sang he, in a hearty, round-toned voice, with which I chimed in, and we were the best friends, on a sudden.
There certainly is no society so interesting as that picked up by the tourist, who leaves with contempt the starched formalities of a great city behind him, and walks forth, unencumbered by care, to enjoy the society of mankind in its varied and unsophisticated nature. Every person we meet affords us information and delight; for a kindred spirit animates almost every individual whom you may chance to encounter in countries remarkable for beauties of scenery, and especially in a region like North Wales, where inns of the best kind are situated at the most convenient points, and the foot passenger is treated with as much respect as a lord in his carriage with four post horses. The landlords of inns here, think that a man may make the proper use of his legs without being a beggar; and that the costume of a pedestrian may cover the form of a gentleman. And this philanthropic conception contributes to form that happy combination, civil hosts and merry travellers.
There is no want of society, nor any difficulty in selecting that with which you are best pleased, for every evening brings in fresh comers from various quarters to the different places of rest and refreshment. The exchange of information respecting routes, the different adventures of the day, the peculiar feelings displayed in their recital, and countenances lit up with pleasure, give a degree of animation to the evening, never to be equalled in the brilliant drawing-room, the blaze of which seems to put out the eyes of reason,
“And men are—what they name not to themselves,
And trust not to each other.”
I soon discovered that my companion was a traveller of no common information; that he was a collector of legends, an antiquarian, and a geologist; and congratulated myself upon meeting with one who, as he gave me to understand, was intimately acquainted with a variety of circumstances, not generally known, which had taken place in “days of yore,” upon the very ground we were about to traverse, and which he had frequently visited before.
He had been an actor in his youth, and as the scenery between Mountford Bridge and the village of Wittington has little to engage the attention, I will here relate a portion of his early history, with which he amused me during our journey.
HISTRIONIC AMBITION.
It was a foggy morning when Triptolemus,—for so I shall designate my new acquaintance,—who had unfortunately been deeply bitten by a mad actor, arose, feverish from his sleepless pillow, to awaken the cocks of the surrounding neighbourhood with the loud rattle of his histrionic tongue. He had, with some difficulty, prevailed upon the manager of the theatre to permit him to make his appearance on the stage, and the character selected for his attempt was Richmond—the gallant Richmond!
In the centre of the filthy town of — stands an ancient castle, situated upon a lofty hill, which is now turned into a county jail. There was around it formerly a deep moat, which having for many years been dried up, is now converted into pleasure gardens for the corporation. From the top of the hill there was, at this time, an opening, much like a trap door, where commenced a descent by winding steps, leading to the gardens beneath, and to some gates made in the iron railings that encompassed the moat upon the other side.
Upon the summit of the hill, Triptolemus walked with all the dignity of an English baron. The ancient fortress, that frowned above him, gave additional fire to his excited imagination; and, as he spoke of knights and fellows in arms, and mused of war, banners, and crop ear’d steeds, the present peaceful times were dead to him, and nothing lived within his gallant thoughts but those whose bones have long since whitened in the dust.