
 manager, no doubt he would have been 
 made a case for the hospital, and all 
 because he had uttered these simple 
 words, " I'm a Ilieland mon." 
 
 I remember, of course, that we were then 
 among Lowlanders, and no doubt the same 
 thing would have happened in the High- 
 124 
 
THE SIN OF MOUNTAINS 
 
 lands if Shanks had stood up and boldly 
 declared himself a Lowlander. But I 
 never saw anything done so quickly 
 before ; for Shanks had no sooner finished 
 his sentence than he was swarmed upon 
 and the daylight taken from him. It was 
 all over in a minute. For half a minute 
 Shanks was a clean, respectable-looking 
 man ; the next half- minute he was no 
 more than a bundle of bloody rags. Of 
 course I had only been struck because I 
 was in the way, and not that anyone had 
 anything particular against me. As for 
 Cigarette, he, artful devil, had disappeared, 
 for he knew well what result to expect 
 from those awful words. 
 
 When I met these two men in Ebbw 
 Vale I was very glad, after hearing what 
 they said, that the third man, who 
 appeared to be sober, quiet and respect- 
 able, was not known to be an Abertillery 
 man. Mountains and rivers will have a 
 lot to answer for at the Day of Judgment, 
 for they have always interfered with the 
 affection of people. 
 
 On making inquiries I learned that 
 125 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 there were three ways to get to Brynmaur, 
 a town I would have to go through to 
 get to Abergavenny. One way was a 
 path over a steep mountain, which was 
 supposed to get me to Brynmaur in about 
 twenty minutes, but which I suspected 
 would turn out in the end to be the 
 longest way of all. I had not forgotten 
 what I had seen in Ebbw Vale, the extra- 
 ordinarily steep places on the hillside, 
 where rows of houses were built. Some of 
 the roads to these houses were so very steep 
 that the people who lived in them could 
 almost have gone to bed by walking up 
 the outside walls of their houses without 
 taking the trouble to go indoors to use 
 the stairs. The second road I was told 
 was good, but that there was a bad dip 
 before I reached Brynmaur. I did not 
 like the sound of this, for if an Ebbw Vale 
 man took the trouble to mention a dip at 
 all, and to describe it as bad, it must be 
 bad indeed. 
 
 The third road was much longer, but 
 good all the way. So I came to the con- 
 clusion that the long road was the shortest 
 12() 
 
THE SIN OF MOUNTAINS 
 
 after all, judging it by time. After I had 
 been walking about an hour I came to a 
 small town called Beaufort, which was 
 only a short way from Brynmaur. In 
 passing through this little town I was con- 
 siderably struck by the difference in its 
 looks from the little towns in Glamorgan- 
 shire. Although the houses and cottages 
 were no larger, yet- for all that they 
 looked richer and ever so much more 
 superior. The doors had brass knockers, 
 brass letter boxes and brass numbers, 
 which gave the little houses a refined look. 
 And when I looked at the window curtains 
 and saw how clean they were, I knew that 
 I had at last come among people that took 
 a pride in their homes, however small 
 their houses were. Again, I saw several 
 women polishing the brass on their doors, 
 scrubbing the threshold, or window clean- 
 ing, and none of them were gossiping. To 
 my surprise these women did not look 
 at all like household drudges, but were 
 dressed clean and neat enough to wel- 
 come any visitor that might come along 
 unexpectedly. 
 
 127 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 It was not long before I began to realize 
 that I was entering a different kind of 
 country altogether, from bare, rocky hills 
 to leafy ones. In fact, the change was so 
 sudden, all within a couple of miles, that 
 it took me completely unawares. I began 
 to see woody hills that reminded mc by 
 their beauty of those that had been so 
 common in the Neath valley. When I 
 came to an inn, called the Forge Hammer, 
 I had to force my way past a great fat pig 
 that lay sleeping in the doorway. This 
 proved to me at once that I had left 
 collieries, tin, copper, plate and iron works 
 behind me, and that I was now in an 
 agricultural county. Moreover, I began 
 to see stables at the side of the houses, 
 and all the little cottages had laburnum, 
 laurel and other trees in front of them. 
 Instead of meeting pale, sinewy colliers, 
 I began to see a number of fat, red-faced 
 farmers driving fat horses to and from 
 Abergavenny. I could get clean lodgings 
 at a place called the Hen and Chickens I 
 had been told in Ebbw Vale. So when 
 I got near the town I began to make 
 128 
 
THE SIN OF MOUNTAINS 
 
 inquiries, and having found it, paid for 
 my bed and went out to see the main 
 buildings. 
 
 Seeing a respectable-looking inn, after 
 I had been walking here and there for 
 nearly an hour, I went into it and remained 
 long enough to drink six glasses of ale. 
 At this house the ale must have been 
 very strong, for, to my surprise, I felt that 
 I had had quite enough for that day. 
 However, I did not show it much, except 
 that I was perhaps a little slower in move- 
 ments and speech. 
 
 But when I reached my bedroom it was 
 a different matter, for I now took so many 
 precautions against robbers that it was 
 a clear proof my mind was not altogether 
 what it should have been. For instance, 
 when a man has had too much drink, he 
 always thinks his mind is wiser and more 
 alert than at another time, and that he 
 is more capable of attending to his own 
 safety. So, on this particular night, I not 
 only looked under the bed, but also placed 
 a chair against the door, the door being 
 already locked. Not only did I do this, 
 129 I 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 but I also placed a china ornament on 
 the extreme edge of the chair, so that if 
 the lock were picked the least attempt to 
 open the door would have sent the orna- 
 ment to the floor with a crash. But even 
 after taking these artful precautions I was 
 still not satisfied ; for, instead of undressing 
 and getting into bed, I only pulled off my 
 hat and coat, and then lay down in that 
 state. 
 
 Now it must not be thought that I was 
 taking these tramps without being armed. 
 My arms consisted of a stout cane, in 
 which was a strong, sharp toledo blade 
 about three feet long. So on this occasion 
 I lay dressed — with the exception of the 
 things I have mentioned — on top of the 
 bed with the sword unsheathed and ready 
 at my side. In this position I fell asleep. 
 
 I don't know how long I slept : all I 
 know is that I opened my eyes and by the 
 dim light of a street lamp I saw a figure 
 standing at the foot of the bed. For a 
 moment or two I could not realize where I 
 was, but after a little while my senses 
 gradually came back to me and I knew 
 130 
 
THE SIN OF MOUNTAINS 
 
 that I was in a strange room where I had 
 never been before. " I have just woke in 
 time," I thought, " for some one is in my 
 room." With great suddenness I sat up 
 in bed with the sword in my hand. " You 
 have made a mistake by coming into this 
 room," I said, holding the sword ready 
 for action. Saying this I naturally ex- 
 pected to see the man run out of the room, 
 but to my surprise he did not stir. How- 
 ever, I was not so hysterically excited as to 
 stick him, without giving him a chance to 
 escape uninjured, so I said in a threaten- 
 ing voice, " Do you hear ? If you don't 
 leave this room at once, I'll run you 
 through the heart." 
 
 Of course I had enough sense to know 
 that if I wounded this man it would place 
 me in an awkward position in spite of his 
 guilt. I should be detained by the police 
 for days, perhaps weeks, and all my 
 private affairs gone into. However, if 
 he had made the least motion towards 
 me, I had fully made up my mind to stick 
 him, and to stick him well. 
 
 But, in spite of my threat, he did not 
 131 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 move one way or another, and it then 
 dawned upon me that the figure might 
 not have any Hfe at all. Putting my leg 
 out of bed, but still keeping my eye on 
 the figure, and with the sword still ready 
 for action, I drew near, and it was then 
 that I saw my mistake. The figure was 
 no other than the bedpost which, when I 
 had first entered the room, I had dressed 
 in my coat and cap instead of hanging these 
 things behind the door. After making 
 this discovery and laughing at my mistake, 
 I undressed properly and got into bed, 
 where I slept soundly till morning. 
 
 I have often been surprised at the differ- 
 ent kind of effects that ale has on the 
 human mind. Two kinds I know well 
 and mention in particular ; laughing ale 
 and melancholy ale. One day a friend of 
 mine, whom I had invited to have a drink, 
 suggested that we should go to the Church 
 House, where he said we should not be 
 able to drink more than two glasses for 
 laughing. Although I had my doubts of 
 this, I said nothing, but let him lead the 
 way. When we got inside the Church 
 132 
 
THE SIN OF MOUNTAINS 
 
 House I allowed him to give the order, for 
 I did not know what to call for, it being a 
 special brew. In giving the order I heard 
 him say something about Scotch, and a 
 certain number of X's. I noticed with 
 surprise that when the drinks were served 
 the glasses were very small and that the 
 two drinks cost fourpence, a big price for 
 such a small quantity of ale. 
 
 " It's about as dear as wine," I said. 
 
 " Of course it is," he answered, " for 
 it is as strong as wine." 
 
 After we had emptied our glasses my 
 companion invited me to have another 
 at his expense, saying at the same time 
 that two glasses were the limit for one man 
 of that kind of ale, and that we would 
 not be served in that house with any more. 
 I was surprised to hear this, for, after hav- 
 ing drunk the second glass, I felt like 
 drinking several. However, after we had 
 left the house and were in the open air, I 
 began to believe my friend's words, for it 
 was as much as I could do to keep from 
 laughing. There was no cause to laugh, 
 so why should I ? I could not help 
 133 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 noticing that my companion was very 
 quiet, and knew that he was watching me 
 from the corner of his eye, expecting me to 
 laugh. I, of course, was doing the same, 
 for I did not expect him to contain him- 
 self much longer. At last the inclination 
 to laugh became so strong that I turned 
 full on him, and our eyes met. That was 
 quite enough, for we both fell into each 
 other's arms, laughing helplessly. And so 
 it continued all the way to his house, to 
 the amazement of the hundreds of people 
 we passed on the way. That was one of 
 my experiences of laughing ale, which, 
 strange to say, was made in Scotland, 
 where there is supposed to be a lack of 
 humour. 
 
 Melancholy ale is a different kind alto- 
 gether, for it turns men into weeping philo- 
 sophers. It makes us question life and 
 its mysteries. We lean against a wall, or 
 cling to a post or rail, saying, "Here I am 
 n ow, butwhere shall I be in a year's time ? 
 In my grave perhaps, and a good thing 
 too. We come and we go, and who cares ? 
 To-morrow I must work — we are born to 
 134 
 
THE SIN OF MOUNTAINS 
 
 be slaves. If I thought a child of mine 
 would have no better luck before him, 
 I'd tie a stone round his neck and drown 
 him like a mangy dog." With these sad 
 reflections we go our way, complaining 
 until we fall asleep. 
 
 135 
 
PLAYING FOR COPPERS 
 
CHAPTER X 
 PLAYING FOR COPPERS 
 
 The next day I left Abergavenny early, 
 before nine o'clock, which was fortunate, 
 for on making inquiries I learned that it 
 was sixteen miles to Monmouth, which 
 was more than I had expected. However, 
 I knew it was a beautiful country all the 
 way, and that I would go through the 
 historical little town of Raglan. 
 
 When I reached the Clyiha Arms, which 
 was a superior-looking and beautiful hotel, 
 and nothing like the usual wayside inn, I 
 could not help being struck by the beauty 
 all around me. I saw the river Usk in a 
 valley, with cattle and sheep in the fields 
 on either side, and some of the sheep were 
 walking on the clean, silvery stones at 
 the riverside. Sometimes I saw old leafy 
 walls, the boundaries of large estates, and 
 I was often shaded by chestnut blossoms 
 instead of common leaves. In fact, I 
 139 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 sometimes thought I was not on the King's 
 Highway at all, but trespassing in a 
 nobleman's park. 
 
 Tramps were numerous in this part of 
 the county, owing to some large water- 
 works needing men at Abergavenny. For 
 that reason most of the tramps were look- 
 ing for work. One man told me that more 
 than a hundred men stayed at the Aber- 
 gavenny workhouse on the previous night. 
 However, although I saw so many 
 tramps of this kind, I was fortunate to 
 see one at last that was of a different kind 
 altogether. This man, who was shabbily 
 dressed, and judging by his grey hair, was 
 well on in years, was standing in front of 
 some cottages, playing a concertina. He 
 did not notice my arrival, for all his atten- 
 tion appeared to be on the doors and 
 windows in front of him. So, when I drew 
 near enough to touch him on the shoulder, 
 he turned with a look of surprise and then 
 stopped playing, to take the penny I held 
 in my hand. After he had taken it and 
 nodded his thanks, he turned his back and 
 continued to play his instrument, and I, 
 140 
 
PLAYING FOR COPPERS 
 
 without waiting to hear his music, passed 
 on. However, the Bed Lion happened to 
 be at the end of the cottages, so I called in 
 there for a glass of ale. I drank it with- 
 out sitting down, and when I left the house 
 the musician was still at work. But I 
 had not gone many yards when the music 
 ceased, and I turned around to see the 
 cause. I could then see that the man 
 was going to the cottage doors to seek 
 some reward for what he had done. In a 
 few moments his business was over and, 
 seeing that I was walking very slowly, 
 it was not long before he caught up to 
 me. 
 
 When he reached my side I could see that 
 he did not know whether to pass by or not, 
 having doubts whether his company would 
 be welcome. So, to encourage him, I said, 
 " You play that instrument very well," 
 which was a lie. " Yes," he answered 
 with a complacent smile, " I play well 
 enough for coppers, which are none too 
 plentiful ; but if I was paid in gold, like 
 some of the musicians we hear of, I could 
 surprise you." 
 
 141 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 " What, with that instrument ? " I 
 inquired, pointing to the concertina. 
 
 " Yes," said my strange companion, in 
 a sharp voice. " Yes, with this very 
 instrument. I could almost make it speak 
 if I was paid in gold like some of the 
 musicians in London." 
 
 " I thought you played very well in 
 front of those cottages," I said. " Could 
 you play any better if you were better 
 paid ? " 
 
 " Lord, yes," he answered. " Dress me 
 in black, give me a white shirt, let me have 
 hair on my shoulders, offer me £50 a night, 
 and then see what I could do." 
 
 Saying this he came to a halt, and I did 
 likewise, wondering what he was going to 
 do next. 
 
 " Listen to this," he said, and began to 
 play. After playing for a few moments 
 he stopped and asked me what I thought 
 of his music. 
 
 " Very good," I answered, although I 
 
 had heard scores of uneducated farm 
 
 labourers and costermongers play better. 
 
 In fact, I had to confess in my own mind 
 
 142 
 
PLAYING FOR COPPERS 
 
 that I had seldom heard a concertina 
 played worse. 
 
 " So you think that was good," he 
 laughed, nodding his head. " Perhaps it 
 was, but I only was playing for coppers 
 then. Now listen to this, for I am now 
 going to play for gold." 
 
 Saying this he pressed the keys so hard 
 that I was startled by the sound that 
 followed. This was meant to impress me. 
 Then, going into another strain, he began 
 to swing the concertina in different direc- 
 tions ; now it was held to the right, now 
 to the left ; now it was down below his 
 knees and the next moment it was 
 held high over his head. When these 
 manoeuvres had been going on for about 
 a minute, he stopped suddenly and with 
 a very self-satisfied smile said, " That 
 will give you some idea how I could play 
 if I was paid in gold like those musicians 
 in London." 
 
 I was quite taken aback at this man's 
 
 confidence, for I knew that no audience, 
 
 however rough and uneducated, would 
 
 have listened to such music for more than 
 
 143 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 five minutes without showing some signs 
 of disapproval. As for the difference in 
 his playing for coppers and playing for 
 gold, I could see none whatever. The only 
 difference was in the method and not in the 
 music itself. For when he played for 
 coppers he held the concertina in one 
 position and stood motionless, but when 
 he imagined himself playing for gold he 
 made a great show of swinging it about in 
 different directions. However, I did not 
 think it worth while to tell the poor fellow 
 these things, and said simply, " Your 
 music surprises me." 
 
 He took this remark for praise and 
 laughed with pride. 
 
 In a few moments after this we were 
 passed by an Italian organ-grinder, who 
 wished us a cheerful good morning, which 
 I answered in the same kind spirit. But 
 my English musician took offence at this 
 and said, " How can you be civil to those 
 foreign organ-grinders ? " 
 
 " Surely," I answered, " you ought to 
 be friendly with a man of that kind, seeing 
 he plays music like yourself." 
 144 
 
PLAYING FOR COPPERS 
 
 " What ! he play music," snapped my 
 companion. " He only turns a handle, 
 and any idiot could do that. A real 
 English musician can starve, but a foreigner 
 can make a good living in this country 
 just by turning a handle. Please don't 
 compare me to him. The real musician 
 is the man who can make his own notes. 
 Does he ? No ; but I do. A dirty for- 
 eigner can make a good living by just turn- 
 ing the handle of an organ, but a real 
 English musician who makes his own notes 
 is thought nothing of and can starve in his 
 own native land." 
 
 That the English concertina player was 
 upset at meeting this Italian organ- 
 grinder was quite clear, for as we went 
 along he did nothing but swear and find 
 fault with everything. He stood looking 
 after a motor-car which flew past, shaking 
 his fist at it. He said that rich men only 
 used motor-cars because they were getting 
 too mean to give a poor beggar twopence 
 for holding a horse. He pointed to a gaily- 
 dressed little girl and said that the child's 
 mother ought to be damned well ashamed 
 145 K 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 of herself for making her child look like 
 a blasted little foreigner. More than once 
 he commented on the foreigner earning a 
 living by just turning the handle of an 
 organ, while a real English musician who 
 made his own notes was thought nothing 
 of and allowed to starve. Not long after 
 this we came to a few houses which were in 
 Raglan, and I saw my companion eye them 
 critically. 
 
 " Are you going to play here ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, " but I am not 
 going to give them the same music as I 
 gave you a specimen of. Why should I 
 give them my best ? I may only get one 
 penny, perhaps not that." 
 
 "Well, good-bye," I said, "and al- 
 though I cannot afford to pay you gold for 
 your best music, yet for all that I am only 
 too pleased to give you another penny 
 for what you have done." Saying this I 
 gave him another penny and then left 
 him. 
 
 As I passed through Raglan I could see 
 the castle on the left some distance away, 
 146 
 
PLAYING FOR COPPERS 
 
 standing on a hill and showing its dark 
 walls between the leaves. Seeing a little 
 boy going my way, I asked him if it was 
 the castle, and he answered, " Yes, but 
 the people are gone away ; do you know 
 where they are gone to ? " 
 
 " No," I said, smiling to think that the 
 castle was an old ruin and had not been 
 inhabited for three or four hundred years. 
 " No, where do you live ? " 
 
 " Next door to Miss Jenkins, who is not 
 dead yet," he answered. " You know 
 now ? " 
 
 " No," I said, " I don't know where Miss 
 Jenkins lives." 
 
 " She lives in the house behind the green 
 pump," cried the little fellow. 
 
 " I have never seen the green pump," 
 I said. 
 
 "It's not far away from the pear tree in 
 front of Mr. Williams' back door," said 
 the boy. 
 
 " I am a stranger in this part of the 
 country and don't know anything at all 
 about these things," I confessed. 
 
 ''But you know where Sally Smith 
 147 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 lives with her father ? " persisted the 
 Httle fellow, who could not believe in my 
 entire ignorance about these matters. 
 
 " Have you got a bad foot ? " he asked 
 with a sudden interest, seeing that I did 
 not walk like ordinary men. This was a 
 question I had expected at the very 
 beginning of our acquaintance. " How 
 was it done ? " he asked. i 
 
 " An engine ran over it," I answered. 
 
 " Oh, golly ! Suppose it had been your 
 head," he exclaimed. 
 
 A few minutes after this we came to 
 Miss Jenkins' house, the green pump, the 
 pear tree, and the house where Sally 
 Smith lived with her father. The other 
 house, whose only distinction was that it 
 was near these, was where the boy lived. 
 So I gave him a penny and left him. 
 
 When I had passed through the little 
 village called Mitchel Troy I only had a 
 couple more miles to Monmouth, so I sat 
 down at the roadside to take a few 
 moments' rest. As I was looking around 
 me to make sure that I sat near no dirt, 
 J had my attention drawn to a flower^ 
 X48 
 
PLAYING FOR COPPERS 
 
 inside which a bumble-bee was lying at 
 rest. So I touched him lightly on the 
 back, thinking he would either turn to 
 sting me or rise grumbling and fly away. 
 But instead of doing either of these things 
 he only shook his fat little body and took 
 a tighter hold on the bosom of his flower. 
 It was his bed for the night, there could 
 be no doubt of that ; for the sun had now 
 gone down. So I said, " Good-night, my 
 little friend," and left him in peace and 
 comfort. 
 
 As I walked along I began to wonder 
 what kind of bed would be mine when I 
 reached Monmouth. I came to the con- 
 clusion at once that it would not be as 
 fine as the bee's. However, in spite 
 of my fears, I found good lodgings at 
 Monmouth. All through my travels I 
 had had these fears, as to whether the 
 beds would be clean or dirty, damp or well- 
 aired. But I must say that I was for- 
 tunate in every instance, and cannot 
 remember one place where I would not 
 have spent a second night. 
 
 That night I was tired and went to 
 149 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 bed early — at ten o'clock. I was not tired 
 so much on account of the sixteen miles I 
 had walked, but because of the warm sun 
 I had carried all day on my head and 
 shoulders. However, it was not my inten- 
 tion to go to sleep at once if I could help 
 it, but to lie awake an hour and think 
 over the day's travel. 
 
 When I undressed and lay quietly in 
 bed, the silence of my surroundings 
 impressed me greatly. I could not help 
 thinking of the slums of London arid 
 other large cities, which at that hour 
 would be crowded with people, children 
 even. It was very pleasant to know that 
 no drunken gossips would stand talking 
 for an hour after midnight under my bed- 
 room window, no parties returning from 
 weddings or funerals — their clothes, and 
 not their manner or condition, to show 
 which — twelve hours after the ceremony. 
 No Mrs. Kelly returning from a christening, 
 who happens to meet a friend returning 
 from a funeral, when they are both 
 charmed with each other's company until 
 the alehouses close ; after which they 
 150 
 
PLAYING FOR COPPERS 
 
 stand at one o'clock in the morning, under 
 my window, loath to part. " We don't 
 know when we shall meet again," sobs Mrs. 
 Kelly. " Perhaps never," answers her 
 friend, who is on the verge of hysterics. 
 I thanked heaven I was far from such 
 human miseries, which had disturbed my 
 sleep so often in the past. 
 
 151 
 
TINTERN ABBEY 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 TINTERN ABBEY 
 
 The following day, being Sunday, was 
 spent in the old town of Monmouth. 
 Judging by the looks of the houses it had 
 altered very little during the last hundred 
 years. This old town was beautiful, very 
 much like Abergavenny, with its wooded 
 hills all around and the fine houses that 
 were to be seen among the trees. In this 
 old town I felt quite comfortable, because 
 I could stand and stare without being 
 stared at. The reason of this was that 
 the inhabitants were well used to strangers, 
 owing to so many people making it their 
 headquarters for a week or two when they 
 visited the many beauty spots that are 
 within easy distance — such as Symond's 
 Yat, Raglan Castle, the river Wye, Tintern 
 Abbey and other places. I was told that 
 the town was healthy, there being no 
 factory smoke of any kind. 
 155 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 I was interested in the old castle, where 
 Henry V, one of our finest kings, was born. 
 But I learned that there was very little 
 left of the old castle, only a little of the 
 walls. Unfortunately I could not see 
 even this without first getting a pass, — 
 as hundreds of militiamen were to 
 camp around the castle for three months. 
 However, I was not greatly disappointed, 
 for all these old castles and abbeys are 
 very much alike, — two or three leafy 
 walls, — and to see one is to see them 
 all. 
 
 While I was standing on the bridge 
 looking down into the river Monnow a 
 man who was standing at my side drew 
 my attention to a fish just under us, 
 saying, " Look at that trout ; his weight 
 is about a pound and a half. Do you 
 fish ? " 
 
 "No," I answered, "but I suppose 
 you do." 
 
 " Yes," he said, " and I have seen some 
 good sport in this river, although it is 
 small. Do you see that place down there 
 under the market-house ? " 
 156 
 
TINTERN ABBEY 
 
 Turning my head in the direction he 
 pointed to, I saw a very old building, whose 
 front was on the street, the back of it 
 being on the waterside. 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
 " Well," continued the stranger, " that's 
 where the big trout was caught. There's 
 a slaughter-house under the market-house, 
 and the fish come there for the offal that 
 is thrown into the river. Now, in that 
 place there was seen one day a very large 
 trout, a monster for a stream like this. 
 So a number of fishermen came and tried 
 their best, but, do you know, not one of 
 them could land that trout. But on the 
 third day a friend of mine, who was the 
 fattest man in Monmouth and weighed 
 forty-seven stone, brought his fishing 
 tackle, and in less than half an hour that 
 trout, which weighed five pounds, was 
 caught and landed. Now, what do you 
 think my friend's bait was ? " 
 
 " I don't know much about fishing," I 
 answered. " Was it a piece of dough, or 
 a grub of some kind ? " 
 
 " My friend's bait," said the stranger, 
 157 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 pleased to think I had not guessed it, — 
 " My friend's bait was a long tapeworm 
 taken out of a live sheep." 
 
 It was not long before I wished this 
 stranger good-bye, for I did not care to 
 hear any more fishing stories of that kind. 
 The idea of a big, red-faced, fat man, 
 weighing forty-seven stone, handling a 
 long thin, white tapcAVorm that would be 
 alive was not very pleasant. As I knew 
 nothing about the weight of fishes, this 
 man could have told me he had caught a 
 trout weighing fifty pounds and I should 
 have believed him. But when he men- 
 tioned the horrible sickly-looking tape- 
 worm in connexion with a tremendous 
 heavy-gutted man, it was too much for 
 my imagination. However, I could not 
 leave him before he had told me of the 
 big salmon that had been caught in the 
 river Wye, which was the record for that 
 year. I could see nothing to doubt in 
 this. But when he said that on the 
 following day and in the very same hour 
 and in exactly the same spot another 
 salmon of exactly the same size had been 
 158 
 
TINTERN ABBEY 
 
 caught by the very same man — I began to 
 think that my new friend was getting 
 excited. I came to the conclusion that 
 the river Wye had inspired fishermen as 
 well as poets. 
 
 On Monday morning I left the beautiful 
 old town of Monmouth, making my way 
 towards Tintern, which was eleven miles 
 distant. I must say here that these fine 
 walks in a country well known for its 
 beauty, were spoilt by the great number of 
 motor-cars and motor-cycles, especially 
 the latter. I can well understand the 
 joy of riding, but to race over the land at 
 such a great speed that cyclists dare not 
 turn their eyes to either side, is surely not 
 a healthy state of joy. Why do these 
 people invade a beautiful country if their 
 only object is to ride with great speed? for 
 any country that has well-kept roads 
 would answer their purpose. The motor- 
 cars were little better, for they travelled 
 at such a rate and made so much noise 
 that they always occupied my mind even 
 when I was on the path near the hedge 
 and in apparent safety. These foolish 
 159 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 people have settled places of interest, and 
 have no care for beauty on the way. 
 Of course if they enjoy that kind of life 
 there is nothing to be said ; but it seems a 
 pity that they cannot enjoy themselves 
 without interfering with the pleasure of 
 others. They raise so much dust that the 
 hedges, which ought to look fresh and 
 green, are almost as white as the road 
 itself. And when we go into the country 
 to smell the may, these people give us a 
 strong, unpleasant smell of oil. Although 
 a poor man I can get more enjoyment out 
 of life than another man, because of the 
 power of my imagination. For that 
 reason I do not envy the rich having com- 
 fortable cars ; but I am annoyed to think 
 that they could ride with more joy to 
 themselves and others if they went slow 
 enough to study the things they pass. 
 But when they are in that little iron world 
 of their own they seem to despise the 
 greater world beyond. 
 
 My lodgings at Monmouth had been 
 very comfortable. I paid a lump sum in 
 advance for board and lodging up till 
 160 
 
TINTERN ABBEY 
 
 ^londay morning, and had some fears of 
 the consequence. But these people did 
 not take advantage of the arrangement, 
 and I left well satisfied with my treat- 
 ment. ^Vhen I was clear of the town, 
 about a mile and a half on the road, I 
 suddenly became aware that I was fol- 
 lowed by a big, hulking young fellow about 
 six feet high. Seeing that he was walking 
 slowly like myself, and not feeling com- 
 fortable at having him just behind me all 
 the time, I stood still pretending to admire 
 the scenery, so as to give him a chance to 
 go by. However, when he reached my side, 
 I did not let him pass without wishing him 
 a pleasant good morning. When he heard 
 my "voice he came to a standstill at once, 
 but, to my surprise, stared at me without 
 saying a word. One look was quite 
 enough, for, judging by liis owl-like eyes 
 and wide-open mouth, I at once came to 
 the conclusion he was daft. Whether 
 that was the case or not, I will leave my 
 readers to judge by the following conver- 
 sation. It must be remembered that this 
 young man, who was such a big fellow, 
 161 L 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 asked these questions in a simple child- 
 like manner, without the least sign of 
 a police examination. Judging him to be 
 quite harmless, I answered his questions 
 in the same straightforward way. 
 
 He. " Where be you going ? " 
 
 /. " To Chepstow." 
 
 He, " Is your mother and your father 
 there ? " 
 
 /. " No." 
 
 He. " Who do keep you, then ? " 
 
 /. " I keep myself." 
 
 He. " How ? " 
 
 /. " Somehow." 
 
 He. " Have you got any money ? " 
 
 /. " Yes." 
 
 He. " Did you find it ? " 
 
 /. "No." 
 
 He. " Did you steal it ? " 
 
 /. " No." 
 
 He. " Where did you get it Irom ? " 
 
 /. " Worked for it." 
 
 He. " How much have you got, coppers 
 and all ? " 
 
 /. "I don't know exactly." 
 
 He. " W^ill you let me see ? " 
 162 
 
TINTERN ABBEY 
 
 /. " Not now." 
 
 He. " Will you lend me fourpence ? " 
 
 /. " What ! " 
 
 He. " Lend me threepence then ; indeed, 
 it is not much." 
 
 /. " What ! " 
 . He. " Come, lend me twopence then." 
 
 I. " What ! " 
 
 He. " Lend me a penny, mun, for that 
 is nothing." 
 
 /. " What, nothing ? " 
 
 He. "Well, good-bye." 
 
 /. ''Good-bye." 
 
 However, I could not let this simple 
 young man go without giving him some- 
 thing, so I offered him a penny, which he 
 took with a loud laugh. To my surprise, 
 he had no sooner received this penny than 
 he turned back towards Monmouth. It 
 seemed he had come out of that town on 
 purpose to beg some money. That he 
 should have attempted to borrow four- 
 pence from a complete stranger was extra- 
 ordinary, for I don't suppose he had ever 
 succeeded in doing that ; and how artful 
 he must have thought he was, to tell me 
 163 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 that twopence was not much, as though I 
 would not know the vahie of money. 
 
 After leaving this simple young man my 
 road lay side by side with the river Wye. 
 It was a dull morning, almost to tears — 
 an ideal time for fishermen, a number of 
 whom were to be seen on the banks, but 
 bad for fishes and poets. However, the 
 sun came forth now and then, and I could 
 see the river Wye shining like a silver 
 blade in a green handle. I had this 
 beautiful companion with me all the way 
 from Monmouth to Tintern, a distance of 
 ten miles, sometimes singing and some- 
 times quiet ; and showing an interesting 
 face all the time. 
 
 AVhen I reached Tintern it was still 
 early, but I decided to stay there for tJie 
 rest of the day and to start for Chepstow 
 on the following morning. I wanted to 
 see Tintern Abbey by moonlight, as I had 
 seen it years before, but this was im- 
 possible. For when I went out after dark 
 I saw that the moon was far too young to 
 affect those old ruins. My thoughts had 
 been so busy with the abbey ruins that I 
 164 
 
TINTERN ABBEY 
 
 had not studied the condition of the moon. 
 As a local poet puts it : — 
 
 To see old Tintern Abbey right 
 Please visit it by pale moonlight. 
 
 Although I saw a number of hotels that 
 catered for summer visitors I did not stay 
 at any of these, but preferred to look for 
 a private cottage. After making one or 
 two inquiries I succeeded in finding one. 
 However, I did not scorn the hotels by 
 any means, for I had several glasses of 
 ale before I left Tintern. 
 
 When I went out in the evening and 
 stood looking at the abbey ruins, I 
 cannot say that I felt well satisfied with 
 my present state. This discontent was 
 owing to my memory going back to my 
 boyhood days, I remembered that I had 
 come from Newport to Tintern, a distance 
 of seventeen miles, when I was only a boy 
 of fourteen, to see how this abbey looked 
 by moonlight. At that time I was work- 
 ing as an errand boy in an ironmonger's 
 shop, and it was after midnight when I got 
 back home, and I had to rise at six the 
 165 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 next morning to be at work by seven 
 o'clock. 
 
 As I stood there now, twenty- seven 
 years after, and compared that young boy's 
 enthusiasm with my present lukewarm 
 feelings, I was not very well satisfied with 
 myself. For instance, at that time I 
 would sacrifice both food and sleep in my 
 travels to see anything wonderful ; but 
 now, in my prime, I did not go seeking 
 things of beauty, and only sang of things 
 that came my way by chance. Thinking 
 of this, I came to the conclusion that the 
 boy of fourteen, who came seventeen miles 
 to see a ruin by moonlight, was as a poet 
 the father of the one that stood there in 
 his prime. Judging myself by that won- 
 derful feeling in boyhood, I felt sure that 
 I was only a sliadow of what I should have 
 been. However, perhaps this despondent 
 feeling was owing to the absence of the 
 moon, and the fact that the abbey could 
 liardly be made out at all. Whatever 
 it was, I did not feel very happy, and 
 a couple of glasses of ale made me feel 
 "more melancholy than ever. 
 166 
 
THE RAG- AND BONE-MAN 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 T IT E RAG- AND B O N E - M A N 
 
 The country between Tintern and Chep- 
 stow is striking indeed. I was now 
 walking on the hillside with the river Wye 
 deep in the valley below. Across the 
 valley I could see wooded hills, with here 
 and there rows of steep white rocks which 
 on the summits looked like fortifications. 
 I had not gone far when I came to a large 
 open field between me and the water, in 
 which I saw scores of sheep and lambs. 
 Something must have disturbed them — 
 perhaps the farmer had taken one of their 
 number away — for they were now making 
 the finest chorus of sounds I had ever 
 heard in my life. The shrill voices of the 
 baby lambs and the deep tones of the old 
 sheep made a chorus so arresting that I 
 could not help listening until their voices 
 gradually died away. Even if I had had 
 a big day's journey before me instead of 
 169 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 a short one, no more than six miles, I 
 could not have helped giving them my 
 ears as long as the chorus lasted, so tender 
 and sweet it was. 
 
 When I had walked about four miles 
 from Tintern I saw a small village before I 
 reached Chepstow, which was about two 
 and a quarter miles from where I was. 
 But just before I reached the village I had 
 my attention drawn to a man on a green 
 patch at the side of the road, who was 
 then in the act of placing some rags and 
 other things in a large bag. I suppose he 
 had been sorting them, for I saw several 
 things he had discarded and thrown 
 nearer to the hedge. Of course I could 
 see at once that this was a rag and bone 
 man. He was a short, thick-set fellow of 
 about fifty years of age, no cleaner than 
 the ordinary tramp, but his hair was not 
 long, neither were his clothes dirty, ill 
 fitting or old. From this I gathered that 
 he handled more money than the ordinary 
 tramp, and that he had in his quest for 
 rags, a better opportunity of getting 
 clothes for his own body. 
 
 iro 
 
THE RAG- AND BONE-MAN 
 
 " Come and have a drink," I said to this 
 man, when I had reached his side, and 
 pointing to the village close by. 
 
 He looked up on hearing this, quite sur- 
 prised, and answered, " Thank you, mate ; 
 I will, as soon as these things are in my 
 bag." 
 
 " I like to stand treat to a fellow like 
 you," I said, as we walked along, " for I 
 know you don't make much profit out of 
 old rags." 
 
 " It's no good to complain," he an- 
 swered, with something like a sigh ; " but 
 I have been very prosperous in my day, 
 believe me or believe me not." 
 
 When I heard this I came to the con- 
 clusion that he had been a man of some 
 consequence in the past — an employer of 
 men, a master, or a man of property. 
 However, we were now in the Piercefield 
 Hotels the landlady was waiting for an 
 order, so I asked my new companion 
 what he would like to drink, and he 
 answered, " A pint of beer, mate." The 
 landlord drew this and also a glass for 
 me. 
 
 171 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 After these drinks had been set before 
 us and we had both drunk to each other's 
 health, 1 said to the rag and bone 
 man : 
 
 " You say you have been prosperous 
 in your hfe ; what brought you down. 
 This ? " With these words I pointed to 
 the beer, thinking a hking for strong 
 drinks was the cause of his downfall. 
 
 I may say here that some time before 
 this I had been shown a document which 
 belonged to a very poor man who sold 
 penny toys in the streets of London, and 
 wlio lived in one of the cheapest common 
 lodging-houses in the slums. This docu- 
 ment was the freedom of a large city, which 
 proved that the poor toy seller was at one 
 time held in great respect. I was thinking 
 of this case when I was talking to the rag 
 and bone man, and was prepared to believe 
 any tale, however extraordinary, of a 
 great man's fall from respectability. 
 
 " No," he answered to my question ; 
 " it was not drink that caused my down- 
 fall, it was unfair competition." 
 
 " How was it done ? " I asked, taking 
 172 
 
THE RAG- AND BONE-MAN 
 
 another mouthful of beer, as a hint that he 
 should do the same and have his mug 
 refilled when it was empty. I don't know 
 whether he understood my action or not, 
 but he certainly took another big pull at 
 his beer. 
 
 " Yes," he continued, after he had 
 placed the mug back on the bar. " Yes, 
 my prosperity was blighted, believe me 
 or believe me not, by the unfair competi- 
 tion of a fish hawker. Two years ago I 
 was living at Hereford, where I had a six- 
 penny bed every night without fail. There 
 were several villages within easy reach of 
 that town, and the people got to know me 
 so well that they would not part with a 
 rag, bone or bottle until I called on them. 
 They used to save them for me, and for 
 that reason I was always sure of making 
 two and three shillings a day, especially 
 when rabbit skins were in season. 
 
 "My prosperity lasted about two years, 
 and then 1 began to see that something ^vas 
 wrong, but had not the least suspicion of 
 what it was. People who had been good 
 customers of mine began to say coldly 
 173 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 that they had neither skins, rags, bones 
 nor bottles, and I began to wonder why. 
 Now one day I was about to call at a cer- 
 tain cottage when there happened to be a 
 fish hawker at the cottage next door. It 
 was then that I saw something that almost 
 turned me into a cold rock. For at that 
 moment, a woman, an old customer of 
 mine, brought a rabbit skin to the door, 
 which, believe me or believe me not, she 
 shook before my very eyes. Then to my 
 further astonishment — for I had no firm 
 belief in what was going to happen — I saw 
 that fish hawker place the rabbit skin in 
 his basket ; and then, believe me or 
 believe me not, give the woman a bloater 
 out of his basket. When I saw this the 
 blood surged through my body, and rush- 
 ing forward I shouted, ' What is going 
 on here ? You are not a rag and bone 
 man, but a fish hawker. It's the likes 
 of you that ruin trade for the likes of 
 me.' 
 
 "So saying I ran back to the road, for I 
 had seen a small hand-cart there, and wanted 
 to see what was in it. When I looked I 
 174 
 
THE RAG- AND BONE-MAN 
 
 saw a large bag, which I felt, and, believe 
 me or believe me not, sure enough it was 
 cram full of skins, bones, rags and bottles. 
 As soon as I was sure of this I was so 
 furious that I ran back into the garden, 
 and getting a tight hold of that fish 
 hawker's basket, I wrestled with him until 
 the garden path was strewn with fresh 
 herrings, bloaters, cockles, kippers and 
 shrimps. After doing this I made off, 
 knowing that my trade in that part of the 
 country was ruined for ever. 
 
 " But I have never been able to do so 
 well since, for, believe me or believe me not, 
 as a rag and bone man it is as much as I 
 can do to make one and sixpence a day. 
 Unfair competition — that was the cause 
 of my downfall. I had as good a trade 
 as any man could wish for, for there was 
 not a woman within six miles of Hereford 
 that would part with either a rag, bone or 
 bottle to any other man but me, until a 
 fish hawker offered to exchange his bloaters 
 and shrimps, and ruined my prosperity 
 for life. My trade was so good that I 
 could have done with the assistance of a 
 175 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 donkey, if I had had enough money to buy 
 one. When I think of how these things 
 are now being exchanged for penny her- 
 rings, instead of being paid for in cash by 
 a professional rag and bone man as I was, 
 it almost breaks my heart — believe me or 
 believe me not. And remember this — my 
 pennies were always fresh and sweet, 
 which is more than can be said of some of 
 that man's bloaters and shrimps. Those 
 people will know that some day, if they 
 don't know it already. They'll know it 
 when they see a man, woman or child 
 lying dead in a coffin, poisoned by bad 
 fish. But I have nothing to say against 
 those people ; they were all right. All my 
 grievance is against the man who would 
 not stick to his own trade and, not satisfied 
 with hawking fish, went into the rag and 
 bone business and ruined a man who, 
 believe me or believe me not, was ten 
 times better than he was." 
 
 When this long recital was at an end* 
 
 the rag and bone man finished drinking his 
 
 beer and waited to hear what I had to say. 
 
 However, his was hardly the kind of story 
 
 176 
 
THE RAG- AND BONE-MAN 
 
 I had expected, and I knew that he would 
 only repeat it in further conversation. 
 This poor fellow had never had his age 
 of gold, in spite of his boasted prosperity 
 in the past ; and even his age of silver 
 had been very small. For that reason 
 I preferred to continue my journey, 
 especially as I did not want any more ale 
 for myself. But I did not like to leave him 
 without doing him another kindness, so 
 I placed sixpence in his hand, saying, " Do 
 what you like with it, but I must go now." 
 I was very glad to see that he pocketed 
 the money instead of calling for more 
 beer, and followed me out. When we got 
 outside I wished him good luck and we 
 parted, he going towards Monmouth and 
 I towards Chepstow. 
 
 When I reached Chepstow it was quite 
 early in the day, and I felt sorry that I 
 had not another six miles to go with the 
 beautiful river Wye for my companion 
 all the way. However, I had quite a 
 number of pleasant fancies to think about 
 and, Avhen I had arranged for my lodging 
 and was shown upstairs to a sitting-room, 
 17 T M 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 I settled down to smoke and dream. 
 
 I had not been there five minutes when 
 two fine elderly ladies came into the 
 room, with the waitress at their heels. 
 These ladies banged the windows down 
 at once, in spite of its being a hot sultry 
 day. After doing this it took them about 
 three minutes to be seated. In fact, they 
 owned the place for the half-hour they 
 were there, and all they spent was three- 
 halfpence each. 
 
 When these two fine ladies first entered 
 I could not help noticing, by the way 
 they looked at me, that they had ex- 
 pected a room to themselves, and were 
 plainly annoyed at having to spend their 
 three-halfpence each in the presence of 
 a third person, and that a stranger. 
 However, I was soon engrossed in writing, 
 and I don't know whether they talked 
 about sheep's trotters or silk. They could 
 have planned a murder without lowering 
 their voices, and not a word would have 
 reached my ears. 
 
 178 
 
THE BLIND BOXER 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE BLIND BOXER 
 
 He goes with basket and slow feet. 
 
 To sell his nuts from street to street ; 
 
 The very terror of his kind, 
 
 Till blackened eyes had made him blind. 
 
 For this is Boxer Bob, the man 
 
 That had hard muscles, harder than 
 
 A schoolboy's bones ; who held his ground 
 
 When six tall bullies sparred around. 
 
 Small children now, that have no grace, 
 
 Can steal his nuts before his face ; 
 
 And when he threatens with his hands, 
 
 Mock him two feet from where he stands ; 
 
 Mock him, who cou'd some years ago 
 
 Have leapt five feet to strike a blow. 
 
 Poor Bobby, I remember when 
 
 Thou wert a god to drunken men ; 
 
 But now they push thee off, or crack 
 
 Thy nuts and give no money back. 
 
 They swear they'll strike thee in the face, 
 
 Dost thou not hurry from that place. 
 
 Such are the men that once would pay 
 
 To keep thee drunk from day to day. 
 
 With all thy strength and cunning skill. 
 
 Thy courage, lasting breath and will, 
 
 Thou'rt helpless now ; a little ball, 
 
 No bigger than a cherry small, 
 
 Has now refused to guide and lead, 
 
 181 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 Twelve stone of strong hard flesh that need 
 But that ball's light to make thee leap 
 And strike these cowards down like sheep, 
 Poor helpless Bobby, blind ; I see 
 Thy Avorking face and pity thee. 
 
 I FOUND Chepstow Castle without much 
 difficulty, for several signposts pointed the 
 way and there was no necessity to inquire. 
 When I looked at that fine pile of ruins 
 1 could not help being impressed at the 
 great changes of time. These walls which 
 were once so dangerous, being alive with 
 armed men, were now used only by the birds 
 that built nests in the crevices and reared 
 their young. The surroundings of the 
 castle were beautiful indeed, for it stood 
 in a green valley that had many a noble 
 old tree. The green valley would have 
 been a fine haunt even if there had 
 been no castle there with a greater attrac- 
 tion. 
 
 The day I left Chepstow must have been 
 market day, for I was passed by quite a 
 number of drovers in charge of cows and 
 muzzled calves, and many a cart carried 
 a sow that was too fat to walk, 
 1 82 
 
THE BLIND BOXER 
 
 The question of religion must have been 
 a burning one in Chepstow, for I had not 
 gone far when I heard a hedge trimmer 
 say to his companion on the other side of 
 the "hedge : 
 
 " I never knew a chapel man do any good 
 yet." 
 
 " Neither have I," answered his com- 
 panion. And in less than an hour after 
 this I was told by a little boy, wliom I 
 had questioned about his parents, that 
 his father was out of work, but that Mr. 
 Smith could still find work for a chapel 
 man. 
 
 When I came to the little village of 
 Gaerwent, five miles from Chepstow, I 
 could not help wondering whether that 
 quiet little settlement had its mind divided 
 between church and chapel ; whether the 
 church was critically surveying the doings 
 of the chapel and the chapel acting the 
 same towards the church. I came to the 
 conclusion that this was likely to be the 
 case, for I remembered an experience of 
 my own a few years back. I was then 
 living in a small village, such as I was now 
 183 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 in, and was visited one day by the local 
 clergyman. After about twenty minutes' 
 conversation there came a knock at 
 the door, just as I was about to open 
 it for my visitor to leave. Opening 
 the door, with the clergyman standing 
 behind me, I saw to my surprise 
 that the new-comer was the dissenting 
 minister. 
 
 My surprise was very natural, seeing 
 that I had been living in the village some 
 time and neither of them had paid me a 
 visit before. This will account for my 
 astonishment at being visited by both 
 at the same time. However, I soon re- 
 covered my presence of mind, and, shak- 
 ing liands with the clergyman, prepared to 
 welcome the other. But, instead of taking 
 any notice of me, the dissenting minister 
 set his eyes on the clergyman, to the 
 confusion of both of us, for we could not 
 fail to see the severe expression on the man's 
 face. Then, putting his hand in his pocket, 
 the dissenting minister, with his eyes still 
 fixed on the clergyman and in utter silence, 
 took out a tract, wliich he held before him. 
 184 
 
THE BLIND BOXER 
 
 " Thank you," I said, preparing to take 
 the tract, for I had not been seen in any 
 place of worship, and was therefore in 
 need of a little encouragement. But as 
 soon as the dissenting minister saw me 
 make this move to take the tract, he 
 waved it away, and the next instant 
 offered it direct to the clergyman. " Ha, 
 ha ! " laughed the clergyman in utter 
 confusion, but taking the tract all the same, 
 " I must now wish you a good afternoon." 
 ^Vith these words he made off as fast as 
 he could. 
 
 As soon as the clergyman had gone, a 
 change came over the dissenting minister, 
 for with a very sweet smile he offered me 
 another tract, which I accepted. After 
 this he nodded good afternoon and tlien 
 followed on the heels of his rival in religion. 
 When they had both gone I sat down, 
 astonished at being the witness of such 
 an incident. The dissenting minister, by 
 insisting on the clergyman taking a tract 
 first, had clearly and plainly said, " You, 
 a clergyman in the Church of England, 
 you, sir, are a greater sinner than the man 
 185 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 3'ou visit, and in more need of tracts than 
 he is." 
 
 On looking over a gate at a number 
 of sheep that lay contentedlj^ chewing the 
 cud, I was surprised to see one poor beast 
 in the middle lying on his side, with, his 
 face buried in the grass and kicking his 
 legs. There was no doubt that the poor 
 thing was dying, but what surprised me 
 was the utter indifference of the others. 
 For there they all lay, lazily chewing the 
 cud, in happy unconcern, and not even 
 casting one glance at their dying com- 
 panion. 
 
 Wlien I got to the Rising Sun I was only 
 five miles from Newport. Unfortunately 
 I could not enjoy my ale at this house, 
 because navvies had been there. I could 
 tell this by a strong smell of onions, and 
 in some things I am not as strong as I 
 used to be. The principal food of a 
 navvy consists of bread, cheese, onions 
 and beer, and I have known many a navvy 
 that would not walk ten yards without 
 having a raw onion in his pocket, which 
 he would not be always able to get in 
 186 
 
THE BLIND BOXER 
 
 a place where other things were plentiful. 
 Owing to this strong smell I could not 
 stay long at the Rising Sun, and soon 
 drank my beer and left. 
 
 After I had left this inn I wanted a 
 quiet walk alone to Newport, for I was 
 likely noAV at any time to meet some 
 one who knew me, seeing that I was 
 born in that town and spent my whole 
 youth there. But this was not to be, 
 for I now met the most persistent beggar 
 I had ever known. This man was going 
 towards Chepstow, and meeting me on 
 the road, came to a halt and said, " Shall 
 I go on to Chepstow or turn back, which 
 is it to be ? " 
 
 " Please yourself," I answered ; " it is 
 a long way to Chepstow and the day is 
 late." 
 
 " Yes, it is eleven miles to that town," 
 he said, " and it is now four o'clock. So 
 I will turn back and stay another night 
 at Newport." 
 
 With these words he turned and began 
 to walk at my side, much to my annoy- 
 ance. This man soon began a long story 
 187 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 of his troubles, but I could not possibly 
 be interested in them at that time, for 
 I became conscious that people were 
 taking an unusual interest in me. They 
 could see that he was a beggar and that 
 I was not, and perhaps some of them 
 thought they saw something familiar in 
 my face. However, in spite of having 
 my attention drawn to other people, 
 I gathered from this poor fellow's con- 
 versation that his downfall Avas owing 
 to the death of his wife some years pre- 
 vious. He told a tale of how she once 
 came seeking him at a public-house, and 
 he, feeling ashamed that he was spending 
 money in drink that could be used loetter 
 at home, ordered three pennyworth of 
 port wine for her, and invited her in to 
 drink it. " But my wife, who is now in 
 her grave, would not touch it, either in 
 the house or out," said my new com- 
 panion ; " and it is there yet for all I 
 know. She brought nine children into 
 the world arid would not touch drink, 
 not even when the doctor recommended 
 porter to make milk for her sucking baby." 
 188 
 
THE BLIND BOXER 
 
 I gave this poor fellow threepence and 
 then crossed the road so as to continue 
 my way alone. So many tramps had 
 told me stories of this kind, how their 
 homes were broken up by the loss of a 
 wife, that I have now come to the con- 
 clusion that a great number of honest 
 men are made tramjos through that. The 
 woman keeps the home together through 
 poverty and prosperity, and when she is 
 dead the man goes astray and never cares 
 to be put right again. Such is the begin- 
 ning ; the end is that the man finds a 
 strange pleasure in wandering here and 
 there and begging with success. 
 
 After leaving this man I called at an 
 inn for a glass of ale. While I was stand- 
 ing at the bar I suddenly became aware 
 of a man's voice behind me. Not hearing 
 what he said, and thinking he was address- 
 ing me, I turned my head at once, and 
 then saw a short, ragged fellow standing 
 there with a basket of nuts in his hand. 
 The man was blind, I could see that. 
 However, before I could open my mouth 
 to speak, the barmaid, who had seen him 
 189 
 
A POET'S PILCiRIMyVGE 
 
 come in, said in a sharp voice, " Out you 
 go ; you are not allowed in here." 
 
 Some of the men too began to com- 
 plain, and one of them, being drunk, told 
 the poor fellow to go to hell with his nuts, 
 and threatened to kick him into the 
 street. In spite of this, I had the courage 
 to take twopence out of my pocket and 
 place them in the man's hand. But when 
 he felt my hand touch his, he closed on 
 it with such a sudden strong grip, that I 
 almost cried out with the unexpected 
 pain. No doubt he meant to show that 
 he still had enough strength in his arms 
 to strike heavy blows, if he could only 
 see his enemies. And when I saw the 
 working of his face I felt sure that he meant 
 me to understand that such was the case. 
 
 I felt pity for this poor fellow, for I 
 remembered the time when he was feared 
 by the whole town, as large as that town 
 was. Even now; though he was getting 
 on in years, it was hardly likely that 
 there were ten men in the v/hole town 
 that would have dared to insult him, if 
 he only had the sight of one of his eyes. 
 190 
 
THE BLIND BOXER 
 
 The poor fellow knew this ; and to hear 
 himself cursed and threatened by men 
 who, had they seen the least light in his 
 eyes, would have given him their last 
 shilling and almost kissed him, must have 
 been painful to bear. I was very sorry 
 for this poor fellow. 
 
 As I was crossing Newport bridge I 
 felt a touch on my shoulder, and turning 
 my head saw before me a man that I 
 had not seen since I was a boy. At that 
 time he was young and but newly mar- 
 ried, being about twenty-four years of 
 age. However, in spite of the number 
 of years that had passed, I did not fail 
 to recognize him almost immediately. But 
 I was rather surprised that he should 
 have known me, seeing that I had gone 
 through the change from boyhood to 
 manhood since we had last seen each 
 other ; whereas he, being a full-grown man, 
 had not altered nearly so much. 
 
 " Are you Will Davies ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " and I know who 
 you are too. Come and have a drink for 
 the sake of old times." 
 191 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 As soon as we had crossed the bridge 
 we went into the Old Green, where I called 
 for drinks. This old friend soon began 
 to tell me of the various papers in which 
 he had seen my name, and ended by 
 slapping me on the shoulder and saying, 
 " I always knew that you would succeed, 
 my boy. Don't you remember showing 
 me some poetry years ago, which my 
 wife liked so much ? Won't you come 
 and see her. Will, before you leave the 
 old town ? " 
 
 Yes, I certainly remembered showing him 
 a poem which I wrote when I was about 
 fourteen years of age, and which was called 
 " Death," but I have always had my 
 doubts as to whether he really admired 
 it or not. At that time I was only 
 an errand boy, but as my grandmother 
 allowed me to keep my wages for pocket- 
 money, I was continually being asked by 
 my elders to buy beer for them. This 
 young married man, who had my poem 
 in his possession, had asked me to call 
 for it at his house one Saturday night, 
 saying that his wife would not be satis- 
 192 
 
THE BLIND BOXER 
 
 fied until she knew the author of " Death." 
 So I went there, having five shilhngs in 
 my pocket, and was introduced to liis wife. 
 They were both so pleased to see me that 
 they could hardly contain their laughter, 
 and it was some time before the young 
 wife could say, " I'm so delighted to 
 meet the author of ' Death.' " 
 
 It was the first time I had ever been 
 called an author, and I was so pleased 
 that before I left I paid for two pints of 
 beer for the husband and a bottle of 
 stout for his wife, in addition to my own 
 two bottles of lemonade. 
 
 193 N 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCE 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 OLD ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 Thy water, Alteram, 
 
 Shines brighter through my tears, 
 
 With cliildhood in my mind : 
 
 So will it shine when age 
 
 Has made me almost blind. 
 
 How canst thon look so young 
 On my fast changing flesh 
 And brooding cares that kill — 
 Oh, you sweet witch as fresh 
 And fair as childhood — still ? 
 
 When I reached Newport I settled down 
 fov a few days, seeing old friends. I 
 made inquiries for one woman I had known 
 in my early days. At that time slie was 
 well on in years, but it never once occurred 
 to me now that she would either be dead 
 or at a very advanced and helpless old 
 age. Time had dealt so lightly with me 
 that I forgot the difference in our ages, 
 and expected to see her not only alive 
 but much the same as I remembered her 
 nearly twenty years before. 
 197 
 
A POET S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 When I was a small boy this woman 
 had given me so fearful an impression 
 that even now after so many years I 
 should not feel comfortable in her pre- 
 sence. After I had known her for some 
 time I noticed that she never had her 
 head uncovered and always wore a soft 
 cap made for a man. And I, childlike, 
 began to wonder why. One afternoon, 
 when I saw her in a room huddled up 
 asleep in front of the fire, I suddenly 
 made up my mind, being full of mischief, 
 to remove her cap and hide it, thinking 
 she would enjoy my fun when she woke. 
 With this intention I went softly to her 
 side and began to raise her cap, using the 
 most gentle force. But when I had taken 
 it clear off her head, I saw, first to my 
 surprise and then to my horror, that two 
 curled horns were sticking out of her 
 head. To make certain that I was not 
 deceived by her hair taking this strange 
 shape, I felt them, and sure enough the 
 horns were hard and made of solid bone. 
 I don't know whether the cold air coming 
 to her head made her wake, or that she 
 19^ 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 woke by accident, but wake she did, and 
 suspecting or feeling that I had tampered 
 with her cap, which I had now replaced, 
 gave one loud, unearthly screech and 
 made a grab for me. But I had sus- 
 pected this, and was out of her reach in 
 a second, leaping for my life. I had never 
 seen so evil an expression on a face before,, 
 and had never before heard so devilish 
 a sound. I really believe that if that 
 old woman, who up to that time had shown 
 me nothing but loving kindness, had got 
 me into her long, skinny arms at that 
 moment, she would have torn me to 
 pieces. 
 
 When I inquired for this strange woman 
 I was told she had been dead for some 
 time. Of course when I came to con- 
 sider matters I was not surprised at this. 
 
 One woman, a relative, to whom I 
 paid an early visit, was still hale and 
 hearty in spite of her seventy-two years. 
 On the afternoon of my visit she was 
 also visited by two other women friends 
 who were much older than herself. So 
 I had the honour of being entertained by 
 199 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 three elderly women, each one being over 
 seventy years of age. True, there was 
 not much laughter, but notwithstanding 
 that there was a good deal of interesting 
 talk. For instance, the eldest of the 
 tliree claimed that war could be stopped 
 at once by a special hour of prayer, when 
 all Christians — excluding Roman Catholics, 
 who were an abomination unto the 
 Lord — would kneel for that purpose. 
 " And now," she continued, " let us all 
 kneel down and pray for the extermination 
 of England's enemies." It was very for- 
 tunate for all that she still continued to 
 talk, for, after a long speech that lasted 
 twenty minutes, she had forgotten her invi- 
 tation and said no more about kneeling 
 down to prayer. 
 
 " What a spirited woman that was," I 
 exclaimed to my old relative, after her 
 two visitors had gone. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " but she is not 
 so spirited as she was a month ago, for 
 she has only just buried her mother, and 
 that is a trial for a woman of seventy- 
 eight years of age." 
 
 200 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 The town of Newport is, taking it on 
 the whole, very beautiful, owing to a great 
 part of it being built on the sides of hills. 
 Parts of the town are wretched, but no 
 worse than can be expected from a large 
 seaport. But when a man is once on 
 Stow Hill, which can easily be reached in 
 a few minutes from any part of the town, 
 he begins to see at once that the town 
 has a remarkable beauty of position, 
 which could hardly be spoilt by anything 
 man could do. From various parts of 
 this hill the Bristol Channel is to be seen, 
 the islands in it, and the outward and 
 homeward-bound ships. And this line 
 sight is to be seen again at the other end 
 of the town, from another hill called 
 Christchurch. 
 
 But the most beautiful part of Newport 
 is the green country called Alteryn, which 
 has a clear canal coming down lock by 
 lock, with Twm-Barlum in the distance. 
 I had not been in Newport long before I 
 went walking in that direction. When I 
 was well out of town and stood on a hill- 
 side road where I could see down into that 
 201 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 wonderful green valley, I became deeply 
 affected at the sight. For there was not 
 the least change ; there were the same few 
 little cottages that I had seen so often 
 when a boy. The place seemed to smile 
 at me, and in a little while I began to feel 
 tantalized and tormented that it was still 
 the same, whereas I myself had under- 
 gone so many serious changes. " It will 
 be the same," thought I, " when I am 
 dead, although my life may be only half 
 over now." For I could see myself com- 
 ing here a feeble old man, who was now 
 in his prime, and still finding no difference 
 in Alteryn. For over half an hour I 
 leaned on a gate, looking in all directions, 
 but there was no other life than the cattle 
 in the fields. It is only in the heat of 
 summer when men and boys come to 
 swim in the canal, that this green solitude 
 is made noisy by human tongues. 
 
 As I was undecided what move to make 
 next, I went to call on a friend who knew 
 the country for miles round, to consult 
 him about a walk of three or four more 
 days, that would end at Cardiff. So I 
 202 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 went to sec him, knowing that he was the 
 right man to advise me in the matter. 
 However, when I met him, we began to 
 talk of so many other things, that I clean 
 forgot the cause of my visit and came 
 away without the least idea of where I 
 would go on the morrow. 
 
 We talked of a fine mansion that a rich 
 man had built for his bride ; but the bride 
 never came and it was turned into stables, 
 and had been stables till this day. Instead 
 of being inhabited by a happy human 
 couple it had become a home for cattle. 
 
 After that we talked of Gutto Nyth 
 Bran, which means Gutto of the Crow's 
 Nest, and who was sometimes called 
 " Gutto the Wind." He was a native 
 of Llangralto in the Rhondda Valley, 
 and the fastest runner ever known in 
 South Wales. I had heard of one great 
 performance in particular, which hap- 
 pened when Gutto was a boy. One day 
 when his mother thought of making bread 
 she found on looking that there was no barm 
 in the house. " What a pity that is," 
 she exclaimed, leaving the house to tell 
 203 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 her next-door neighbour of her disappoint- 
 ment. It was now that Gutto showed 
 his extraordinary jDowers, for as soon 
 as he saw his mother leave the house he 
 sprang to his feet and, taking up an empty 
 jug, made off with all speed. The next 
 moment he was running his fastest towards 
 Llantrissant, which was eight miles dis- 
 tant, that being the nearest place where 
 barm could be had for certain. When 
 his mother returned from explaining her 
 trouble to her neighbour she saw, to her 
 surprise, a jug of barm on the table and, 
 guessing what had happened, said, " Gutto, 
 you are well called the wind." Her son 
 had run sixteen miles while his mother 
 had been next door to say a few words 
 to her neighbour. 
 
 After talking about these things for 
 some time I wished my friend good-bye, 
 having no idea where I would go on the 
 morrow. However, before I settled down 
 for the night, I decided to make Ponty- 
 pool the end of my next day's journey. 
 
 201 
 
A FAMILIAR COUNTRY 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 A FAMILIAR COUNTRY 
 
 Leaving Newport the following morn- 
 ing I made my way towards Pontypool, 
 which was about ten miles distant. The 
 last face I saw, to know by sight, was 
 the face of a pleasant cheerful-looking 
 Jew. Yet this big, prosperous-looking 
 man, always smiling, had had several 
 great disappointments, enough to drive a 
 man of his tribe to suicide. He belonged 
 to a club, whose members were mostly 
 Gentiles, and the club had a kind of 
 lottery from which its members drew 
 every year chance prizes, such as clocks, 
 pictures, ornaments or geese, and as for- 
 tune would have it this unfortunate Jew 
 won a leg of pork three years in succession. 
 In about an hour after seeing this man 
 I was well out on the Pontypool road, 
 having passed through Malpas and being 
 a short distance from Llantarnum. The 
 207 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 country I was going through now was 
 well known to me, and the names I saw 
 on the signposts of the cross-roads, such 
 as Caerleon, Cwmbran and Pontnewydd, 
 were familiar, although I had only visited 
 them once or twice. When I reached 
 the Three Blackbirds at Llantarnum I 
 had my first glass of beer of the day and 
 enjoyed it very much. It was a good 
 brew, mild and yet satisfying, frothy and 
 yet without gas. I would most certainly 
 have had a second glass if any company 
 had been present. But as I was the 
 only customer it was not long before I 
 left. 
 
 Unfortunately for me, this day, which 
 had been so fine in the early part, had 
 now turned into one of those dull misty 
 days that are so common where there are 
 hills, and it was impossible to see very 
 far away. But when I reached Panteg 
 the air had cleared, to my sorrow now, 
 because when I was passing a block of 
 houses called by the simj^le unambitious 
 name of Mary Ann Terrace I became a 
 curious object to a number of playing 
 208 
 
A FAMILIAR COUNTRY 
 
 children. They saw at once that I was 
 a stranger, but the extraordinary thing 
 was that they followed and made me the 
 head of a procession. I did not know 
 what to make of this, for they were all 
 very quiet, as though they had great 
 respect for me. The only reason I could 
 give for this strange worship is that the 
 children must have connected me with 
 a show that was advertised for that place. 
 No doubt the show was in their minds 
 all the time, and every stranger Avould 
 be expected to have dealings with it in 
 some way or other. However, they soon 
 got tired of following, and it was not long 
 before I had the road to myself again. 
 Nevertheless, it was an exciting experience, 
 because a number of grown-up people 
 were standing at their doors, and I was 
 very much afraid that they would think 
 I had charmed their children away to 
 their destruction, by promising them sweets 
 and telling them lies. 
 
 Just before reaching Pontypool I over- 
 took a small boy who appeared so friendly 
 and self-possessed that I began a conver- 
 209 o 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 sation with him. He had addressed me 
 as though I had been his uncle, and I hke 
 to encourage a child who shows such fear- 
 less confidence in a stranger. So I asked 
 him the first question that came into 
 my mind, which happened to be interesting 
 to a child. 
 
 " How do you like Christmas ? " I asked. 
 
 " Jolly," he answered with a great 
 smile. " I wish it was Christmas now, 
 don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes," I said, and then thinking of a 
 fine joke to play on young innocence, I 
 began as seriously as possible, " Last 
 Christmas I saw a woman that was a 
 hundred years old and she was standing 
 under the mistletoe. Sq I thought, 
 ' Here's my chance,' and kissed her before 
 she could make the least move to get 
 away. It is not often that we get a chance 
 to kiss a woman that is a hundred years 
 old. Do you blame me ? Wouldn't you 
 have done the same if you had been in 
 my place ? " 
 
 Saying this I looked at the little fellow 
 and saw at once that he was struggling 
 210 
 
A FAMILIAR COUNTRY 
 
 with some confused ideas. However, lie 
 said at last, coming to the conclusion 
 that I had done something worth boasting 
 of. " Of course, I don't blame you. I 
 only wish I had the chance." 
 
 For five minutes after this I could not 
 say "another word for laughing, especially 
 as the little fellow asked me several times 
 what I was laughing at. Soon after this 
 we came to a side road, which the boy 
 prepared to take. But before leaving 
 me he asked, " Have you got any boots 
 to mend ? " 
 
 " No," I answered. " Why ? " 
 
 " Because my father's a shoemaker," 
 answered the boy, " and when you have 
 any that want mending, I hope you will 
 give them to me." 
 
 " I will if I see you," I said, giving the 
 little fellow a penny, and then leaving 
 him. But I had not gone more than ten 
 yards when the boy's voice brought me 
 to a halt. " When do you pay," he cried, 
 " to-day or to-morrow ? " 
 
 Of course I knew the meaning of these 
 words and called back, " To-day." 
 211 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 No doubt the boy's parents were con- 
 tinuall}'^ being worried by customers that 
 kept on saying, after the boots had been 
 done and dehvered, " Tell your father 
 we will pay him to-morrow," which took 
 a long time to come. 
 
 When the boy heard my answer that 
 I paid to-day, he shouted back with 
 lusty approval, " That's right : I'll 
 tell my father that you don't pay to- 
 morrow." 
 
 When I got well into Pontypool, into 
 the business part *of the town, I went 
 into an eating house and applied for a 
 bed. Seeing that the landlady was satis- 
 fied with my looks and had accommoda- 
 tion, I was at once shown into a comfort- 
 able sitting-room. I heard no Welsh at 
 all at this place, although several residents 
 came in for light refreshments during the 
 evening. Perhaps that was the reason 
 why I was not regarded with any sus- 
 picion. In the course of the evening 
 four men came into the room and, wait- 
 ing to be served, began, as is usual with the 
 Welsh, to blend their voices in harmony. 
 212 
 
A FAMILIAR COUNTRY 
 
 This was very pleasant to hear. But 
 when the tea and cakes arrived they began 
 to tell stories. I like a good story, and 
 if it is clever I don't care how much bad 
 language is in it. But I have no liking 
 for stories that are simply ugly. A story 
 told by one of these young men is a good 
 example of what passes for humour with 
 the lower classes in any country, Wales 
 being no exception. It was about a girl 
 being infatuated with an actor, much 
 to the annoyance of her parents. At 
 last the girl became' so foolish that her 
 father went to the actor and explained 
 matters to him, asking his advice as to 
 what was best to be done. " Leave that 
 to me," said the actor. " All you have 
 to do is to invite me to your house to 
 dinner, and when I leave, your daughter 
 will not have a very great opinion of me 
 then." 
 
 The girl was very excited when she was 
 told who was coming to dinner, and the 
 parents, who knew nothing of the actor's 
 plans, began to fear for the consequence. 
 At last the actor came and, although he 
 213 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 made himself very pleasant to the gh-Ps 
 father and mother, he appeared to be 
 quite indifferent to the daughter. But 
 wlien dinner was served he began to 
 pay her some attention, to the surprise 
 and annoyance of her parents. However, 
 it was now that he was going to cure the 
 girl of her love, for he made such a beast 
 of himself that the girl was thoroughly 
 disgusted and glad when the time came 
 to leave tlie room. The actor had made 
 the end of his nose wet with soup ; he 
 had used his bare hands botli at once 
 to carry the food to his mouth, and he 
 kept blowing his nose in the most 
 objectionable way into his handkerchief. 
 Ja fact, he made such a disgusting 
 exhibition of himself that he not only 
 cured the girl of her love, but also dis- 
 gusted the parents in doing them that 
 great kindness. 
 
 While these four young men were ex- 
 changing stories of this kind I noticed 
 that one or another would turn an eye in 
 my direction, to see the effect. No doubt 
 they thought I should have similar stories 
 214 
 
A FAMILIAR COUNTRY 
 
 to tell, which would be new to them, and 
 which they would eagerly commit to 
 memory. However, I kept my eye on 
 the newspaper and did not give them the 
 faintest smile of encouragement. In spite 
 of this surly behaviour of mine, these 
 men did not give the least hint that they 
 were offended, which did not surprise me 
 at all. For the Welsh observe one point 
 of honour in particular, which is that so 
 long as a stranger does not show open 
 hostility he must not be interfered with. 
 A stranger can go into any public-house 
 where there are a dozen men the worse 
 for drink and be certain of meeting no 
 harm. In fact, the stranger himself can 
 get drunk and insult the company if at 
 the last moment when he sees that his 
 arguments will lead to blows he has the 
 sense to say, " I am a stranger in this 
 town." These words seldom fail, and 
 if he has sense not to offend his com- 
 pany a second time he will be quite 
 safe. 
 
 One time when I was in a public- house 
 in the Rhondda Valley I saw a good case 
 215 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 of this kind. The Welsh are slow to take 
 advantage of a stranger, although he may 
 deserve it. There happened to be present 
 three men and their wives, a man sitting 
 alone in a corner with a pint of beer in 
 front of him, and myself. This man was 
 there when we entered the room, and as 
 none of my friends spoke to him, nor he 
 to them, I judged him to be a complete 
 stranger in that town, especially as the 
 town was small. We had had several 
 drinks and were all merry. So much so 
 that it was not long before the women 
 were laughing and dancing. All at once, 
 in the midst of this merriment, a loud, 
 clear voice exclaimed, " Aristotle was 
 Plato's pupil." When I heard this remark 
 I was quite taken by surprise. However, 
 I soon came to the conclusion that the 
 man was an eccentric old scholar, and now, 
 being drunk, wanted to show his learning. 
 But when the three women heard his 
 remark they stopped dancing at once, 
 dropped their skirts and looked at the 
 stranger with their faces red with an 
 angry passion. 
 
 216 
 
A FAMILIAR COUNTRY 
 
 " G'arn ! What do you mean, you 
 bad-minded villain," cried one. 
 
 " We are respectable married women," 
 cried the second. 
 
 " We have not come here to be in- 
 sulted," said the third, bursting into tears. 
 
 The three husbands of those three 
 women looked at the man slowly, and one 
 of them, stepping forward, so as to be 
 in easy reach to strike a blow, said, 
 " What do you mean by such language ? 
 A man like you is not fit to be where 
 respectable women are." 
 
 "All I have said," began the stranger, 
 striking the table for emphasis, — " all I 
 have said is this, ' Aristotle was Plato's 
 pupil.' There is no harm in what I have 
 said, and please remember I am a stranger 
 in this town." 
 
 When the three men heard this they 
 gave their wives a long look of helplessness, 
 for the last sentence appealed to their 
 honour, which told them that a stranger 
 must not be taken advantage of. The 
 stranger knew, eccentric and drunk though 
 he was, that he had saved his body 
 217 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 from harm, and did not utter another 
 Avord as long as we were there, althoiigli 
 the three women gave him many a dark 
 look. 
 
 218 
 
A VALLEY OF INDUSTRY 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A VALLEY OF INDUSTRY 
 
 When I was shown to my bedroom at 
 Pontypool I went to draw the Winds 
 before I undressed, but I found to my 
 surprise that there were none to draw. 
 This discovery did not alarm me much, 
 but I could not help thinking that the 
 landlady must have been indelicate in 
 a matter of that kind. However, when 
 I got up the next morning I no longer 
 wondered at her indifference. As I have 
 said, I had gone right up into the business 
 part of the town, but in the morning 
 when I looked out of my bedroom window, 
 which was at the back of the house, I 
 saw no more than a wilderness, with 
 dozens of black crows standing on the 
 boughs of trees and flapping their wings 
 round their nests. And no wonder I 
 had spent a sleepless night. I had heard, 
 so I thought, torrents of rain all through 
 221 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 the night, and it troubled me to think 
 of the condition of the road for my next 
 day's walk. But I could now see that 
 this noise was made by a small river at 
 the back of the house, small but very 
 active, and only a few yards away. When 
 I got downstairs I asked the landlady 
 the name of the river, and she said it 
 was called the Afonlluuyd, which meant 
 the Grey river. I only knew one thing 
 about this town and that was, that it 
 was once the home of Edmund Jones, 
 called the Prophet of Pontypool. 
 
 He was a quaint old fellow, an Inde- 
 pendent minister, and a great friend of 
 John Wesley. The way he made up for 
 a poor salary was a very sensible and 
 excellent one. He used to send his ser- 
 vant on market days to market with a 
 big basket, and she used to stand at 
 the entrance and cry in a loud voice, 
 " Edmund Jones' servant." Then one 
 by one the good farmers' wives would 
 give a pat of butter, a Welsh cheese or a 
 few eggs. \V'hen the basket was full, 
 the servant retvu'ned to her master. Tn 
 222 
 
A VALLEY OF INDUSTRY 
 
 those days great preachers did not, as 
 they do so often now, have calls from 
 God to leave a poor flock and serve a 
 richer one. 
 
 When I left Pontypool and inquired 
 my way to Crumlin, I had the same diffi- 
 culty as I had had before, namely, that 
 no one could give me certain information 
 as to how I could walk to Crumlin, and 
 that they could not help giving me direc- 
 tions how to reach the railway station 
 and go to Crumlin by train. When I 
 succeeded at last in getting the informa- 
 tion I wanted, the man could not tell 
 me the distance to that town ; and yet 
 Crumlin, I found out after, was not 
 only quite a large town, but was also 
 well within six miles of Pontypool. This 
 was another example which showed that 
 the Welsh people are not good walkers, and 
 are not interested in the King's highway. 
 This was a fine morning, and when I saw 
 the light on the hills round Pontypool 
 I could not help being struck by their 
 strange and peculiar beauty. These hills 
 were not green and fresh-looking such as we 
 223 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 see in an agricultural country, but sombre 
 and dark. For that reason they owed 
 all their beauty to the light. On the 
 j^resent occasion I could see green places 
 and golden clumps of ferns side by side 
 with dark hollows and mossy banks that 
 were almost as black as ebony, with a 
 few spare trees and bushes dotted here 
 and there. It was a beauty we do not 
 associate with hills, which we always 
 ex2:)ect to be green all over. 
 
 This valley was full of collieries and 
 other works all the way from Pontypool 
 to Risca. So, of course, it was not only 
 smoky, but had houses nearly all the way. 
 In the seventeen miles I passed through 
 Crumlin, Newbridge, Abercarn, Ponty- 
 wain and Cross Keys, with Pontypool 
 and Risca at either end, all of them being 
 towns of some importance. And these 
 towns were all in a valley and had their 
 size in length instead of breadth; for 
 that reason there was very little sign of 
 the open country. When I did happen 
 to see a green bank, the sheep, three or 
 four in number, always had their wool 
 224 
 
A VALLEY OF INDUSTRY 
 
 black with coal dust, and did not look 
 very attractive. If all sheep looked like 
 that they would never have got into 
 poetry or on the painter's canvas. I 
 was very sorry to see them at all in 
 places of that kind. 
 
 But, 'in spite of this valley being full 
 of human life and activity, I did not 
 think from what I saw that the houses were 
 overcrowded, as was apparent in Merthyr 
 and Dowlais. What a pity that people 
 should have to earn their bread under 
 such conditions. A man who has worked 
 underground for twenty years should 
 enjoy the sunlight for the rest of his life. 
 
 Before I knew that I was through 
 smoky Abercarn, I saw a sign-board out- 
 side a shop post office which told me 
 that I was in a place called Pontywain. 
 There had not been the least break in 
 the houses, so that I did not know that 
 I had changed from one town to anotlier. 
 I was feeling rather tired about this time 
 and wanted a few minutes' rest. For 
 that reason I intended to call at an inn 
 as soon as I saw one to my liking. 
 225 P 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 It was not long before I came to one, 
 and four reasons, all good, determined 
 me to patronize it. Firstly, I was thirsty ; 
 secondly, I was tired ; thirdly, it was called 
 the Philanthropic Inn, and it was the first 
 time that I had ever known an inn to 
 be called by that name. The fomlh 
 reason was this — I heard a most marvellous 
 voice coming from within, and clearly 
 leading a number of other voices. Being 
 interested to see what the owner of this 
 voice looked like, also being thirsty, tired 
 and fascinated by an inn of that name, 
 I entered at once and began to look 
 around. As soon as I was inside I saw 
 a small group of men standing in the 
 middle of the room in a half circle. How- 
 ever, the landlady was expecting to hear 
 something from me, so I gave her an 
 order for a glass of beer. The men were 
 now enjoying a chorus, the words of 
 which were : " Farewell, fare thee well, 
 remember me." 
 
 I could see at once without the least 
 consideration that four of the men had 
 no other object than to encourage the 
 226 
 
A VALLEY OF INDUSTRY 
 
 fifth to accompany them — the man with 
 the powerful tenor voice, who had drawn 
 me, as much as anything else, into that 
 house. This man appeared to know that 
 he had a very remarkable voice, for 
 while he was singing he was pointing 
 down his own throat. Seeing that he 
 could not talk and sing at the same time, 
 he intended to tell them by this action 
 not to waver in their attention. At one 
 time when he was coming to a very high 
 note he caught hold of one of his com- 
 panions by the sleeve and then, using his 
 left hand to point down his own throat, 
 he shut his eyes and uttered the loudest, 
 sweetest and most extraordinary sound 
 I had ever heard in my whole life. It 
 was Avonderful how he did it, and yet 
 he appeared to be no more than a common 
 worker in the pits. I was so astonished 
 at hearing the volume ofthis one particular 
 note, that I involuntarily stepped for- 
 ward to look into the singer's mouth, as 
 he was inviting us all to do by pointing 
 in that direction, and although I did not 
 see a mouth that had a roof of brass or 
 227 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 silver, yet for all that I still could hardly 
 believe that such a sound came from 
 common human flesh. 
 
 After taking this very high note which, 
 as I have said, was a most marvellous 
 performance, the chorus came to an end. 
 However, one of his companions soon 
 started it again, and it was not long 
 before the man with the great voice took 
 up the refrain once more. 
 
 Soon after leaving Pontywain I came 
 to Cross Keys, without having enjoyed 
 any green country at all. Moreover, the 
 houses had no gardens in front of them, 
 and were as bare and uninteresting as 
 the long common streets of our large 
 cities. And so it was all the way, with 
 the exception of a few nice houses and 
 gardens that were to be seen just before 
 coming to Risca. 
 
 When I reached Risca it was about six 
 o'clock, and being tired of my long walk 
 I made up my mind to spend a quiet 
 evening, if I could find lodgings that had 
 a comfortable sitting-room. But as good 
 fortune would have it, I met a friend whom 
 228 
 
A^ VALLEY OF INDUSTRY 
 
 I had not seen for some time and who 
 recognized me as I was passing along. 
 After having had a glass or two of ale 
 we went to his house, where I had a 
 late tea and then sat and smoked and 
 talked till bed-time. 
 
 229 
 
A LONG WALK 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 ALONG WALK 
 
 As my friend's time for rising in the 
 morning was seven o'clock to let him get 
 to work by eight, I asked him to call 
 me at the same time, that I might have 
 a long day for walking. For I had a 
 large stretch of country to cover, seeing 
 that I intended to make Cardiff the end 
 of that day's jom'ney, passing on the 
 way through Machen, Bed was and Caer- 
 philly. Thus up in good time we left 
 the house in company at a quarter 
 to eight, he on his way to work and I 
 going towards Rogerstone, a little town 
 that was not far away. 
 
 I was very glad to get through Roger- 
 stone, for it was even dirtier and smokier 
 than the towns I had passed through 
 on the previous day. There were some 
 very large works there, which not only 
 233 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 employed nearly all the men and boys of 
 the district, but even others that came 
 from Risca and Newport, the latter town 
 being three miles away, and where they 
 still kept their homes. These works filled 
 the town and that part of the valley with 
 dense smoke. 
 
 But when I reached the quaint little 
 village of Bassaleg I saw at once that I 
 had come into a beautiful agricultural 
 country where the sheep's wool was white 
 as it should be. I now began to see 
 stout farmers and their sons and servants 
 with their red faces instead of the pale 
 lean colliers and iron-workers of the day 
 before. However, when I got through 
 Bassaleg with its beautiful white church, 
 the home of the Welsh bard David ap 
 Gwillam, I was told that my road to 
 Caerphilly went through Machen, and I 
 knew without more information that I 
 was to go through another colliery dis- 
 trict. In spite of that knowledge I was 
 not much troubled, for I knew that the 
 road between Caerphilly would be chiefly 
 open and green country. 
 234 
 
A LONG WALK 
 
 Perhaps this was the most pleasant 
 walk I had ever had, owing to the friend- 
 liness of the people, for not only did the 
 men greet me but even tlie women did 
 the same. And when women greet a 
 strange man, the district must have a 
 friendly spirit that is exceptional. In 
 fact, when I went into the inn at Machen 
 the landlady was so easy, cheerful and 
 talkative that I felt like a native of the 
 town. At one time I put this friendly 
 spirit to the test by turning my back 
 on two men that were approaching, and 
 pretending to be deeply interested in 
 Machen mountain, which was in the near 
 distance. But these men still greeted me 
 and made me turn my face to answer 
 them, which was a real pleasure after 
 all. I did not hear a word of Welsh all 
 along this road, although every name 
 that came under my notice was Welsh 
 without the least doubt. Just before I 
 got into Bedwas one name in particular 
 drew my attention — it was the Ty-yn-y- 
 Phll Inn, which is as surely Welsh as 
 Patrick Flanagan is Irish. I tried to 
 235 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 pronounce it, but had to give it up in 
 despair, coming to the conclusion that 
 as there is no accounting for the way 
 such names are pronounced, I should be 
 quite likely to be near the mark if I 
 called it Jones or Smith. 
 
 Not long after this I came to the little 
 town of Bedwas, which has the river 
 Rumney running through it. It is always 
 pleasant to be in a town that has a river, 
 and I don't think any place can claim 
 real beauty unless it has this one form of 
 animated nature. 
 
 I was soon standing on the little stone 
 bridge, resting on its parapet for a while 
 before I continued my journey into Caer- 
 philly. It was on this bridge that Gutto 
 Nyth Bran, the famous runner, whom I 
 have mentioned in a previous chapter, 
 met his death in an unfortunate manner. 
 He was running a race against the cham- 
 pion of all England from Newport bridge 
 to Bedwas bridge, and being the winner, 
 the farmers who had gathered to see the 
 result were mad with excitement. But 
 vinfortunately one old dame could not 
 236 
 
A LONG WALK 
 
 contain her joy, for as Gutto passed the 
 winning post, still going comparatively 
 fresh and strong, she struck him a blow 
 on the back, crying out, " Well done, 
 Gutto." When Gutto received the blow 
 he fell to the earth, and when they picked 
 him up he was dead. 
 
 After having this little rest, I pushed 
 on towards Caerphilly, a town that is so 
 well known for its old castle and a certain 
 good cheese, and also for a market town 
 of some importance. As I did not intend 
 to stay there overnight, and still had a 
 long walk before me, I was very glad to 
 hear that I should pass close by the old 
 castle without going a step out of my 
 way on the road to Cardiff. It was not 
 long before I saw the ruin close at hand, 
 and, judging by its size, the castle must 
 have been very strong in its day. Seen 
 from where I stood, it looked so well pre- 
 served that I would not disillusion myself 
 by going in between its walls to see their 
 decay. So, after taking a long, admiring 
 look, I continued my journey, being well 
 satisfied with what I had seen, and with- 
 237 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 out envying the two visitors I saw walking 
 close to its wall. 
 
 The road going out of CaeriDhilly to- 
 wards Cardiff was very steep and moun- 
 tainous. For a well-made road it was the 
 steepest I had ever seen. From different 
 parts of this road one could get wonderful 
 views of the town and the surrounding 
 hills. The strangest thing was that this 
 mountain, over which the road went, was 
 a green wilderness without a house of 
 any kind to be seen. In fact, the road 
 went through a country that was open 
 and green nearly all the way from Caer- 
 philly to Cardiff, a distance of six miles. 
 Moreover, the road, well made as it was, 
 did not appear to be used much by either 
 pedestrians, or the traffic of horses and 
 carts, or any other kind of conveyance. 
 With the exception of a few cattle here 
 and there, I seemed to be the only living 
 thing on the mountain. It was not until 
 I got within three miles of Cardiff that 
 I began to see much human life. This 
 walk from Caerphilly to Cardiff surprised 
 me very much, for I knew that the latter 
 238 
 
A LONG WALK 
 
 was a large city, and I expected its suburbs 
 and outskirts would have reached out 
 so far that there would have been only 
 a couple of miles of green country be- 
 tween it and Caerphilly. Instead of that 
 it was open country nearly all the way. 
 
 When I was about half-way between 
 the two towns I was overtaken by a 
 stranger who, without the least reserve, 
 began to walk at my side and talk. I 
 judged this man to be no more than a 
 common worker, in spite of his clothes, 
 which were good and black. It is seldom 
 that the poorer classes of Wales buy any 
 other than black as a change from their 
 working clothes. The reason of this is 
 that they pay so much respect to the dead 
 in attending funerals, that every man is ex- 
 pected to have a suit of black in readiness 
 at a moment's notice. A Welshman loses 
 several days' work every year in order to 
 do this, and often to oblige people he hardly 
 knows. 
 
 Judging by this man's clothes, and seeing 
 that it was not a general holiday or 
 Sunday, I came to the conclusion that he 
 239 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 was either under the doctor's care or out 
 of work for a Httle time, but not in strait- 
 ened circumstances. 
 
 " Are you a preacher of the gospel ? " 
 he asked ahnost at once, to my surprise. 
 Perhaps it was the large black tie that I 
 wore, so as to cover a shirt that might get 
 dirty, which made him ask this question. 
 
 " No;" I answered ; " what made you 
 think that ? " And then wondering what 
 effect my words would have, I added, 
 " I'm not a parson, I'm only a poet." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the stranger, com- 
 ing to a halt in the road. " What, do you 
 mean to tell me that you're a poet ? " 
 
 Of course I could sec at once that this 
 man had some respect for a poet, so I 
 said again, seriously and proudly, " Yes, 
 that's what I am, a poet." 
 
 After I made this affirmation he stared 
 at me for such a long time that I almost 
 burst out laughing in his face. At last 
 he said, leading the way to a small gate 
 at the side of the road : " Come and stand 
 here a minute, will you ? " 
 
 The next moment he was at the gate and 
 240 
 
A LONG WALK 
 
 looking into a large meadow where there 
 were about twenty cows lying or standing 
 in different positions. I was soon by 
 his side, for I knew no reason why I 
 should not humour him, although I had 
 no idea of what was to come of it. 
 
 " Now, this is a beautiful scene," he 
 began, with a rainbow sweep of his arm 
 which took in the clouds, meadow and 
 hedges that were its boundaries. 
 
 "It is," I answered, wondering what 
 he would say next. 
 
 " Well," he said, " if you are a poet, 
 as you say you are, make poetry of it 
 and I'll believe you." 
 
 " I couldn't do that at a moment's 
 notice," I answered. " I must have time 
 for thought." 
 
 He appeared to be disappointed at 
 this, and then asked, " Are you going to 
 Cardiff ? " 
 
 I answered that I was, and he said, 
 " Come, then, and we will talk as we go 
 along." 
 
 It was not long before the stranger 
 again returned to the subject of poetry, 
 241 Q 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 saying, " My wife makes poetry every 
 time some one dies or a baby is ^born, 
 and she knows a lot of poetry written by 
 other people, as well as what comes out 
 of her own head." 
 
 " Do you remember anything written 
 by your wife ? " I asked. 
 
 " No," he answered, after a long pause 
 in Avhich he had tried to remember 
 something. " No, but I know two 
 lines by some one else which she often 
 quotes." 
 
 " I'd like to hear them," I said, with 
 real interest. The stranger cleared his 
 throat and then began : 
 
 " Man works from sun to sun, 
 But woman's work is never done." 
 
 " Do you know these lines ? " asked 
 the stranger. 
 
 " Yes, I know them very well," I 
 answered. 
 
 " Ha ! perhaps you wrote them," he 
 exclaimed in a voice of triumph. 
 
 " Oh, no," I answered. " T^iesc lines 
 are very old, and seeing that they are of 
 242 
 
A LONG WALK 
 
 such interest to women, most likely a 
 woman w rote them . ' ' 
 
 Wc went along chatting in this way 
 until we came to an inn, where I came to 
 a halt and invited the stranger to have 
 a drink. 
 
 While we were there the stranger said 
 in a coaxing voice, " I wish you would 
 write me some poetry on a piece of paper 
 to show my wife and to prove that I 
 have been with a poet." 
 
 After a little thought I said : "I will, 
 but only on one condition, and that is 
 that you will not read it until you get 
 home." 
 
 " I'll promise you that," he answered. 
 " The fact is I can neither read nor write." 
 
 When I heard this I was delighted 
 and lost no time in writing out three 
 little verses which were in my note-book 
 in my pocket. When this was done I 
 gave him the little sheet of paper with 
 the poem on it, which he folded with 
 great care and placed in the inside pocket 
 of his coat. After this we left the inn, 
 and it was not long before he wished 
 243 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 me good-bye and good luck, for he was 
 taking the road to Whitchurch, whereas 
 I was keeping the main road to Cardiff. 
 As I went along after the stranger had 
 left me, I began to laugh and wonder what 
 his wife would think of my poetry, and 
 whether the man would be astonished 
 at what his wife would read to him. 
 For these are the verses, to which I gave 
 a suitable title : — 
 
 To the Woman, who tvill read this Poem to her 
 Husband. 
 
 I am the Poet Davies, William, 
 I sin without a blush or blink : 
 
 I am a man that lives to eat ; 
 I am a man that lives to drink. 
 
 My face is large, my lips are thick. 
 My skin is coarse and black almost ; 
 
 But the ugliest feature is my verse, 
 
 Which proves my soul is black and lost. 
 
 Thank heaven thou didst not marry me, 
 
 A ppet full of blackest evil ; 
 For how to manage my damned soul, 
 
 Will puzzle many a flaming devil. 
 
 Soon after this man had left me, I was 
 well into Cardiff with houses on both 
 244 
 
A LONG WALK 
 
 sides of mc. In fact, I was walking on 
 a well-made footpath at the side of the 
 road, which proved that I was now in 
 Cardiff without mistake, and I was passing 
 so many people that I had to keep my 
 mind from wandering, for fear of coming 
 into collision with some one. 
 
 Perhaps that is the reason why a 
 small boy who was collecting money in 
 a cigar box took advantage of me. This 
 little boy had held a box in front of 
 me, and thinking he was collecting for 
 some charity, such as the sick, the blind, 
 orphans, the widows of drowned seamen, 
 or the Salvation Army — I dropped 
 a penny through the slit in the top, 
 without the least thought of who or 
 what was to benefit by what I was 
 doing. For I have never, of late years, 
 refused a penny to these collecting 
 boxes, no matter in whose hands they 
 are held or what kind of charity it is. 
 However, before I continued on my way, 
 it suddenly occurred to me that I had 
 seen no letters of any kind on the box 
 to show what the boy was collecting for. 
 245 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 So I took a few steps back, and out of 
 curiosity said to the boy, " What are 
 you collecting for ? " 
 
 " My birthday," he answered innocently. 
 
 " What ! " I exclaimed in surprise. 
 " What ! your birthday ; suppose a police- 
 man saw you ? " 
 
 " If he did," answered the little fellow, 
 as innocent as ever, — " If he did, I'd ask 
 him for a penny." 
 
 " How old are you ? " I asked. 
 
 " I'm eight years old to-day," said 
 the boy, " and my father mends boilers." 
 
 " Never mind about your father," I said. 
 " Don't you know that you can be sent 
 to prison for collecting money for your 
 birthday ? " 
 
 " Gar'n," said the boy. " Don't my 
 mother know Mrs. Smith who married a 
 policeman." 
 
 Not caring to waste any more time, 
 I left that innocent little stranger, won- 
 dering whether he, being such a good 
 beggar at that early age, would ever 
 become the leader of the Salvation Army. 
 I could not help wondering how he had 
 246 
 
A LONG WALK 
 
 escaped the eyes of a policeman or an 
 officer in plain clothes, seeing that he 
 was so bold and without the least sus- 
 picion of wrongdoing. Judging by the 
 sound when he had rattled the box to 
 draw my attention to it, he must have 
 succeeded in begging several pennies. 
 
 Making my way into the business part 
 of Cardiff, I passed through Cathay s 
 Park, but it was then the dusk of even- 
 ing. However, it was not too dark to 
 see the fine public buildings erected there ; 
 and their size and magnificence made me 
 think of London. 
 
 Although I was now tired, having walked 
 more than twenty miles, I came to the 
 conclusion that it was one of the best 
 day's walks I had ever had, not so much 
 for the beauty I saw as for the friendliness 
 of the people I had met. 
 
 247 
 
WILLIA]\I 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 WILLIAM 
 
 This ended my travels in Wales, and 
 when I left Cardiff it was to take train 
 to Bristol with the intention of walking 
 part of the way back to London. 
 
 I had taken a seat in a carriage that 
 only contained one other passenger, the 
 carriage being in the front part of the 
 train. I judged this man to be a gentle- 
 man farmer, and when he opened a 
 basket and offered me an apple, saying 
 that he could recommend it as it is the 
 best fruit in his orchard — when he did 
 this, I knew I had not misjudged him. 
 
 After taking the apple, which I put 
 in my pocket, for I was enjoying my 
 pipe at the time, I began a conversation 
 with him. But we had not been talking 
 long when a guard who was going along 
 the corridor stopped in front of our door 
 251 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 and said, " Are you nervous, either 
 one of you ? " 
 
 Being men, we of course said no, and 
 looked to him for an explanation. " Be- 
 cause," he continued, " the electric light 
 has gone wrong in this part of the train, 
 and when going through the Severn tunnel 
 you will be in total darkness. But if 
 you are nervous you can change carriages 
 and go to the other end of the train, 
 which will be lighted." 
 
 " It's all right for me," I answered, 
 looking at my fellow-passenger, to hear 
 what he had to say on the subject. How- 
 ever, he was eating an apple and, although 
 he appeared to be attentive, did not 
 answer one way or another. So the guard, 
 apparently satisfied, continued his walk 
 along the corridor. 
 
 Not long after this we came to the 
 Severn tunnel, and when the train passed 
 in one second from broad daylight into 
 total darkness, I must confess that the 
 sudden change affected me unpleasantly. 
 There was not the least glimmer of light, 
 and it was the first time I had ever 
 252 
 
WILLIAM 
 
 travelled under such strange conditions. 
 Again, the train appeared to be travelling 
 at such tremendous speed that I thought 
 it must be beyond human control. The 
 noise was so great that we appeared 
 to be crashing through the solid rocks, 
 and making our own tunnel as we went 
 along. 
 
 However, I was determined not to lose 
 the control of my nerves, although I 
 knew that the experience would last seven 
 long minutes. So when we had been in 
 the tunnel for about a minute, which 
 seemed ten, I closed my ej^es and settled 
 in my corner, feeling more at ease and 
 comfortable that I did not see the dark- 
 ness. Unfortunately, about this time I 
 heard a voice screaming not far away, 
 and knew at once that my fellow-pas- 
 senger was trying to tell me something. 
 But I could not understand a word he 
 said and, losing my temper, screamed 
 back, " Shut up ; how the devil can 
 we talk in this noise." 
 
 Of course he could not hear what I 
 said, and the next moment was screaming 
 253 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 louder than ever, trying to make himself « 
 heard above the screaming cars. 
 
 " He's gone mad," I thought, putting 
 my hand out and feeling in the dark 
 to make sure that he was not coming 
 near. 
 
 I was just on the point of settling 
 again when all at once I felt something 
 strike my foot, and the next moment a 
 heavy body fell right across my knee. 
 It was my fellows-passenger,- and I knew 
 that he had to be restrained, for he had 
 no right to have left his seat. 
 
 So I grabbed him round the arms 
 below his shoulders, and held him fast, 
 sitting on my knees ; and if he had made 
 the least struggle at that moment I was 
 determined to find his throat and strangle 
 him. " Let me go," he cried. 
 
 " Wait until we come into the light," 
 I answered in a loud voice. 
 
 " Are you mad ? " he shouted. 
 
 To this I made no answer, but stuck 
 
 to him grimly. But he was a big man, 
 
 and using all his strength he gave a sudden 
 
 jerk and was out of my arms almost 
 
 254 
 
WILLIAM 
 
 ibeforc I knew it. His feet had been 
 placed firmly on the floor and this had 
 given him great power. As soon as I 
 found he was escaping for certain, I let 
 go and gave him a strong push, which 
 made him fall into the opposite seat. 
 After doing this I moved as quickly as 
 I could without getting up, towards the 
 end of the car. So that, if he intended 
 to make a second attack, he would have 
 to feel for me in the dark. When I was 
 settled at the other end of the car, I 
 sat there quietly feeling around me all 
 the time, to make sure that my fellow- 
 passenger was not searching for me in 
 the same way. 
 
 Although I could not feel anything 
 of him, yet for all that I still kept my 
 hand at work expecting every moment 
 that it would come in contact with a 
 man's flesh or clothes. It almost seemed 
 as if I would have to do this for ever, 
 for the train was still crashing and scream- 
 ing through the tunnel. However, the 
 seven miles came to an end at last, and 
 we found the light as suddenly as we had 
 255 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 lost it, and the screaming noise fell at 
 once into a deep soft purr. As soon as 
 I had the use of my eyes I looked for 
 my fellow-passenger, and there I saw 
 him standing in the corridor in front of 
 the carriage door. 
 
 " What's the matter with you ? " I 
 asked sternly, as he entered the carriage. 
 
 " There's nothing the matter with me," 
 he answered coldly, '' but what w^as the 
 matter with you ? I only got up to 
 close the window in the corridor, to keep 
 out the foul air. Why didn't you do it 
 when I asked you ? " 
 
 When I heard this I felt ashamed, and 
 hardly knew what to say. However, I 
 told him at last that I thought he had 
 lost his head owing to the darkness, the 
 great speed we were travelling at, and 
 the noise ; and that I thought I was 
 doing him a kindness in trying to hold 
 him until we came into the light. Hear- 
 ing this he laughed, but confessed that 
 had he known what his feelings would 
 have been, he would have changed cars. 
 " No more travelling for seven minutes 
 256 
 
WILLIAM 
 
 in total darkness," he said, taking an- 
 other apple out of his pocket and biting 
 a mouthful that reduced it by half. 
 
 It was certainly not a very pleasant 
 experience. A little light would have made 
 a great difference in the speed and the 
 noise, because it would have restrained 
 our imagination. As it was, it was the 
 longest seven minutes I had ever lived, 
 because of the mistake I had made with 
 my fellow-passenger. This adventure may 
 sound absurd and ridiculous because of 
 its end, but the truth is that I have sel- 
 dom been so thoroughly excited in all 
 my life. 
 
 It was now Saturday and, having 
 reached Bristol in due course, I secured 
 comfortable and clean lodgings at the 
 first place I went to, which was in Vic- 
 toria Street. I was very much surprised 
 at the trustfulness of this landlady, for 
 when I had dinner at midday and offered 
 to pay her in advance for accommodation 
 until Monday morning, she said at once, 
 " You can settle with me altogether when 
 you go away on Monday morning." I 
 257 R 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 thought this trustfulness extraordinary, 
 in fact fooHsh. For I should be going 
 in and out without leaving the least 
 luggage in her charge, not even a small 
 handbag. 
 
 After I had had tea on this Saturday 
 evening I went around some of the old 
 haunts which I used to frequent years 
 before. My chief interest was to find a 
 public-house called the Goat and Armour 
 which used to be on the Narrow Quay. 
 But when I got there I heard that the 
 Goat and Armour had been done away 
 with for years. I was considerably sur- 
 prised at this, for I had so much confidence 
 in its life, knowing that inns, like churches, 
 were very long livers indeed. So it can 
 be imagined I was disappointed to hear 
 such bad news. 
 
 When I was a boy this house was kept 
 by a Newport man, who was known to 
 some of my people, but who was now 
 dead. As I stood at the spot twenty- 
 five years after, I began to think of the 
 past, the amusing things that had hap- 
 pened there. But, thinking of the great 
 258 
 
WILLIAM 
 
 changes that had come since, I did not 
 feel very much amused at the remem- 
 brance. 
 
 At that time I came as a boy of 
 sixteen or seventeen years of age, 
 with some of my elders, on a two days' 
 excursion to Bristol. When we arrived 
 we lost no time in coming to the Goat 
 and Armour, where we intended to sleep 
 that night. We reached it about noon, 
 and after we had had dinner, the land- 
 lady — a small wiry little woman — pro- 
 posed that we should all go for a drive 
 during the rest of the day, leaving the 
 landlord to look after the house. He, 
 being fat and good-natured, and older 
 than his wife by some years, seemed to 
 be pleased at this suggestion and hur- 
 ried us off, so that we might get the 
 best of the day ; we being four in num- 
 ber. 
 
 When we returned, after having been 
 for a long drive, stopping at various 
 places for refreshment, it was getting 
 late in the night. However, the land- 
 lord appeared as jolly as ever, and did 
 259 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 not seem the least annoyed at being 
 left so long alone. But that night, after 
 we had all gone to bed, I was suddenly 
 awakened by hearing a loud voice say- 
 ing, " Are you going to get mc some 
 bread and cheese and mustard ? You 
 have been out all day and I want some- 
 thing to eat." 
 
 This was the landlord complaining 
 to his wife ; but she, whether awake 
 or not, made no answer that I could 
 hear. 
 
 " Are you going to get me some bread 
 and cheese and mustard ? " he shouted 
 again, in a still louder voice. 
 
 At last, failing to get an answer, al- 
 though his wife must have been wide 
 awake, he began to scream like a little 
 child, " Bread and cheese and mus- 
 tard ! Bread and cheese and mustard ! 
 Bread and cheese and mustard ! " How 
 long this would have lasted I cannot 
 say, for all at once I heard a heavy thud 
 which shook the whole house ; and then 
 in the silence that followed a woman's 
 voice said calmly, " There you are ; 
 260 
 
WILLIAM 
 
 there's bread and cheese and mustard 
 for you." 
 
 She had pushed him out of bed, and 
 he being fat and something the worse 
 for drink, was too mueh shaken to get 
 up from the floor, although no doubt he 
 made several attempts. After hearing him 
 groan for a while, I could hear no more 
 from either of them, so he must have 
 surrendered to his strange position and 
 fallen into a heavy sleep. When I got 
 up the next morning there was not the 
 least sign that the landlord and his wife 
 had had a difference in the night, for they 
 both greeted me with the utmost cheer- 
 fulness. Seeing this I began to doubt 
 whether such a thing had happened 
 at all, and my first thought was that 
 I had only dreamt it. 
 
 Thinking of these things, and feeling 
 rather melancholy as a result, I entered 
 the first public-house I came to and 
 ordered a glass of ale. The landlord ap- 
 peared to be very sociable and friendly, 
 so I talked to him of Bristol and my 
 experiences there in the past. But we 
 261 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 had hardly been talking five minutes 
 when the door opened and a stranger 
 entered, walking carefully. 
 
 "Hello, William," cried the landlord 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Hearing this, I turned my head and 
 then saw that the new-comer was a blind 
 man, with a tin cup hanging from his 
 neck. 
 
 "Half a pint of beer for William," 
 he said, as soon as he reached the bar ; 
 then, taking the money out of his pocket 
 and feeling it carefully, he held it in his 
 hand on the bar, and did not, as other 
 customers would, let go the coins until 
 the landlord was ready to take them 
 direct from him. The poor fellow knew 
 that some one else was present, for he 
 had heard me move to make room for 
 him to reach the bar ; and he did not 
 know whether I was a thief or an honest 
 man, and for that reason lield his money 
 until the last moment. 
 
 I have always had great sympathy for 
 the blind, and have often given them 
 pennies when I could afford no more 
 262 
 
WILLIAM 
 
 than fourpence for a bed. The bUnd 
 are the world's children that never grow 
 independent. Kings must make way for 
 them and the fine proud duchess must 
 step into the gutter to let them pass. 
 The one dare not say, " I am the king," 
 nor the other boast of her high birth. 
 
 " Put your money back, William," I 
 said, " and have this drink with me." 
 
 " Thank you," answered the blind man, 
 very simply, for he had grown accus- 
 tomed to receiving kindness at the hands 
 of strangers. 
 
 " Tell me if a fly drops into the beer, 
 won't you ? " 
 
 After saying this he raised his voice 
 a little higher to show that he was now 
 addressing the landlord, who was behind 
 the bar and not so near as I was, saying, 
 " Do you know what a man told William 
 one day ? " 
 
 " No, William, I don't," answered the 
 landlord, 
 
 " Well," continued the blind man, " he 
 told William that a fly had more than 
 a hundred eyes. Yes, to think that a 
 263 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 little fly has all these eyes and a man 
 has only two. Two, mark you, with 
 all this traffic of horses and carts and 
 steam cars, when a man needs as many 
 eyes as a blasted little fly." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "even a man that has 
 two sharp eyes has as much as he can 
 do to escape the traffic, what with motor- 
 buses, taxi-cabs and motor-cars." 
 
 " You are right," agreed the landlord. 
 " The world's in too great a hurry now 
 with its crazy crowd of money-makers, 
 who have no time to stop at an inn for a 
 little refreshment." 
 
 " Your custom," I said to the land- 
 lord, "relies principally on horse drivers 
 and pedestrians, but horses are almost 
 a back number now, for they are far 
 too slow for these days." 
 
 " Aye, but we'll be glad of the horses 
 yet," said the blind man grimly. " They'll 
 not be too slow for our funerals ; there'll 
 be no indecent hurry when that time 
 comes, you can take William's word for 
 that." 
 
 The blind man had no sooner uttered 
 264 
 
WILLIAM 
 
 these words before the door opened sud- 
 denly and in walked a customer, a negro 
 this time. Walking up to the bar, the 
 new-comer — a surly-looking fellow — looked 
 at the landlord and then pointed at my 
 glass of beer, intimating that he wanted 
 the same, but never once opened his 
 mouth to speak. When I saw this I 
 was not only surprised but also annoyed, 
 for I knew that this silent stranger would 
 spoil our genial company. When he 
 was served he took a drink where he 
 was standing, and then sat down with 
 the glass still in his hand, close to the 
 blind man's side. The landlord, not liking 
 this strange behaviour, began to make 
 himself busy behind the bar, wiping the 
 shelves and dusting bottles ; and I, feeling 
 more annoyed than ever, took a news- 
 paper out of my pocket and began to 
 glance at its contents. But. I had scarcely 
 been reading a minute when I was startled 
 by a loud, clear voice, crying, " Anti- 
 pathy, William." Looking up I saw the 
 white, stern face of the blind man, sitting 
 with his body as straight and as immov- 
 265 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 able as a rock. The negro, as soon as 
 he heard this, looked first at the blind 
 man and then across to me. It was 
 apparent that he did not understand, 
 and now for the first time he began to 
 show a little interest in his company. 
 
 " Antipathy, William," cried the blind 
 man for the second time. After this 
 second cry there was a long silence, so 
 unbearable to me that I began to rustle 
 the paper, to make some noise. 
 
 However, I was soon saved any further 
 anxiety, for in a few moments I heard 
 another noise, and looking saw that the 
 blind man was rising to his feet. On this 
 I got up to assist him, and seeing his 
 face turned towards the door, led him 
 in that direction. 
 
 " Good-bye, William," cried the land- 
 lord, as the blind man reached the door. 
 The only answer the blind man gave 
 to this was, as soon as one foot was in 
 the street, a third cry, loud, clear and 
 distinct, " Antipathy, William." 
 
 When I was returning to my seat 
 I saw that the negro had also risen and 
 266 
 
WILLIAM 
 
 was placing his empty glass on the bar, 
 just about to leave. 
 
 " Landlord," I said as soon as the 
 negro had gone, — " Landlord, will you 
 have a drink with me ? " 
 
 " With pleasure," he answered, pouring 
 himself out a drop of whisky, which I 
 paid for, and also a second glass of ale 
 for myself. 
 
 " What did you think about the blind 
 man's cry of ' Antipathy, William ' ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh, I suppose he didn't like the 
 negro's company," returned the land- 
 lord. 
 
 " But do you think he knew the stranger 
 was a negro ? " I said. 
 
 " I certainly do," answered the land- 
 lord, " because of the smell." 
 
 Hearing this I was of course not sur- 
 prised, remembering my own experience 
 in America. I had known white men 
 in that country who could go into a dark 
 room, and if a negro was in it could tell 
 by the smell, even when they could see 
 nothing. And of course a blind man's 
 207 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 sense of smell would be ever so much 
 more keen, and his hearing also. 
 
 Although I thought that the landlord 
 was probably right that the blind man 
 knew the negro by his smell, yet for all 
 that I still had another idea and said, 
 " Perhaps it was not so much the smell 
 as the fact that he was sitting side by 
 side with an unfriendly stranger who did 
 not once utter a word. I wonder if it 
 was that that made the blind man's face 
 so weary and distressed." 
 
 " There's something in what you say," 
 answered the landlord thoughtfully. 
 
 " You seem to know William very 
 well," I said. 
 
 " Yes," answered the landlord, " he 
 comes in here often, and is a very quaint 
 fellow. One day when I was passing 
 him on his pitch, seeing his lips continu- 
 ally working, I bent down curious to 
 know what he was saying. I expected, 
 of course, to hear him whining some long 
 appeal for alms, with such words as, 
 ' Please put a penny in a poor blind 
 man's cup,' etc. You can judge of my 
 268 
 
WILLIAM 
 
 astonishment when instead of that being 
 the case, I heard him cursing the world 
 for all he was worth. No one could hear 
 him because of the traffic, so what 
 did it matter ? People who saw his 
 lips moving naturally thought he was 
 humbly entreating their charity. But 
 what he was saying was this : ' Where 
 are the blasted people gone to ? it's half 
 an hour since anything came into the 
 cup. Are they lying in bed dreaming, 
 the lazy swine ! If they had lousy blan- 
 kets they'd soon be walking about, and 
 William would then stand some chance 
 of getting a penny or two. Must William 
 sit here all day without getting anything 
 at all ? Why don't some of you stop, 
 you blasted rotters, and put something 
 into ^Villiam's cup ? Are you going to 
 keep him here all day without anything ? 
 Oh, you God -forsaken heathens ! Curse 
 you all, you herd of swine ! ' " 
 
 " That," continued the landlord, " is 
 
 a fair sample of his language. But as 
 
 soon as I dropped a penny into his cup 
 
 he changed his tone at once, and said 
 
 269 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 fervently, ' Thank you, kind Christian ; 
 God bless you.' " 
 
 I was not surprised at hearing this 
 story, much less astonished, for I imme- 
 diately came to the conclusion that I 
 should have done exactly the same under 
 the circumstances. It was a pleasure 
 and relief to that blind man to use the 
 strongest language he could command, and 
 much more interesting than whining ; 
 and as no one heard him, and pitied his 
 lips because they moved, and not for 
 what they said — under these circumstances 
 what did it matter to any but himself? 
 
 Soon after this I wished the landlord 
 good evening and made my way home. 
 
 270 
 
THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELLERS 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELLERS 
 
 The following morning, being Sunday, I 
 went to the service at the cathedral. 
 The preacher, who was an elderly man, 
 big and heavy, preached a very clear 
 and simple sermon with much eloquence. 
 There was not one flowery sentence in 
 the whole sermon and the preacher had 
 apparently outgrown his joy in pretty 
 fancies. After the service I crossed the 
 road, where there was an open place 
 called College Green. Reaching a seat 
 I sat down near a little girl who was 
 not much more than a baby, and who was 
 then about to toddle after a sparrow, and 
 was scolding him for not alloAving himself 
 to be caught. Thinking this a good chance 
 to put down a few thoughts that had 
 been in my mind all the morning I took 
 out my notebook and began to write. 
 273 s 
 
A POET'S PILGRllVIAGE 
 
 There were hundreds of people passing 
 by, for it was near dinner-time and they 
 were making their way home. After writ- 
 ing for a few moments, I looked up, 
 being in a staring study, deep and thought- 
 ful. But I was soon brought back to 
 my surroundings, for in a few moments 
 I became conscious that hundreds of 
 people had me set as an object of interest. 
 Daughters were drawing their fathers' 
 attention towards where I sat ; mothers 
 were nudging their sons, and lovers were 
 whispering to each other to look. As 
 soon as I became aware of this I put my 
 notebook back in my pocket and went 
 my way, trying to look like an ordinary 
 man. 
 
 What surprised me so much at causing 
 all this sensation was that I was not 
 dressed in any way odd, and had neither 
 the long hair of a dreamer nor his wild 
 looks. In fact, as long as I kept walk- 
 ing, people took not the least notice of 
 me. It was the notebook that must 
 have caused all the l^othcr. I wonder 
 why people are so much impressed by 
 274 
 
THE COMSIERCIAL TRAVELLERS 
 
 the sight of books. One time, when I 
 was Hving in a cottage in the country, I 
 happened to be walking in the garden 
 when two women were passing the gate. 
 Suddenly one of the women cried in a 
 strange voice of awe, " Look, he has 
 a book in his hand." She said this in 
 the same tone she would have used if she 
 had said, " Look, he has a pistol in his 
 hand." 
 
 At this house where I was now lodging 
 there were, among others, two men that 
 were commercial travellers ; one very 
 friendly and talkative, and the other very 
 quiet and reserved. I should not have 
 taken any objection to the latter's re- 
 serve, but, unfortunately, his face was 
 often seen to have unfavourable expres- 
 sions, which I did not like. These sneer- 
 ing expressions always followed opinions 
 uttered by the other commercial tra- 
 veller. When this sullen man heard my 
 approval of these opinions, I could see at 
 once by his expression that I had made 
 an enemy of him. The man did not 
 utter a word with the exception of a curt 
 275 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 greeting when he came for his meals, 
 during Saturday and Sunday. 
 
 But when Monday morning came, 
 I happened to be sitting in the room 
 alone when he entered. To my surprise 
 he said quite cheerfully, " Good morn- 
 ing," with a smile that lit up all his face. 
 " Where's that little tinpot traveller ? " 
 he asked. " What ! he to call himself 
 a commercial traveller ! It's a man of 
 that kind that disgraces the profession." 
 When I heard this I could see at once 
 that it was jealousy, and nothing else, 
 that was the cause of this man's sullen 
 humour. If he had not taken a dislike 
 to the other commercial traveller, no doubt 
 he would have been friendly enough. 
 For on this occasion he talked at such 
 a rate it appeared as though he wanted 
 to make up for lost time. His subject 
 was the vicissitudes of a commercial 
 traveller, telling of the good times in 
 the past and the disappointments of the 
 present day. He told, for instance, how 
 he had ten years ago travelled for a noted 
 soap firm. But this firm changed hands 
 276 
 
THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELLERS 
 
 and the new owners discharged the old 
 experienced travellers, who were earning 
 £11 a week each man, and employed 
 in their stead twenty boys at a salary 
 of twenty- five shillings each a week and 
 a small commission. After telling me 
 this the old traveller looked at me for 
 a long time in silence, and then said, 
 " What has been the consequence ? " I 
 waited to hear more, but he stared at 
 me so long that I became somewhat con- 
 fused. 
 
 '' I ask you," he said again in a very 
 solemn voice, — " I ask you, what has been 
 the consequence ? " 
 
 By this time he had such a hard, stern 
 expression that I began to feel uncom- 
 fortable, especially as he was waiting 
 for some kind of an answer, and I did 
 not know what kind to give. However, 
 I managed to say at last, " I really 
 don't know." 
 
 But he did not appear satisfied at this, 
 and still stared at me in silence without 
 the least sign of giving me any enlighten- 
 ment, 
 
 277 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 After this second long pause, in which 
 I felt more confused than ever, because 
 of his hard looks, he said slowly and 
 solemnly, " Can you think of any one 
 who uses that soap at the present day ? " 
 
 278 
 
WASTING TIME 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 WASTING TIME 
 
 Sometimes I watch the moon at night, 
 No matter be she near or far ; 
 
 Up high, or in a leafy tree 
 
 Caught laughing like a bigger star. 
 
 To-night the west is full of clouds ; 
 
 The east is full of stars that fly 
 Into the cloud's dark foliage. 
 
 And the moon will follow l^y and by, 
 
 I see a dark brown shabby cloud — 
 The moon has gone behind its back ; 
 
 I looked to see her turn it white — 
 She turned it to a lovely black. 
 
 A lovely cloud, a jet-black cloud ; 
 
 It shines Avith such a glorious light, 
 That I am glad with all my heart , 
 
 She turned it black instead of white. 
 
 On Monday I left Bristol, going by train 
 to Chippenham, from which place I in- 
 tended to walk to Maidenhead. I reached 
 Chippenham just before noon, and after 
 looking at the town for a while took the 
 281 
 
A POETS PILGRIMAGE 
 
 road towards Calnc, which was only six 
 miles away. 
 
 Soon after I left Chippenham, I saw a 
 man coming towards me who was evidently 
 a beggar ; I could soon see that. He must 
 have caught sight of me at the same time, 
 for I could see liis hand going into his 
 pocket, and the next moment it was out 
 again. I understood what this meant, 
 for I had often seen such movements made 
 by tramps. In fact, had I not often 
 made such movements myself ? He had 
 taken something out of his pocket which 
 he would try to sell to me, or beg on the 
 strength of it. In a few moments he 
 was near enough for me to see Avhat it was 
 — he had a small bunch of bootlaces in 
 his hand. 
 
 When this man reached my side he 
 stopped at once and, holding the laces 
 out, said, ^' Will you bu}^ a pair of laces 
 to assist a man out of work ? " 
 
 " I don't want your laces," I answered, 
 " but will pay for a pair without tak- 
 ing them." Saying this I gave him a 
 penny, which he thanked me for, and 
 282 
 
WASTING TIME 
 
 then put the laces back into his pocket. 
 
 " I shouldn't think you made much of 
 a living by selling laces," I said. 
 
 " No," he answered ; " but I am well 
 satisfied if people treat me in a proper 
 manner. But what annoys me more than 
 anything is the way people waste my 
 time." 
 
 I did not understand this remark, and 
 asked him what he meant by it. 
 
 '' Well," he said, " when I go to a house 
 with my laces people often keep me talk- 
 ing for a long time, and then either being 
 too poor, or thinking I am not deserving 
 of help, they refuse not only free money 
 but also to buy a pair of laces. Now I 
 ask you, as man to man, is that fair and 
 honest ? Who's going to pay me for my 
 wasted time ? While I am wasting time 
 on them I could be talking to others with 
 more success. But when people will keep 
 detaining me and still refuse either to 
 give for nothing or buy, and even shut the 
 door in my face after I have said, ' What 
 about my wasted time, who's going to pay 
 me for that ? ' — when I get cases of that 
 283 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 kind, it puts the very devil in me, as any 
 sensible person will understand." 
 
 " I can well understand your point of 
 view," I said. " People should not waste 
 your time in idle talk ; if they encourage 
 you to talk, by asking numerous questions, 
 they certainly should pay you for your 
 time, whether they think you are honest or 
 not." 
 
 When he heard this, he nodded approval 
 and said, " You're a man of understand- 
 ing, I can see that, and I'm very glad to 
 hear what you say. It's a great pity 
 that others have not the same kind con- 
 sideration. They know very well that 
 a man must live somehow, and some one 
 must pay him for his time ; but when I 
 say to them, ' What about my wasted 
 time, who's going to pay me for that ? ' 
 — when they hear this, they slam their 
 doors in my face. Thank God there are 
 a number of others who pay me at once, 
 without using my time at all. Good 
 day and thank you." 
 
 The next moment he was on the move, 
 going towards Chippenham. When this 
 284 
 
WASTING TIME 
 
 strange traveller had left me I began to 
 weigh his words and they did not appear 
 foolish by any means. For instance, we 
 cannot tell the honest seeker after work 
 from the professional tramp. This spoils 
 our resolution to discourage dishonest 
 men, for we dare not run the risk of 
 refusing a little help to a deserving man. 
 For that reason the real beggar must 
 triumph in our ignorance ; it places him 
 in the same position as the ancient 
 mariner, who had a glittering eye that 
 forced people to stand and hear him. And 
 if we do this we are then under a moral 
 obligation to pay him for his time, whether 
 we believe his story or not. If we do not 
 intend to assist him we must not waste 
 his time, but let him go his way. 
 
 After I had come to this conclusion I 
 hastened toAvards Calnc. When I arrived 
 at that town I was advised by a man I 
 spoke to, to try the Red House for accom- 
 modation. He told me that it was a 
 clean, respectable place, and the charges 
 would be moderate. But when I entered 
 the Red House I soon found that there 
 285 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 was no great eagerness to accommodate 
 strangers. For instance, when I applied 
 in the shop, the yomig woman could not 
 give me an answer as to whether there was 
 accommodation or not, and returned to 
 a back room to consult her mother. After 
 a while she returned and said, " I can't 
 give you an answer until my sister comes 
 in at half-past six." It was theri six o'clock, 
 so I ordered some tea and was then shown 
 into a back sitting-room. During the 
 tea-time the mother came into my room, 
 from a room still farther back, to have a 
 chat with me, and appeared well satisfied 
 with my company. At last her other 
 daughter came in, and after having a good 
 look at me, said : 
 
 *' Do you want accommodation for the 
 night ? " 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " if you can manage 
 it." 
 
 I was very pleased with myself for satis- 
 fying at last three pairs of suspicious 
 feminine eyes. That they were well satis- 
 fied with me in the end was soon made 
 apparent. For when I told them that I 
 286 
 
WASTING TIME 
 
 was going out for an liour, and offered to 
 pay for my tea, they had so Uttle suspicion 
 that I would not return that they said, 
 " No, you can settle in the morning for 
 everything, you have had." 
 
 After spending a couple of hours in the 
 public library, I went back to my lodgings 
 and was shown to my room. When I 
 looked out of the window^ I saw that the 
 moon was nearly full, and a great number 
 of stars were out, and there were also a 
 number of dark clouds coming up from the 
 west. The whole heavens were in motion, 
 and the coming clouds were as dark woods 
 into which the stars like birds were flying. 
 All at once I saw a very shabby-looking 
 cloud, the colour of slate, and it was ap- 
 proaching the moon at a great speed. I 
 could not go to bed until I saw what 
 effect this would have. Of course I did 
 not expect anything wonderful to surprise 
 me : I only thought that the cloud would 
 be made a shade whiter, owing to having 
 the moon behind it. But instead of this 
 happening, that cloud, to my wonder and 
 surprise, in crossing the moon turned at 
 - 287 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 once into a lovely jet black, shining like 
 a well-groomed horse. I could hardly 
 believe my eyes when I saw this, and was 
 very glad I had not missed it by going to 
 bed at once. 
 
 288 
 
THE HUNT 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE HUNT 
 
 We have no mind to reach that Pole 
 Where monarehs keep their icy courts, 
 
 Where lords and ladies, proud and cold, 
 ]\Iay do no more than smile at sports ; 
 
 Nay, laughing, lying at our ease 
 
 We keep our court beneath green trees. 
 
 Kings' beds are soft and silvery white, 
 While ours are golden straw or hay : 
 
 So let kings lie, Avhile gentle sleep 
 Attends our harder beds, when they. 
 
 Inside their soft white bedclothes, yell 
 
 That nightmares ride them down to hell. 
 
 Poor lords and ladies, what tame sport 
 To hunt a fox or stag, while we 
 
 Sit on a green bank in the sun 
 And chase for hours a faster flea ; 
 
 Which blesses us from day to day, 
 
 With all our faculties in play. 
 
 The cuckoo must be very fond of Wiltshire, 
 for his voice cheered me continually. 
 When I had left Calne on the following 
 morning I heard two of those birds singing 
 like the blacksmith's hammer and tongs, 
 and playing see-saw with their voices. 
 291 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 On this day I had parts of the great open 
 Downs to cross. They were not unfamiliar 
 to me, for I had travelled this road from 
 Calne to Marlborough in my real tramp 
 days, some years before. It was winter 
 at that time, and I was crossing a wild 
 part of the DoAvns, when it was dark, 
 although it was not yet seven o'clock. I 
 had not met any one for a long time and 
 began to think I was the only traveller 
 for miles around. But all at once I saw 
 a human form in the distance, and, to my 
 surprise, soon recognized that the traveller 
 was a woman. Seeing that she had a 
 large basket on her arm, I judged her to 
 be a pedlar. Thinking this woman would 
 be nervous at meeting a strange man in 
 such a lonely place in the dark, I stepped 
 aside a good way, so as to give her plenty 
 of room to pass. However, she was far 
 from being nervous, for she stopped at 
 once and asked me if I had a match. 
 
 " Yes," I said, stepping forward and 
 
 offering her my box of matches. But, 
 
 instead of taking them, she said, " AVill 
 
 you strike a light when I hold my shawl 
 
 292 
 
THE HUNT 
 
 out ? " Saying this she placed her basket 
 on the ground and then spread her shawl 
 against the wind. So we both bent our 
 faces behind her shawl and lighted our pipes. 
 ^ly pipe was made of wood, but she being 
 a truer traveller, was smoking a very short 
 black pipe of clay — a very nose-warmer. 
 After that we wished each other good 
 night, she being as cool and self-possessed 
 as though it were broad day and a hundred 
 people were within easy call. I remem- 
 bered the incident noAV, as I crossed the 
 Downs, a literary tramp, on this bright 
 morning in May. 
 
 On this particular day I met one of the 
 dirtiest fellows I had ever seen in my 
 life. I had been resting for a while, and 
 as I was about to continue my journey I 
 looked back and saw this man in the 
 distance, coming towards me. Seeing that 
 he was going my way I settled down 
 again to wait for him, watching his move- 
 ments as he came along. I noticed at 
 once that he was walking at a fast pace, 
 but what surprised me was that he often 
 came to a halt and made his hands feel 
 293 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 various parts of his clothes. My first 
 impression was that he had lost some- 
 thing and was searching for it. I saw 
 him halt quite a number of times and 
 make these quick movements, feeling down 
 both his legs, then in his bosom, and some- 
 times up both his sleeves. 
 
 " The poor fellow is in a terrible state 
 of worry," thought I. " Perhaps he has 
 lost silver, or even gold, which he has been 
 saving up. Such a loss is almost madness 
 to a poor man like that." 
 
 However, these were only my first 
 thoughts, for I soon came to the con- 
 clusion that the man was scratching him- 
 self owing to an attack of fleas. 
 
 When he had reached my side I saw at 
 once that he was inclined to pass without 
 saying a word, but I brought him to a halt 
 by inquiring his destination for the day. 
 He did not answer for some time, for he 
 had put his right hand down the back of 
 his neck to scratch his shoulder blade, 
 and this action choked his utterance. 
 However, after a time, he answered that 
 he was on his way to ]\farlborough. 
 291 
 
THE HUNT 
 
 " Let's walk together a little way," I 
 said, " for I am going there too, but I am 
 not able to walk very fast." 
 
 With these words I gave him twopence, 
 knowing that he would be in no great 
 hurry now, as he would hope for further 
 kindness before we parted for good. To 
 encourage him in this belief I offered 
 him tobacco, at the same time saying, 
 " I shall be glad when we come to an 
 inn." 
 
 After doing and saying this I knew my 
 trouble would not be to keep his company, 
 but to get rid of him at last. He began 
 to scratch more than ever now, as much 
 from delight as from fleas. 
 
 This stranger was a man of about forty- 
 five years of age, tall and lean. He had 
 a black bushy beard that did not hang, 
 but stuck out, and his hair was just long 
 enough to hang over the collar of his coat. 
 His clothes were not only torn, but ill 
 fitting too. In fact, there were so many 
 holes in his clothes that I really don't 
 know how he could have got back into 
 them again if he had once got out of them. 
 295 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 He had no heels to his boots and the laces 
 common string. 
 
 " Are you out of work ? " I asked as we 
 went along. 
 
 " I am," he answered. " There's no 
 work to be had anywhere — curse it." 
 
 Saying this he began to scratch his left 
 shoulder, and I knew at once that it was 
 a flea and not the lack of work that was 
 the object of his curse. " Have you 
 been out of work long ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Two months," he answered. " And I 
 never expect to find work again — curse 
 it." 
 
 This time he began to scratch his left 
 thigh, and I again came to the conclusion 
 that a flea and not the lack of work was 
 the reason why he swore. Of course I 
 could see plainly that this man was a 
 tramp of a very long standing, who did 
 not trouble much about work, but would 
 not let me know the truth. 
 
 We went on like this for about half a 
 mile, talking of the difficulties of a man 
 out of work, which my ragged companion 
 said were " heartbreaking." 
 296 
 
THE HUNT 
 
 " Yes," he said, coming to a halt and 
 beginning to scratch under his right arm. 
 " Yes, this kind of hfe is heartbreaking 
 — curse it ! " 
 
 At last I saw a signboard not far away 
 and I knew that we were coming to 
 an inn. But by this time I began to have 
 my doubts as to the wisdom of having 
 this man's company in even the very lowest 
 kind of a tavern, where tlie landlord or 
 his customers would be certain to give 
 him a cold reception, if any. Again, I 
 wanted to get something to eat there, and 
 had the chance of being treated well if I 
 went alone. But they certainly would not 
 invite me into a clean parloiu' in such com- 
 pany, I felt sure of that. However, I 
 did not like to let him go without first 
 giving him a glass of ale. So I came to 
 a stand and said, '^ We will go into this 
 inn and have some bread and cheese and 
 ale, but while we are there can you stop 
 scratching ? " 
 
 " Of course I can," he answered readily, 
 as though nothing in the world was 
 easier. 
 
 297 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 " You must understand," I continued, 
 "that the landlord, or his wife, or his 
 daughter, whichever serves us, would 
 not care to have a customer that kept on 
 scratching himself. So drink, eat and 
 laugh, but for God's sake don't scratch." 
 
 When my ragged companion heard this 
 he laughed heartily and began to scratch 
 himself all over. And when I saw his 
 delight I could not help laughing as 
 heartily myself. However, after his glee 
 was over, I said kindly, so as not to hurt 
 his feelings, " You'll try not to scratch, 
 won't you ? " 
 
 When I had done speaking, my com- 
 panion, who had been motionless for 
 quite half a minute, said in low, deter- 
 mined tones, " If I say I won't scratch, 
 I won't scratch. And if I do, may the 
 devil pickle and purge me." With this 
 understanding we made our way towards 
 the inn. But we had scarcely gone ten 
 steps when my companion waved his 
 hand with a wide sweep, saying, " That's 
 a wonderful sight, isn't it ? " 
 
 When I heard this T at once had a sus- 
 298 
 
THE HUNT 
 
 picion that something was wrong. So, 
 although I looked away from him for a 
 moment, I turned quickly in his direction, 
 and was just in time to surprise him in the 
 act of scratching under the left arm. 
 Seeing this I immediately made up my 
 mind to enter the inn alone. So I came 
 to a stand and, taking three pennies out 
 of my pocket, said, " Do what you like 
 now, for I will probably be at this inn for 
 a couple of hours. Good-bye." 
 
 "' Thank you," he answered, grasping 
 my hand. " If there was ever a gentleman, 
 you are one ; so I wish you good-bye 
 and good luck." Saying this, he went 
 off with all sf)eed. 
 
 I walked very slowly now, for we were 
 near the inn, and I felt sure that my late 
 companion would go there for a drink. 
 When he got in front of it he stood in the 
 road for a little time, then ajipeared 
 suddenly to make up his mind to have a 
 drink. So, giving one backward glance 
 to see how far I was behind, he then made 
 a sudden dart and almost ran into the 
 inn. Of course I had done with him now, 
 299 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 and although it was not long before I 
 followed him, it was not likely that we 
 would speak to each other again. 
 
 As I entered the inn, which was called 
 the Waggon and Horses, I saw my late 
 companion sitting in the taproom, with a 
 glass of ale in his hand.* Whether the 
 landlady had been kind to him or not, I 
 cannot say, but it was most certain that 
 when I entered she cast several cold 
 glances at her other customer. However, 
 the latter took little heed of this and sat 
 with his two elbows leaning on the table. 
 It must not be inferred from this attitude 
 that he was not scratching himself. For 
 there he sat, his arms motionless it is true, 
 but what of his feet ? If the landlady, 
 who had now retired, could have seen 
 those feet as tliey were seen by me, she 
 would have ordered him out of her house 
 at once. For there he sat, resting on one 
 leg at a time, while the foot of the other 
 leg was kept busy scratching. But this 
 secret method was not satisfying for long, 
 for in a few moments he had his hands to 
 work on the upper part of his body. After 
 300 
 
THE HUNT 
 
 doing this for a short time, he suddenly 
 sprang to his feet, finished drinking his 
 ale, and ran out of the house as he had run 
 into it. 
 
 After I had had some bread and cheese 
 and pickles, a couple of glasses of ale, and 
 a rest for half an hour, I left the Waggon 
 and Horses and continued my journey 
 towards Marlborough. But I had not 
 been walking more than twenty minutes 
 when I heard a voice hail me from behind a 
 steep bank. 
 
 " Wait a moment," the voice cried, 
 " for I am now ready to travel again.' 
 
 " Have you been sleeping ? " I asked, 
 when my late companion reached my 
 side. 
 
 " No," he answered with a laugh. "I've 
 been having a lively time hunting and 
 killing fleas. I shall sleep well after such 
 sport as that." 
 
 " Your body's in a wretched state, my 
 friend," I said. 
 
 " I know it is, mate," he answered, 
 shaking his head despondently. " We 
 poor beggars are devoured by lice, but 
 301 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 when we are dead we'll be devoured by 
 worms, like kings and prime ministers. 
 I know my body's in a bad state, mate ; 
 but when I think of the worms of death 
 it makes me happy to know that I still 
 live — although I am lousy." 
 
 As we walked along he talked of nothing 
 but hunting and killing fleas, saying that 
 hunting hares, foxes or stags was but poor 
 sport compared with that. The subject 
 seemed to interest him so much that he 
 could not change to any other, and was 
 still at it when we were within a short 
 Aj^ ^ distance of a village. 
 <A ji>» " Now," I said, coming to a halt, " now 
 we must part for good. Here are a 
 couple jnore_pemiies and I wish you every 
 
 r\ 
 
 success." 
 
 "Thank you," he answered, "the same 
 success to you. If there ever was a 
 gentleman, you are one." 
 
 Saying this, he went on, while I followed 
 slowly behind. 
 
 When I had left Calne on this ,day I 
 was in excellent spirits, knowing that I 
 was sure of good lodgings when I reached 
 302 
 
THE HUNT 
 
 Marlborough. For I had met a young 
 fellow the evening before who lodged 
 at Marlborough, and had been sent for 
 that day to Calne to do some work on the 
 telephones. He was so open and friendly 
 in his conversation that I soon told him 
 something of my own affairs, and men- 
 tioned that I was likely to have difficulty 
 in getting lodgings when I reached Marl- 
 borough. 
 
 On hearing that I was going to that little 
 town on the following day, he gave me his 
 address, saying that the landlady had an 
 extra bedroom and would make me com- 
 fortable for the night. This confidence 
 accounted for my excellent spirits on the 
 way. 
 
 When I reached the Town Hall I in- 
 quired for St. Martin's. Going in that 
 direction I again inquired, mentioning 
 the landlady's name, and was told that 
 she lived near an inn called the Queen's 
 Head. It was not long before I was there 
 and, after having had a late tea and being 
 shown my room, I considered myself 
 lucky at having secured such a quiet, 
 303 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 clean and homely place. I felt that if I 
 could have got such a comfortable end 
 to my journey every day, I could have gone 
 on roaming to the end of my life — I mean 
 all my spring and summer days. 
 
 304 
 
THE SAVERNAKE FOREST 
 
 u 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 THE SAVERNAKE FOREST 
 
 When I left Marlborough on the following 
 morning I was struck by seeing so many 
 donkeys, all driven by the better classes, 
 and came to the conclusion that the donkey 
 was held in great favour in that part of 
 the world and had a good time of it. For 
 when leaving that town I heard a noise 
 behind me like a fast-travelling motor-car, 
 and turned my head at once to make sure 
 I was not in danger. When I did so, I 
 saw to my astonishment that it was only 
 a donkey and trap, driven by a young lady. 
 I never thought it possible that a donkey 
 could travel at such a rate, for he was out 
 of sight in a very short time. • 
 
 Not long before this I had seen a 
 man coming out of an inn, where his donkey 
 and trap were waiting for him. I suppose 
 the man must have had a drop too much, 
 for in stepping into the trap his foot slipped 
 307 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 and he fell on the road. The donkey, 
 thinking his master was safe in the trap, 
 began to go, but was soon stopped by a 
 man who had seen what had happened. 
 
 " The wrong one was in the shafts," I 
 said to a man who was standing by. The 
 man looked at me, but said nothing, 
 neither did he smile. Perhaps he saw the 
 joke when he had considered a while. I 
 hope so, for I was quite pleased with 
 myself at having made it. 
 
 How deadly and mysterious those yew 
 trees look ! Just before I reached Saver- 
 nake forest I passed a large clump of them, 
 when the sun was for a moment clouded. 
 Perhaps it was the momentary darkness 
 and the loneliness of the place that affected 
 me ; for I looked both up and down 
 the road, but could see no sign of any life 
 at all. 
 
 How strange is this : I cannot pass this wood 
 But what its leaves, of such a dark brown green, 
 
 Seem closely knit to hide a deed of blood ; 
 And look as deadly as these curtains seen 
 
 In quiet houses, where dark Rumour saith 
 
 Drugged wine is, sudden blows and hidden death. 
 
 308 
 
THE SAVERNAKE FOREST 
 
 However, when I entered the forest, the 
 sun was out again, and I soon recovered 
 my good humour. There were very few 
 large trees with brandies over the road, 
 so tliat my walk was sunny all the way. 
 I could not help thinking what a lucky 
 road the Bath road was, that it had over 
 two miles of its length in a beautiful forest 
 with so many green, open spaces, and 
 with such a variety of colour in the bark 
 and leaves of the different trees. 
 
 After I had been in the forest for a 
 little while I was suddenly hailed by a 
 voice at the side of the road. On turning 
 round I saw a man lying in the grass, who 
 was just in the act of sitting up. 
 
 " Have you a pipeful of tobacco ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Certainly," I said, going towards him 
 and offering him my pouch to help himself. 
 
 " How far are you going ? " he inquired 
 as he filled his pipe. 
 
 " As far as Hungerford to-day," I an- 
 swered. " But it looks very much like 
 rain, and I fear to get a good wetting 
 before I reach there." 
 309 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 " Yes," said the stranger, in a disgusted 
 voice. " Yes, it's sultry enough for- rain, 
 but we won't get any until this damned 
 wnid goes do^\^l. I wish to God the flies 
 would bite, but they don't in spite of the 
 heat." 
 
 When I heard this I looked at the 
 man with some surprise, not having the 
 least idea of what his words meant, 
 and for that reason not knowing what 
 to say. However, I assured him that 
 the flies did bite, and that they had 
 been trying all the morning to bathe 
 in the sweat of my neck and fore- 
 head. 
 
 " I am very glad to hear that," cried 
 the stranger, in a more cheerful voice, 
 " for that's a sign of rain." 
 
 " Yes," I answered. " We want rain 
 badly, or there will be a very poor prospect 
 of getting green vegetables in the summer, 
 or fruit either." 
 
 '' Oh ! to hell with green vegetables," 
 
 exclaimed the stranger in an irritated 
 
 voice. " There are more important things 
 
 than that. If it doesn't rain soon, it 
 
 810 
 
THE SAVERNAKE FOREST 
 
 means that I, for one, cannot make a 
 living." 
 
 When I heard this I was more surprised 
 than ever and did not know how to con- 
 tinue the conversation. 
 
 In a few moments he continued, saying, 
 " People are getting stingy and are hoard- 
 ing their money ; they won't prepare 
 for a rainy day." 
 
 " Surely," I began, " if people are sav- 
 ing their money, they must be preparing 
 for a rainy day. What else are they 
 doing ? " 
 
 " Good Lord ! how dull you are ! " 
 exclaimed the stranger testily. '' Can't you 
 see what I am ; and if people won't spend 
 their money and prepare for a rainy day, 
 how in the hell am I to make a living ? " 
 
 Saying this, he cast his eyes some few 
 feet away, and it was then I saw for the 
 first time a couple of old umbrellas, 
 which he had probably thrown from him 
 in disgust. The stranger was an umbrella 
 mender, or, as he is known on the road, a 
 " mush fakir." No wonder he was anxious 
 that people should prepare for a rainy 
 311 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 day, by spending their money on umbrellas 
 instead of saving it. Before I left him 
 I gave him twopence, which he appeared to 
 be very glad of. 
 
 I could not help laugliing as I went 
 along at the way in which the stranger 
 had spoken of preparing for a rainy day, 
 which was quite natural to a man in his 
 trade. To other men the flies were a pest, 
 but they could bite this man and be blessed 
 for doing so. Other men would curse 
 them as they drove them away ; but 
 when this man drove them away he gave 
 them kind words and invited them to come 
 again and often. 
 
 When I reached a small village about 
 two miles from Hungerford I crossed the 
 border line from Wiltshire into Berkshire. 
 Tliere was a small inn at this village, called 
 the Pelican, at which I had a pint of ale. 
 I had been warned that there would be 
 no other inn between INIarlborough and it, 
 a distance of eight miles. If there is any 
 news I detest, it is to be told that a country 
 road has no inn for several miles — few and 
 far between. I confess I like to see the inns, 
 312 
 
THE SAVERNAKE FOREST 
 
 even if I do not use them. As I passed 
 through this first Httle village in Berkshire 
 I could not help being struck by its peace- 
 ful looks. There was the little church 
 on the hill, and a small green common 
 at the side of the road. On this green com- 
 mon a donkey was making an ass of him- 
 self by rolling about on his back and 
 kicking at the clouds. 
 
 I saw several happy-looking old villagers 
 standing at their cottage doors and smok- 
 ing their pipes. There was no sign of 
 miserable poverty here, and yet I had 
 been told that few of the farm labourers 
 in these parts earned more than fourteen 
 shillings a week. However, they had 
 their gardens and could grow their own 
 vegetables, and the rent of a cottage was 
 only two or three shillings a week. Under 
 these circumstances they were more com- 
 fortable than hundreds and thousands of 
 workers in our large industrial towns, 
 who cannot do as well with twice that 
 amount in wages. When I saw these 
 happy-looking old villagers at their cottage 
 doors, I could see that the Old Age pensions 
 313 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 had not only made them independent, 
 but had actually made their lives a help 
 to their families. For a country house- 
 wife can make a shilling go a long way 
 indeed. 
 
 I had not seen any tramps for more than 
 an hour, and began to wonder where they 
 had all gone to. It must be remembered 
 that I was on the main road from east 
 to west, on which tramps are often met. 
 However, I soon found one who was lying 
 on the grass at the side of the road. I 
 had not noticed liim until I had almost 
 reached him. On coming close I saw 
 that he was a very shabby-looking fellow 
 indeed. Although he was now sitting up, 
 I don't believe he was yet aware of my 
 coming. I judged that he had been asleep, 
 for he was now stretching his body and 
 yawning. The way this man yawned 
 frightened me, for he kept his mouth 
 open so long and at such a size that I was 
 afraid something would happen. 
 
 I had been told when a boy of a certain 
 man who yawned to such an extent that 
 his mouth refused to close again ; and 
 314 
 
THE SAVERNAKE FOREST 
 
 he had to get out of bed at midnight and 
 go in search of a doctor. And now, every 
 time I open my own mouth to yawn, or see 
 others do it, I have a vision of that unfor- 
 tunate man, and am afraid of the conse- 
 quence. However, I thoroughly enjoy 
 sneezing, for it never occurs to my mind 
 that I could break a blood-vessel with 
 doing so. Although I am not a religious 
 man, yet for all that I cannot help crying 
 sincerely at the end of a good sneeze, 
 " God bless us all." So every time I 
 sneeze it seems to me like Christmas with 
 the whole world. 
 
 This man appeared surprised to see 
 me so near him, but soon recovered his 
 wits and, as I had expected, began to 
 beg, asking for a penny to help him on his 
 way. Now, when I had first started on 
 my travels, I had made up my mind to 
 refuse no beggar a penny, and all he had 
 to do was to ask for it. For that reason 
 I gave one to this man, at the same time 
 telling him that many men had begged of 
 me and that I could not afford to give to 
 all 
 
 315 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 " Of course not," said the shabby 
 stranger; " they are not all deserving, and 
 yon cannot tell which of them are." 
 
 " Which way are you going ? " I asked, 
 determined to have a few jokes with this 
 man, and make him confess he was a pro- 
 fessional beggar. 
 
 " To Hungerford," he answered, with 
 a laugh. 
 
 " Why do you laugh ? " I inquired with 
 some surprise. 
 
 " Because Hungerford is well named," 
 he answered, " and I am certain to go 
 hungry in that town." 
 
 "Well, come along," I said. "The 
 price of your bed will be fourpence, and I 
 promise to give you that before we get 
 there. I know for certain that you have 
 not been idle all day, and the few pennies 
 you already have will do for food. When 
 I was on tramp, a few years ago, I always 
 had the price of my bed and a penny or 
 two over by this time of the day." 
 
 When my shabby companion heard this 
 he began to eye me critically, not knowing 
 what to say. 
 
 316 
 
THE SAVERNAKE FOREST 
 
 " You don't mean to say," he said 
 at last, " that you have been a real 
 tramp ? " 
 
 " I have been a real tramp for the best 
 part of my life," I answered shortly — 
 " and a good one too. One that could 
 get the price of his feather (bed) and a 
 pocketful of scrand (food), not to mention 
 a little skimish (drink), in any place that 
 had people living in it. I used to do so 
 well that I could often afford to take the 
 rattler (train). You ought to be proud 
 of calling yonrself a beggar," I continued — 
 " that is, of course, if you are any good at 
 all at the game." 
 
 When he heard this the shabby stranger 
 was at a loss for words, not knowing 
 whether to take me seriously or not. 
 
 " The little work I have done for others," 
 I continued, " was done in my early man- 
 hood, when I had little sense and was 
 too timid to beg. But even then I could 
 not work more than a week without claim- 
 ing my freedom." 
 
 Although this was the truth, j^et for 
 all that it sounded false to even my own 
 
 ai7 
 
A POETS PILGRIMAGE 
 
 ears. Perhaps the reason of this was that 
 I could not openly utter this truth 
 except under certain conditions, and 
 although it was old in thought it was new 
 in speech. 
 
 I could see that my new companion 
 was confused and did not care to hazard 
 any remark. However, after we had 
 walked in silence for some time, he began 
 to ^think some comment on my words 
 was due. 
 
 " But you are not a tramp now ; how 
 is that ? " he asked. 
 
 " The reason is very simple," I answered. 
 " Some time ago I had a small legacy left 
 to me, and it is just enough to keep me 
 from begging and in idleness." 
 
 He made no answer to this, and I could 
 see he was still puzzled as to what kind 
 of man he had met. 
 
 Now some time before this I had written 
 a paper in defence of beggars, which a 
 friend had read to a small gathering of 
 people interested in social matters. It 
 was quite a foolish thing, meant to create 
 amusement, and not serious thought. Al- 
 318 
 
THE SAVERNAKE FOREST 
 
 though the paper had been destroyed, I 
 still remembered two or three points used 
 to prove that the beggar was the dew, and 
 not the blight, on civilization. So, although 
 I could hardly keep from laughing, I 
 said at last, " You ought to be proud 
 of being a beggar ; the beggar is the most 
 religious man in the world, for there is 
 no other man that more truly keeps the 
 seven commandments. He not only does 
 no labour on the seventh day, but he 
 also keeps holy the other six. He never 
 bears false witness against his neighbour, 
 for the simple reason that he is a simple 
 traveller and has no neighbours. He 
 never steals — that is if he is a good beggar. 
 He never covets any other man's goods, 
 because he hates to be tied to any property 
 at all. He is the only wise man, because 
 he is not greedy to own houses or land. 
 He is not vain of his personal appearance, 
 and when he leaves a house where he has 
 begged he never leaves behind him suspicion 
 and jealousy between a man and his wife. 
 People tell a beggar to go to work, but 
 as you know well yourself he does very 
 319 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 fine work as it is ; he works on their 
 best feehngs, and there is no nobler work 
 in all the world than that." 
 
 While I was saying these things my 
 companion laughed once or twice and was 
 as puzzled as ever. 
 
 " You're very funny," he said at last, 
 " and I don't know what you really 
 mean." 
 
 "" What I mean," I answered, " is this : 
 I believe you are a true traveller as I 
 have been, and I want you to say so." 
 
 " If I said I was not looking for work 
 you wouldn't give me the price of my bed," 
 he said cautiously. 
 
 " Here's the price of your bed," I an- 
 swered, counting four pennies into his 
 hand. " Now tell me the truth : are you 
 a true traveller or not ? " 
 
 " You are right, I am," he said, as soon 
 as he had made sure of the four pennies. 
 
 "But," I asked, "doesn't it trouble 
 your conscience a little when you go beg- 
 ging at the houses of very poor people 
 that have little for themselves ? That 
 was the only thing that used to trouble me 
 320 
 
THE SAVERNAKE FOREST 
 
 when I was on the road ; otherwise, the 
 life was not too unpleasant." 
 
 IMy companion looked at me, but made 
 no answer. I could see that he was 
 touched by this reminder of the kindness 
 he had received daily from poor workers 
 that were hardly any better off than 
 tramps. 
 
 We were now within a mile of Hunger- 
 ford and, knowing that I had to find re- 
 spectable lodgings, while my companion 
 was going to a common lodging-house 
 — knowing this, I thought we ought to 
 part at once. So I sat down at the side 
 of the road, telling him that I was in no 
 hurry to reach Hungerford and would rest 
 awhile. Hearing this, he thanked me for 
 my kindness and hurried off. No doubt 
 he wanted to do some begging in the town 
 before he settled for the night. 
 
 When I at last reached Hungerford 1 
 was almost afraid I would have to take 
 train to Newbury, owing to the difficulty 
 of finding lodgings. I had tried three 
 coffee houses and six inns, but all without 
 success. However, at the last inn the 
 321 X 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 landlord, who had no room of his own, 
 recommended me to a private house close 
 by, kept by an old widow. So I went there 
 and was accepted as a lodger for the night. 
 
 322 
 
THE OTHER LODGER 
 
CHAPTER XXIII - 
 THE OTHER LODGER 
 
 There was no public library at Hunger- 
 ford, nor any kind of amusement on that 
 particular night, so that there was nothing 
 else to do than to spend the evening at 
 an inn. So, after settling for my lodgings, 
 I walked down the town again and entered 
 the parlour of the John of Gaunt. Several 
 of the townspeople were there when I 
 entered, but they did not appear at all 
 curious at the sight of a stranger. In- 
 deed, they not only continued their sub- 
 ject — which was corns on the feet — but 
 invited me with their friendly eyes to 
 join in the conversation. One man swore 
 that on a certain Tuesday night he had 
 to walk in his bare feet, boots in hand, 
 two miles to his home. But he carried 
 in his pocket a remedy that in twelve 
 hours tore the corn out by the roots, 
 325 
 
A POETS PILGRIMAGE 
 
 and that he put on his boots the fol- 
 lowing morning and leapt a five-barred 
 gate. 
 
 But 1 was so sick and melancholy 
 at the difficulty I had had in getting 
 lodgings that, in spite of their friendly 
 eyes, I could not, to save my life, utter 
 a single idea on the subject of corns. 
 However, I sat there silent until nine 
 o'clock, and then returned to my lodg- 
 ings. 
 
 When I had entered the little house 
 the last thing before going to bed, I saw 
 a small boy sitting at a table who was 
 reading a halfjDenny novel. He was so 
 interested in what he was reading that 
 he did not even look up when I entered, 
 and I am doubtful whether he heard me 
 at all. The old woman, who was the 
 boy's grandmother, had told me that I 
 need not hurry to go to bed, and that I 
 could sit and smoke for a while. So I 
 made myself comfortable in an armchair 
 and began a conversation with the boy, 
 for his grandmother had now left the 
 room. But it was of no use, for the boy 
 826 
 
THE OTHER LODGER 
 
 only answered " yes " and " no," and I 
 had to give up in despair. He was 
 reading a story called the " Indian Kid," 
 and his eyes were riveted on the page. 
 Failing to attract his notice, I waited 
 until the old woman had returned, and 
 then told her I would go to bed. Hear- 
 ing this, she lit a candle and started for 
 the stairs, telling me to follow. When 
 we reached the room, I noticed at once, 
 to my annoyance, that it contained two 
 beds. I began to wonder who the other 
 lodger was, and had visions of a drunken 
 navvy disturbing me all night with his 
 snores. However, I did not say any- 
 thing, but wished the old woman good 
 night, undressed, and got into bed. 
 
 I had not been in bed more than ten 
 minutes when the other lodger appeared, 
 and I saw with much relief that it was 
 the boy. He had taken his boots, stock- 
 ings, coat and waistcoat off downstairs, 
 and all he had to do now was to take off 
 his trousers. He did this with such speed 
 that it seemed no more than a second 
 before he was lying on his side, reading 
 32Y 
 
A POET'wS PILGRIMAGE 
 
 his halfpenny novel by the light of his 
 candle. I suppose he must have been near 
 the end of the story, for it was not long 
 before he threw the paper on the floor 
 and blew out the light. 
 
 " Reading about Indians ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes," he answered slowly, as though 
 he wanted to either think or sleep. 
 
 " I have seen thousands of them," I 
 said quietly. 
 
 These words were no sooner out of 
 my mouth than there was a loud cry, 
 followed by a lively motion in the bed. 
 The next instant the boy was sitting bolt 
 upright, trying to see what kind of man 
 was at hand. 
 
 " What ! " he cried. " You've seen In- 
 dians ? Hoop la." 
 
 " Thousands of them," I said calmly, 
 " and not in a show either." 
 
 " How many did you kill ? " he cried, 
 in an excited voice. 
 
 " None," I answered slowly, being sorry 
 now that I had ever said a word about 
 Indians. 
 
 " Then how did you save your scalp if 
 828 
 
THE OTHER LODGER 
 
 you didn't kill them ? But perhaps you 
 haven't got a scalp, have you ? " 
 
 To this question I made no answer. 
 
 " Were you a cowboy ? " he began 
 again, after a breathless pause. " Did 
 you meet the Indians on the prairie or 
 on the Rocky Mountains ? Were you 
 tracked ? Do you really mean to tell 
 me that you have seen Indians ? How 
 can I get to America — tell me that ? 
 Hoop la ! Oh ! don't go to sleep 
 yet." 
 
 Not succeeding in getting any answer 
 to these questions, the boy, thinking I 
 was gone to sleep, prepared very reluc- 
 tantly to do the same, but not before he 
 had waited patiently, sitting up in bed 
 for a long time. But at last he lay down, 
 saying in a voice of disappointment, " He's 
 gone to sleep, and he has seen Indians." 
 
 No doubt this boy felt a great pride 
 in sleeping in the same room as a man 
 who had seen Indians, and was sorry now 
 that he had not been more friendly earlier 
 in the evening. 
 
 Before I went to sleep I could not help 
 329 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 thinking of my own life when I was about 
 the same age as that boy. At that time 
 I was reading all the great classics, al- 
 though I could not understand them. 
 Strange to say, my blood-and-thunder age, 
 when I read about highwaymen, Indians 
 and scouts, came later, when I was a 
 young man. Yes, when I was between 
 thirteen and fourteen I wanted to be a 
 man of great literary genius ; but when 
 I was between seventeen and eighteen my 
 ambition was to rob the rich by force 
 and kill Indians for sport. 
 
 Thinking of this strange boy, who was 
 now sharing the room with me, brought 
 to my mind my own ambition at his age, 
 and what I did to show it. I had been 
 looking through a book that contained 
 the pictures of men of genius, and had 
 been struck by the size of their foreheads. 
 It never occurred to me for one moment 
 that it was the baldness of age that made 
 their foreheads clean and bare from their 
 eyebrows to the backs of their heads. 
 After admiring these large foreheads for 
 a long time, I decided on two points : 
 330 
 
THE OTHER LODGER 
 
 firstly, that I also was intellectual ; sec- 
 ondly^ that I did not look intellectual. 
 So that very night I took possession of 
 my grandmother's scissors and my grand- 
 father's razor and went to bed early. 
 On reaching my room, and placing the 
 candle near the looking-glass, I began to 
 cut my hair about an inch back from the 
 forehead. When this was done I used 
 the razor to cut the bristles, and often 
 had to pause because of the great pain. 
 However, in spite of all I could do, I could 
 not get that inch of scalp as smooth and 
 white as my forehead. It still remained 
 dark, and I knew that the morning's light 
 would make it appear darker still. But 
 the worst was yet to come, for it was 
 not long before the top of my forehead 
 was dotted with small pools of blood. 
 In fact, I went through a great deal of 
 pain in trying to enlarge my forehead 
 at the expense of my head, and went to 
 bed at last in utter discomfiture, know- 
 ing that I had failed. When I looked 
 in the glass the next morning I almost 
 sank for shame. I had not been seated 
 331 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 at the breakfast table more than three 
 minutes before my grandmother cried 
 in astonishment and alarm : 
 
 " William Henry, what in the earth 
 is the matter with yom' forehead ? " 
 
 " Nothing," I answered stoutly. 
 
 " Nothing," my grandmother reiterated, 
 making sure that her glasses were really 
 on her nose and properly adjusted, — " No- 
 thing indeed ! Look, Francis ! " 
 
 On hearing this, my grandfather looked 
 at me across the table and then said 
 gruffly, " Keep him in and send the 
 maid for the doctor.'" To my relief no 
 more was said. 
 
 When I had said that nothing was 
 the matter with me, both my grand- 
 mother and my grandfather came to the 
 conclusion that I had caught some kind 
 of skin disease, and not only did not 
 feel it but did not even know it was 
 to be seen. This was proved almost 
 immediately, for after my grandmother 
 had taken another long look, she said 
 severely, " You've been playing with 
 Tony Lewis ! " 
 
 332 
 

 THE OTHER LODGER 
 
 Tony Lewis was a poor, dirty, ragged 
 boy that was neglected, and for that 
 reason was supposed to have a good many 
 diseases. His mother was a widow with 
 several other children, who had to go out 
 working hard from morning till night. 
 She had as much as she could do to earn 
 her children enough food, without a ques- 
 tion of studying their personal appear- 
 ance. All respectable boys were warned 
 not to play with Tony Lewis. Llowever, 
 when we respectable boys were arrested, 
 tried, convicted and birched for stealing, 
 nothing could be proved against Tony 
 Lewis, although his house was searched 
 by the police. So the poor widow had 
 the satisfaction of knowing that her poor, 
 ragged, lousy little son was not to be 
 despised after all. 
 
 When the doctor came I had made my 
 escape. So, after he had had the symp- 
 toms described to him, and Tony Lewis 
 also described, he sent a bottle of medi- 
 cine, also a bottle of ointment to be rubbed 
 into the scalp. 
 
 I had such a good clean bed at the old 
 333 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 widow's house at Hungerford, and the 
 charge was so moderate, that when I 
 left I gave her sixpence extra for her 
 cleanhness. 
 
 334 
 
JANE'S SHADOW 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 JANE'S SHADOW 
 
 The next morning I got up early, and 
 after having had a good breakfast at 
 the old widow's, I was on my way to 
 Newbury just after eight o'clock. The 
 air was fresh and I wanted to take advan- 
 tage of the hours before noon. After all, 
 a man walks with his heart as well as 
 his legs, and I knew that my legs would 
 not be heavy as long as my heart remained 
 cheerful and light. 
 
 When I was well on my way, being 
 some four or five miles from Ilungerford, 
 I met a big, stout man with a very red 
 face, whom I judged to be a farmer. 
 
 " Good morning," said this man, coming 
 to a halt. 
 
 "Good morning," I nodded, standing 
 to hear what he had to say. 
 
 "Have you come far on this road?" 
 he asked. 
 
 337 Y 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 " From Hungerford," I answered, 
 " where I stayed overnight." 
 
 " I suppose you didn't see eight cows 
 in your travels ? " he inquired. 
 
 This question took me by surprise, 
 because of the exact number. I had cer- 
 tainly seen cows in different places, per- 
 haps I had seen seven together, or, nearer 
 still, seven cows and a calf. However, 
 I could not say for certain that I had 
 seen exactly eight cows together, so I 
 made no immediate answer. 
 
 " Because," continued the farmer, " this 
 morning I had eight cows in a meadow, 
 but they have gone astray now, and I 
 can find no trace of them." 
 
 I was so interested in this matter that, 
 when I left him, I not only kept a look- 
 out for eight cows, but also mentioned 
 the case to other farmers that happened 
 to come my way. But these men plied 
 me with so many questions as to the 
 farmer's name, what he looked like, and 
 the exact spot where I had met him, 
 that J began to think it would be wise to 
 say no more, for it struck me very forcibly 
 338 
 
JANE'S SHADOW 
 
 that they were only inquisitive and had 
 no real sympathy in the trouble and 
 worry of their fellow-man. All they 
 wanted was a subject for gossip, and I 
 was determined to gratify no more of 
 them. So when I came to a village and 
 entered an inn and saw two men that 
 appeared to be workers on a farm, I said 
 nothing about the eight cows that had 
 gone astray and were expected to be 
 found like one. 
 
 As a rule the farmer's subjects for 
 conversation are the weather, the crops 
 and the cattle, as we all know. But it 
 is not fair to say that farmers are not 
 interested in other matters. For instance, 
 if these two men had only known that 
 I had been a traveller in other parts of 
 the world, they would have listened with 
 great pleasure as long as I cared to talk. 
 Even the towns and counties of our own 
 land would have been of great interest 
 to them, without a question of that fasci- 
 nation attached to foreign states. How- 
 ever, I did not want to talk about my own 
 affairs, so I ordered a glass of beer and 
 339 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 then took up a paper to read. The two 
 farmers eyed me suspiciously for a mo- 
 ment or two, and then, thinking I was 
 deeply interested in the paper, took no 
 more notice of me, and continued their 
 conversation. One of them, the elder 
 of the two, said in an impressive voice : 
 
 " There's never a day goes by but 
 what either the missus or myself gives 
 the lad this advice : ' Whatever you 
 do, my lad, on no account sign any papers 
 or documents, or you will be sorry for 
 it.' " 
 
 I was very much amused at hearing 
 this, for the innocent couple overlooked 
 so many things. Of course no important 
 business could be done without signa- 
 tures. Again, they overlooked the fact 
 that the boy was under age and that 
 his name would not be wanted at all. 
 I came to the conclusion that the father 
 had, at one time, signed a document that 
 he could not read, or which had been 
 misinterpreted to him. He had then 
 signed away more than he had intended to, 
 which he had been sorry for ever since. 
 310 
 
JANE'S SHADOW 
 
 After the old farmer had been talking 
 on this subject for some time, his com- 
 panion suddenly introduced the name 
 of a neighbour called Brown. For a 
 few moments he talked of Brown's soil 
 and cattle and then said, " What do 
 you think of his girl Jane ? " 
 
 It must be remembered that these 
 two men were well on in years, and no 
 doubt were fathers. For that reason, when 
 the youngest of the two asked his com- 
 panion what he thought of Jane, the 
 other at once came to the conclusion 
 that she had done something unusual, 
 and said, " What's Jane been doing 
 then ? " 
 
 If they had been two young bachelors 
 instead of fathers, no doubt the question, 
 " What d'you think of Jane ? " would 
 have been answered, " She's a fine girl," 
 or something less favourable. 
 
 But with these old men it was a ques- 
 tion of manners and conduct and not 
 personal looks. 
 
 " Well, as you know," continued the 
 first speaker, " Jane's a fine-looking girl, 
 341 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 although she's only sixteen ; but she 
 has some very high notions of herself." 
 
 Saying this, the speaker began to puff 
 hard at his pipe. His companion waited 
 for a moment or two and then, seeing 
 the other in no hurry to continue, asked 
 with a little impatience for the second 
 time, " What's Jane been doing then ? " 
 
 "" Doing ! " repeated the other ; " why, 
 making an ass of herself; that's what 
 she's been doing." 
 
 " Who told you ? I don't believe it," 
 answered the other stoutly. " Jane is 
 more like a lady than any other farmer's 
 daughter I know." 
 
 " Perhaps she is," agreed the first 
 speaker, " but I'll tell you what has 
 happened. Some time ago Jane took 
 some very high notions into her head, 
 and wanted her father to pay for dancing 
 lessons for her. She said that she would 
 never be able to walk with grace until 
 she learnt the way to dance." 
 
 " She did, did she ? " interrupted the 
 other farmer. " Why, there's 'not an- 
 other farmer's daughter round here 
 
 o 1 o 
 
JANE'S SHADOW 
 
 that walks better than Jane, I swear." 
 
 The first speaker took no notice of 
 this interruption and continued : 
 
 " When Brown lieard this he was quite 
 upset, although he idolizes the girl. He 
 told her to get rid of such crazy ideas, 
 for there was a heavy mortgage on tlie 
 farm. So Jane said no more about danc- 
 ing, for she knew things didn't prosper 
 with her father as they should. But she 
 used to burn so much candle at night 
 that Brown and his missus began to be 
 afraid of fire. 
 
 '' ' You mustn't read in bed, Jane,' 
 said her father, " or there'll be a fire.' 
 
 *' ^ Yes,' said Brown's missus, — ' yes, 
 you are burning too much candle, Jane, 
 and you know we can't afford it.' 
 
 "But Jane still went on burning candle, 
 in spite of what her father and mother 
 liad said. Now what do you think the 
 young hussy was doing at night, after 
 all the others had gone to bed ? " 
 
 " Reading silly novels, I suppose," an- 
 swered the other. " I don't know what else 
 she could be doing." 
 34l<3 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 " No," said the first speaker, — " no, 
 Jane was doing nothing of the kind. 
 What she was doing was this. She put 
 her candle down and, after taking off 
 her boots, walked up and down the 
 room, looking at her shadow all the 
 time." 
 
 "What did she do t^liat for?" asked 
 the other farmer in a puzzled voice. 
 
 "Well," continued his companion, ** the 
 silly girl told her mother that she would 
 teach herself to walk with grace by study- 
 ing her own shadow on the wall." 
 
 " I never heard such nonsense before," 
 cried the other farmer, " and I can now 
 see that Jane has too many high notions 
 for a farmer's daughter." 
 
 After this they both drank their beer 
 and went out together. The next mo- 
 ment I followed their example, for there 
 was nothing else of interest to detain 
 me. Moreover, I had still a long way 
 to go before I reached Newbury. 
 
 The idea of Jane's shadow took a 
 strong hold on my imagination, and I 
 could not help thinking of that handsome, 
 344 
 
JANE'S SHADOW 
 
 simple country girl as she walked her 
 room at night, posing with her fine young 
 body in different shapes. It was some- 
 thing to dream of, for the eye could never 
 hope to see such movements in real life. 
 It also brought to mind the vanity of a 
 very charming girl I used to know in my 
 youth. One nigfit when there was so 
 bad a thunder-storm that the girl's mother 
 went down into the cellar for fear, her 
 daughter, who wore false hair because 
 her own was thin and weak, left her bed 
 from another kind of fear. For, after the 
 storm was over and her mother had 
 returned to her bedroom, she found her 
 daughter lying in bed with all her false 
 hair on. 
 
 " Were you afraid of the thunder ? " 
 asked the mother. 
 
 " Yes," answered the daughter. " I 
 didn't want to be struck dead and found 
 here baldheaded." 
 
 At last I arrived at Newbury, where 
 
 I stayed overnight at a dairy on the 
 
 Bath road. This dairy used to be an 
 
 old coaching house called the Bear^ famous 
 
 345 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 for its cockpit, until it was closed owing 
 to a murder. Either the mistress had 
 thrown her maidservant down the stairs, 
 and killed her, or the former had done 
 that for her mistress. Whichever it was, 
 the house was closed after the murder, 
 and it was never again opened as the 
 Bear. I had to go up the beautiful old 
 staircase where the murder was done 
 to reach my bed. The extraordinary thing 
 about this house was that it looked quite 
 new from the outside, and no one would 
 ever dream that it was full of the most 
 burning history. 
 
 346 
 
SLUG AND ANOTHER 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 SLUG AND ANOTHER 
 
 No idle gold — since this fine sun, my friend, 
 Is no mean miser, but doth freely spend. 
 
 No precious stones — since these green mornings 
 
 show 
 Without a charge, their pearls where'er I go. 
 
 No lifeless books — since birds with their sweet 
 
 tongues 
 Will read aloud to me their happier songs. 
 
 No painted scenes — since clouds can change my 
 
 skies 
 A hundred times a day to please my eyes. 
 
 No headstrong wine — since while I drink the spring 
 Into my eager ears will softly sing. 
 
 No surplus clothes— since every simple beast 
 Can teach me to be happy with the least. 
 
 I COULD not help thinking on tliis fine 
 morning how httle is required to make 
 a man happy. A small income, just 
 enough to give a man his liberty, an eye 
 for beauty, an ear for sweet sounds — with 
 these a man is capable of enjoying life to 
 the full. 
 
 349 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 I was rather disappointed to learn 
 that Reading was over seventeen miles 
 from Newbury, seeing that I had let the 
 morning advance towards noon before 
 I had made a start. However, there 
 was no great hurry, for time was my own. 
 When I reached Thatcham I was in that 
 delightful state which must be called the 
 bread and cheese state. That is, I felt 
 such a healthy hunger that bread and 
 cheese and ale would be a luxury. So 
 I went into the Wheat Sheaf and satisfied 
 my appetite in that way. 
 
 I was very much amused when I v/as 
 clear of that village to be followed for a 
 quarter of an hour by several peewits, 
 that flew close to me, screaming into my 
 ears. They must have had eggs some- 
 where in the neighbourhood, and were 
 determined to see me away beyond the 
 danger of stealing them. After they had 
 followed me for about a quarter of an 
 hour they turned back, so as to follow an- 
 other man that was going the other way. 
 
 Tramps were fairly numerous on this 
 road, and as fast as one passed me I could 
 350 
 
SLUG AND ANOTHER 
 
 see another in the distance. Others were 
 sitting down at the roadside, and not 
 many allowed me to pass without asking 
 for some kind of assistance. In fact, 
 it was only by changing silver at every 
 opportunity I had that I could keep 
 sufficient coppers in hand. One tramp, 
 a woman, who had a little child with her, 
 deliberately caught me by the shoulder 
 and held me fast, saying : " You have a 
 kind face, and God bless you for it. Now 
 show that you have a kind heart and be 
 a father to this poor child." 
 
 " Where is the child's father now ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " I don't know ; he has left me," an- 
 swered the woman. " But this child is 
 the very image of him." 
 
 Saying this, she kissed and hugged 
 the child because he was like his villain 
 of a father. 
 
 Not long after this, when I was sitting 
 on a green bank, I was overtaken by a 
 woman in shabby black, who was on her 
 way towards Reading. When she reached 
 my side I was not at all surprised when 
 351 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 she began to greet me with the utmost 
 famiHarity and to beg of me. Women 
 are much finer beggars than men. In 
 the first place they are much better 
 talkers, and in the second place they 
 have more confidence, knowing that the 
 police are not likely to do any more than 
 warn them. Being aware of this, I knew 
 that this woman would not pass on until 
 she had told me quite a number of things, 
 interesting or not. Although my clothes 
 were not very fine, yet this woman had 
 me judged at a glance. 
 
 " Are you tramping for pleasure ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " I am going to 
 Reading ; and you ? " 
 
 " I'm going there too," she said, " and 
 I know you will give me a penny to buy 
 a cup of tea." 
 
 " Certainly," I said, " here it is. Where 
 did you sleep last night ? " 
 
 Now strangely enough this question 
 
 was the very one she wanted, for, before 
 
 I could say another word, she waved her 
 
 hands wildly towards Newbury and 
 
 352 
 
SLUG AND ANOTHER 
 
 screamed, " Where did I sleep ? In 
 the workhouse and don't I remember it ! " 
 Saying this, she began to beat her two 
 hands together, and then with a quick 
 movement threw lierself on the grass at 
 my side. She had found some one in- 
 terested in her story, and in spite of my 
 confusion I knew it was no good to try 
 to escape from her until she had all her 
 say. Knowing this, I sat and listened, 
 and was soon laughing until my jaws 
 ached. Every now and then she, between 
 her curses, joined in the laughter, which 
 was at the expense of the workhouse she 
 had left that morning. She, it seems, 
 had quarrelled with one of the officials, 
 and if she had abused him in the same 
 language she repeated to me, I felt sure 
 that he would never forget it. For more 
 than twenty minutes she sat at my side, 
 using worse language than I had ever 
 heard from a woman's lips. The novelty 
 of my position was too much for me, and 
 I laughed myself into pain. At last she 
 said, " I must be on my way now, and 
 I hope you are not very tired." 
 
 353 z 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 I gave her another penny when she 
 was leaving, which she took with a nod 
 of thanks. But before she went she stood 
 before me in her full height, and said 
 in slow, distinct tones, " Mark my words, 
 I am coming back this way in a month's 
 time, and when I do I'll be the death of 
 that ugly villain. I'll soon show him 
 what it is to insult a respectable woman." 
 
 " God bless you," I said, having an- 
 other laughing fit ; " God ]>less you, and 
 if you ever go there again, play hell with 
 him." 
 
 Giving me a long, knowing wink, she 
 began her journey, dancing as she went. 
 
 I felt so happy after hearing this 
 woman's strong language that I sat oii 
 the bankside without a move, to let 
 my happiness soak in. It was not so 
 much the language that pleased me as 
 the idea that I was free to hear it. For 
 instance, several people had passed and 
 stared at us, but there was not one could 
 say, " That man's name is Davies." I 
 could now taste real freedom. 
 
 Now I cannot say whether I was uncon- 
 354 
 
SLUG AND ANOTHER 
 
 scious of my surroundings through deep 
 thought, or was half asleep ; all I know 
 is that I was suddenly startled by hearing 
 a voice say solemnly : 
 
 'Tis the voice of the shiggard, I hear him complain, 
 You have woke me too eail}^ I must skunber again. 
 
 Looking up I saw a stout, bearded 
 man of about iifty years of age, who stood 
 leaning on a rough staff, regarding me 
 with merry eyes. I could see at once 
 that he was a real beggar, and I under- 
 stood immediately that he was under the 
 impression that he had said something 
 funny and so I looked at him and laughed. 
 My appreciation seemed to please him 
 very much, for he stepped back, pointed 
 his staff at me and said again, with the 
 same solemnity : 
 
 'Tis the voice of the sluggard, I hear him complain ; 
 You have woke me too early, I must skimber again. 
 
 When I heard this for the second time, 
 I lay helplessly in tlie grass, laughing ; and 
 the stranger laughed so heartily himself 
 that he had to use his staff to keep from 
 falling. 
 
 355 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 " Which way are you going ? " I asked, 
 after we had both become a little more 
 serious. 
 
 "To Reading," he answered. 
 
 " I'm going there too," said I, " and if 
 you are ready we will start at once." 
 
 He agreed to this, and we began 
 to walk leisurely along, talking about 
 Wiltshire and other counties that we 
 knew. 
 
 As we went along the stranger used 
 his quotation a good many times, although 
 my appreciation was not so hearty as it 
 had been at first. However, he seemed 
 to say it more for his own pleasure than 
 for mine. The words appeared to haunt 
 him and he could not get them out of 
 his mind. I remember seeing one house 
 that looked a likely one for a beggar's 
 success, and drew my companion's atten- 
 tion to it, saying, " I won't call at 
 any more houses to-day, as I have enough 
 money to see me all right until morning." 
 I said this because I felt certain that the 
 stranger thought I was a beggar like 
 himself. Hearing this, my companion 
 356 
 
SLUG AND ANOTHER 
 
 stood and solemnly reproved me with 
 his favourite words about the Sluggard. 
 But in this instance he did not laugh 
 after saying it, but went to the house 
 himself. 
 
 Like all beggars worthy of a name 
 this man looked on himself as an honest 
 worker. For instance, after he had begged 
 a house and was back in my company, 
 he would say in all seriousness, " We 
 must work for a living sometimes," or, 
 " I earned something at that house. A 
 beggar has to work hard sometimes for 
 what he gets." In fact, all beggars get 
 at last to think they are earning an 
 honest livelihood, and it is only when 
 they catch sight of the police that they 
 suddenly see themselves in their own 
 true character. So that I was not at 
 all surprised to hear him say, after seeing 
 me pass several houses by without calling 
 at them, " Why don't you go to tliem ? 
 you can't live without work." 
 
 In the light of these sayings of his I 
 became highly amused at his continual 
 reference to the Sluggard. For what he 
 857 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 really meant by it was this : that he 
 had much admiration for the sluggard and 
 was very sorry that he could not be 
 one, seeing that he had to be begging 
 often, or, in his own words, " earning a 
 living." 
 
 My companion was filled with disgust 
 to think we were going to Reading. 
 
 " They are making some new tram 
 lines, and the lodging-houses are full of 
 navvies," he explained. 
 
 I was not at all surprised to see this 
 disgust, for I knew that beggars and 
 navvies could never agree. And in this 
 instance, where the navvies would be in 
 the majority, it would be almost unbear- 
 able. Beggars despise a navvy because 
 he works so very hard for a living ; and 
 navvies envy a beggar that he can live 
 without work. My companion hated nav- 
 vies, and went on to explain how it was 
 all the worse for them that they did not 
 try to be friendly with beggars. 
 
 " For," said my companion, " the navvy 
 may get out of work, but as long as a 
 beggar has a tongue in his head he's 
 858 
 
SLUG AND ANOTHER 
 
 never out of work. The consequence is 
 that beggars are always independent of 
 navvies, but navvies are often glad to 
 be assisted by beggars." 
 
 Of course I knew these things well, 
 but thought it best to give him the 
 pleasure of appearing to instruct me. 
 
 Talking on this subject we reached Read- 
 ing, and my companion, knowing the town 
 well, led the way towards Silver Street, 
 where the common lodging-houses are. 
 However, before we got there, we saw a 
 ragged man leaning against a lamp- 
 post, apparently lost in thought. Giving 
 me a nudge, my companion crept behind 
 the stranger, put his mouth to his ear 
 and began solemnly : 
 
 'Tis the voice of the sluggard . . . 
 
 But he was not allowed to finish, for 
 the stranger turned at once and cried, 
 " Hullo ! Slug, is that you ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered my companion, " but 
 I don't want to delay your business, 
 for we must work sometimes. I will 
 see you later in the lodging-house." 
 359 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 " Come," I said, joining in the conver- 
 sation, — " Come, for I have the price of 
 a drink or two of beer." 
 
 Saying this, I led the way into a pubHc- 
 house, which happened to be just there. 
 When we entered the pubUc- house I 
 saw my companion nod at several men 
 and make himself quite at home. My 
 attention was drawn to one man in par- 
 ticular. I could see that this man was 
 not a travelling beggar, because he had 
 the dirt of work upon him, his hands and 
 face being black with coal dust. Seeing 
 this, I came to the conclusion that he was 
 doing odd jobs about the town. 
 
 " I suppose you all know that I have 
 been to Oxford," said this man. " Yes, 
 I have been to Oxford and have not long 
 left there." 
 
 No one seemed to take any notice of 
 this man, but he still every now and then 
 said, " Yes, I want you all to know that 
 I have been to Oxford, and if there is 
 any other man present who has been 
 there I'd like to have a few words with 
 him." 
 
 300 
 
SLUG AND ANOTHER 
 
 At last he said, speaking to me, " Were 
 you at Oxford ? " 
 
 "I only passed through the town," I 
 answered, " and was not educated there, 
 if that's what you mean." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the stranger, with a little 
 laugh, — " Ah ! I was long enough at Ox- 
 ford to learn something." 
 
 " What does the poor fellow mean ? " 
 thought I. " If he was educated at Ox- 
 ford, why does he mention it now when 
 he is fallen so low and in such company 
 as this ? " 
 
 " You only passed through Oxford," he 
 said, speaking to me again. 
 
 " That was all," I answered. 
 
 " Well, you didn't learn much in that 
 time," he said, with a slight sneer. 
 
 " This man was never a gentleman," 
 thought I, " or he would never sneer at a 
 man that was not educated at Oxford." 
 
 " There's a lot to learn," I said quietly, 
 '' without going to Oxford or Cambridge 
 either." 
 
 "A lot to learn without going to Ox- 
 ford, is there ? " he cried with another 
 
 361 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 sneer. " Don't you believe it ; if you 
 had had three months' hard labour at 
 Oxford the same as I had you'd learn 
 something, let me tell you that." 
 
 Reading being so large a town, it did 
 not take me long to find lodgings. The 
 first coffee house I went into and applied 
 for a bed was glad enough to take my 
 money. The landlady and her daughter 
 — I could see no sign of a man — approved 
 of my appearance at once and judged me 
 to be quite clean and harmless. 
 
 862 
 
THE END 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 THE END 
 
 The next morning I left Reading, starting 
 for Twyford, on my way to jNIaidenhead. 
 I had decided to make the last-named 
 town the end of my travels, but did not 
 know whether I would stay there over- 
 night or not. 
 
 Just before I left Reading and reached 
 the open country, I passed one of the 
 most wretched street singers I had ever 
 heard. He was singing one of those sen- 
 timental songs that are so successful in 
 their appeal to women, especially mothers. 
 It was a song that advised the boy to 
 cherish his mother well, with a chorus 
 that brought the singer a penny almost 
 every time he came to it. As far as I 
 can remember the words of the chorus 
 were something like this : — 
 365 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 Oh, cherish her vnth care, my boy, 
 Let not a mother's instincts smother; 
 Though roses blow and violets glow, 
 It's natural to love your mother. 
 
 The man that sang this was a sniveller 
 of the first water, and I judged him at 
 once to be natm'ally a very melancholy 
 man, without the least sense of humour. 
 It was not long before I had a good chance 
 of knowing this, for I had not gone very 
 far when he overtook me. 
 
 " How^ far are you going ? " I asked. 
 
 " I'll do a little business at Twyford," 
 he answered, " and then make for Maiden- 
 head, where I intend to stay the night." 
 
 " Did you have good luck at Read- 
 ing ? " I asked. 
 
 " No," he answered with bitterness. 
 " No, fourpence was all. One w'oman 
 stood and after listening to me said, 
 * Isn't it natural for all things to love a 
 mother ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, kind lady,' I answered, think- 
 ing to get twopence at least, — ' Yes, kind 
 lady, a tin mother is better than a silver 
 father.' But damn me if the cat didn't 
 366 
 
THE END 
 
 go off without giving me as much as a 
 farthing. I can't sing pennies out of 
 people's pockets now, the same as I 
 used to. It is not because I am less 
 deserving of pity, but because the world 
 is getting harder. When I first began to 
 sing in the streets I could make more 
 than I do now, without taking the trouble 
 to knock my knees together and making 
 my voice tremble and sound weak like 
 a sick man's." 
 
 Hearing this, I came to the conclusion 
 that the street singer was under the 
 impression that I was something of a 
 beggar myself and that accounted for 
 his frankness and confidential tone. 
 
 So I said, in answer to his complaint, 
 " Perhaps you overdo the business." 
 
 " No, it's not that," he answered. 
 " The fact of the matter is this. The 
 country is going to the dogs. I may 
 as well be singing at the North Pole, where 
 there's nothing but heavy crops of snow, 
 as in this country now. Just before I 
 left Reading I saw a bootblack, and what 
 d'you think he was doing ? " 
 367 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 " What ? " I asked, without having the 
 least notion of what answer to expect. 
 
 " Well," said the street singer bit- 
 terly, — " well, he was cleaning his own 
 boots. That's what the Avorld has come 
 to now, a poor bootblack cleaning his 
 own boots. This is a hard life, and for 
 all my suffering I deserve to be made an 
 alderman before I die. If any man thinks 
 I couldn't eat enough to be made an 
 alderman, let him try me, that's all." 
 
 On hearing this, I suggested that he 
 would perhaps do better in a large city 
 like London. 
 
 " No," he answered, shaking his head 
 despondently. " No, I have tried London 
 and I know what it is like. The last time 
 I chanted in London two little sparrows 
 were so pleased that they perched on a 
 lamp-post and chirruped for joy. Just 
 then along comes a fine lady, and, taking 
 a piece of cake out of her bag, broke 
 it up and threw them the crumbs. But 
 what did she give me ? A smile for 
 making the sparrows sing — the cat." 
 " That was hard luck indeed," I said. 
 368 
 
THE END 
 
 " Of course," he continued with a Httle 
 more cheerfuhie^s, — " Of course, I meet 
 a kind lady occasionally, I must admit. 
 For one day when I was singing in London 
 a woman gave me a penny, and what 
 do you think was on it ? " 
 
 " I don't know," I answered, knowing 
 that, although a penny would have a head 
 on one side and a tail on the other, yet 
 there must have been something else. 
 But what that something was I had not 
 the least notion. 
 
 " There was a tear on it," the street 
 singer said in a faltering voice. " Yes, 
 as true as I stand here with you at ni}'^ 
 side, there was a tear on it. She was 
 one of the kindest women that ever broke 
 bread or breathed the breath of life. 
 By God, she was ! But there are not 
 many like her. Sometimes I have to 
 force people to give, or I'd starve. I 
 have to take a stand in front of a house 
 and keep on singing until the people 
 are so annoyed that they give me a penny 
 to go away." 
 
 With this interesting conversation still 
 369 A A 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 going on we reached Twyford. But we 
 had not gone far through the village when 
 my companion, who had been looking 
 at the houses for some time, came to a 
 halt and said, " I think I'll do a bit 
 here." 
 
 " How much money have you got, 
 Ginger ? " I asked. 
 
 The word Ginger slipped out of me 
 unawares, but I was not sorry, for he 
 answered to the name at once. No doubt 
 every beggar would call him by that 
 name, seeing he was decidedly that 
 colour. 
 
 " Fourpence," he answered, after a sus- 
 picious pause, for he did not know what 
 I was about to propose. 
 
 " Well," I said, " seeing that I am 
 not so hard up, I'll give you sixpence as 
 soon as we reach Maidenhead. If you 
 are satisfied with that arrangement, come 
 along." 
 
 " You are one of the kindest men 
 
 that ever broke bread or breathed the 
 
 breath of life," cried Ginger. " I don't 
 
 svippose that I could make twopence in 
 
 370 
 
THE END 
 
 this village, for I have tried it several times 
 before." 
 
 In the course of conversation I learned 
 that Ginger was going to put up at a 
 common lodging-house at the other end 
 of the town, where every man would 
 have a small cubicle to himself. 
 
 " That's where I'm going to stay too," 
 I said, " and I'll not only pay for our two 
 beds, but I'll also give you enough for 
 supper for the two of us, providing - 
 you go out and buy the stuff and cook 
 it." 
 
 When Ginger heard this he stood and 
 looked at me in amazement. However, 
 he did not say anything for a time, al- 
 though no doubt he was wondering who 
 and what I was. But at last he said, 
 with a soft laugh, " We are now two 
 independent gentlemen and can do with- 
 out work for the rest of the day." 
 
 We reached Maidenhead about six 
 o'clock in the evening, having had several 
 glasses of ale on the way, but not enough 
 to make us feel any ill effects. 
 
 As soon as we reached that town we 
 371 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 went straight to the lodging-house, where 
 I at once paid for our two beds After 
 doing this at the office we entered the 
 lodgers' kitchen, where between fifteen and 
 twenty men had already gathered, and 
 several women too. Giving Ginger a shil- 
 ling, I told him to go out and buy some- 
 thing for supper. In a few moments he 
 had returned with two rashers of bacon, 
 two eggs, one pennyworth of bread, a 
 halfpennyworth of tea, the same amount 
 of sugar, and a halfpennyworth of milk, 
 with fourpence-halfpenny change. This 
 was not only a very good meal for two 
 at sevenpence-halfpenny, but there was 
 also enough tea and sugar left for break- 
 fast. 
 
 I had been at this house before on 
 several occasions when I was a real tramp. 
 At the present time I was clean, and 
 my only fear was that I would get 
 lousy. However, seeing that I was to 
 end my travels on the following morning 
 by taking train home to London, I did 
 not worry much about that, as I would 
 soon be able to clean myself thoroughly. 
 372 
 
THE END 
 
 As I have said, there were quite a 
 number of lodgers present, and some of 
 them were drunk and quarrelsome, one 
 man in particular. This man, who had 
 a terrible cough, was suspicious and irri- 
 table, and disagreed with everything that 
 was said. For instance, there was a big 
 navvy standing up with his back to the 
 fire and talking in a quiet sensible manner. 
 " All I want," said this navvy, standing 
 with his hands deep in his trouser pockets, 
 and speaking to no one in particular — 
 "all I want is work, and failing that, 
 free soup, but as long as there is a House 
 of Lords I shall get neither. Let them 
 think of the starving white people at 
 home and never mind red or brown blan- 
 kets for the blacks." 
 
 Saying this, the navvy looked round 
 the room, and of course his eye lighted 
 for a second on the irritable lodger. The 
 navvy had no sooner finished his last 
 sentence than the irritable lodger sprang 
 to his feet in a violent passion : " What 
 did you look at me for ? " he shouted. 
 " Can I help it ? Did I make the House 
 373 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 of Lords ? Do I look as if I belonged 
 to the House of Lords ? " 
 
 However, he was now seized with such 
 a fit of coughing that he could say no 
 more. 
 
 This little quarrel no sooner came to 
 an end than another lodger, who had 
 also been drinking too much, came in 
 and, going straight to a pot on the fire, 
 looked into it and then cried, " Who 
 has taken half a potato out of my pot ? 
 I put three in and now there are only 
 two and a half." 
 
 " It has boiled away, most likely," 
 suggested the navvy quietly. 
 
 " Then how is it the other two didn't 
 boil away ? " cried the other. 
 
 Saying this, he stepped forward to the 
 better light and, carrying the pot in liis 
 hand and looking into it again, cried in 
 a furious voice, " Where's the meat ? 
 Where's the piece of mutton ? Do you 
 know who took it, any of you ? " 
 
 " What are you looking at me for ? " 
 snapped the irritable lodger. " Can I 
 see into the pot from here ? Do you 
 374 
 
THE END 
 
 think I have an eye like an eel to see 
 through the mud ? " 
 
 " If I only knew who took that meat," 
 shouted the other, " I'd split his nose like 
 a sheep's trotter." 
 
 " You flaming liar," cried the irritable 
 lodger, bursting into an ungovernable 
 fit of passion. " You flaming liar, you 
 had no mutton at all in the pot. It was 
 charity soup, with no other meat than 
 flies, and they got in by accident. You 
 don't hear me bragging of what I have 
 to eat. Some of you fellows strut about, 
 pretending you have had chicken or tur- 
 key, when you haven't had as much as a 
 Chinese sandwich — a fly between two tea- 
 leaves. Look here," he continued, taking 
 a piece of meat off his own plate, — " Look 
 here, you lousy, pudding-faced scoundrel, 
 I -can afford to give meat to the cat." 
 With these words he held a piece of meat 
 dangling from his fingers, and cried in 
 a still louder voice, " Puss, puss." 
 
 " The cat's gone into the backyard," 
 said another lodger ; " she was carrying 
 the kitten in her mouth." 
 375 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 " Of course she was carrying it in her 
 mouth," cried the irritable lodger with 
 a sneer ; " where the devil did you expect 
 her to carry it — in her arms ? Don't we 
 all know that a cat's arms are her legs as 
 well, and how could she walk if " 
 
 The irritable lodger had now worked 
 himself into such a passion that he could 
 say no more and fell into another violent 
 fit of coughing. 
 
 " When you talk to me of starving," 
 said the lodger who had had his mutton 
 stolen, " I guess you don't know what 
 you are talking about. I have been used 
 to plenty of good stuff. Yes, I belong 
 to God's country — the United States of 
 America." 
 
 " Haven't I been to America, you rot- 
 ter ? " cried the irritable lodger who had 
 now recovered his breath. " If America 
 is God's country, all I can say is this — 
 ' He's welcome to it ! ' What ! I not 
 know America ? Didn't I go there years 
 ago and build a hut in the wilds ? and 
 didn't two big black birds stand on a 
 bough, and seeing me there all alone, 
 370 
 
THE END 
 
 cry, ' Ha ! Ila ! ' and flap their wings 
 and fly away ? And didn't they come 
 back again an hour after, bringing four 
 others with them ? And didn't all the 
 six of them stand on a bough looking at 
 me ? And didn't they all cry, ' Ha ! 
 Ha ! ' and flap their wings and fly away ? 
 And when the hut was built, didn't these 
 six black devils come again, bringing 
 twelve others with them to look at me ? 
 And didn't the whole lot of them stand on 
 the boughs and cry, ' Ha, ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! ' and flap their wings and fly 
 away ? And weren't they all laughing 
 at me for leaving England and going into 
 the wilds of America to live all alone 
 in a little hut ? Don't talk to me of 
 America — you Fourth of July cracker." 
 After this long speech the irritable 
 lodger fell into another violent fit of 
 coughing, which became so bad that he 
 was bent double and we expected to see 
 him at any moment fall under the table. 
 However, he recovered after a time, and 
 then probably being very much weak- 
 ened, he rested his poor head on his arms 
 377 
 
A POET'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 at the side of his plate, and lay there 
 motionless. He lay so long in this posi- 
 tion that no doubt he was fast asleep. 
 The next morning I was up early, and 
 not seeing Ginger, who was either in bed 
 or had gone, I had my breakfast on my 
 way to the railway station and then took 
 train for London. This ended my travels. 
 
 THE END, 
 
 Printed by Butler & Tanner, Frome and London. 
 
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