“Travelling far, sir?” inquired my new companion.
“Fine road, this, sir.”
“Capital.”
“Are you fond of music?”
“Passionately.”
This was sufficient encouragement to make my new acquaintance turn his staff once more into an instrument of sound, and he played a wild kind of march, which he assured me was called “The War Tramp of Owen Glyndwr,” the Welsh chieftain, who was so formidable an enemy to Henry IV.—Taking up the idea, I endeavoured to compose some appropriate lines for the air. (See music plate.) [130]
“Have the kindness, sir,” said my companion, “to step out with your left foot at the beginning of the bar, and you will find it excellent marching time.”
I complied with the whimsical request, and he seemed much pleased at my readiness to oblige his humour; for he blew away unceasingly, and I dare say would never have thought of stopping, had I not pointed out a handsome house to him, upon the opposite hill, and requested him to tell me the name of its proprietor.
“Do you mean that semibreve, in the middle of that forest of demi-semi-quavers?”