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 Bible
3 in 1
The Complete Crash Course to Learn and Explore Python
beyond the Basics. Including Examples and Practical
Exercises to Master Python from Beginners to Pro.

James P. Meyers
 © Copyright James P. Meyer 2023 - All rights reserved.

The content contained within this book may not be reproduced, duplicated, or transmitted without
direct written permission from the author or the publisher.
Under no circumstances will any blame or legal responsibility be held against the publisher, or
author, for any damages, reparation, or monetary loss due to the information contained within this
book. Either directly or indirectly.

Legal Notice:
This book is copyright protected. This book is only for personal use. You cannot amend, distribute,
sell, use, quote, or paraphrase any part, or the content within this book, without the consent of the
author or publisher.

Disclaimer Notice:
By reading this document, the reader agrees that under no circumstances is the author responsible for
any losses, direct or indirect, which are incurred as a result of the use of the information contained
within this document, including, but not limited to, — errors, omissions, or inaccuracies.
 Table of Contents
Introduction to Python
What is Python?
Brief history and development of Python
Features and strengths of Python
Why learns Python?
Real-world applications of Python
Career opportunities with Python:
Installing Python
Windows:
macOS:
Linux:
Configuring the Python Environment:
Python Development Environments
Choosing the Right IDE for Your Needs

BOOK 1: THE BASICS OF PYTHON

PROGRAMMING
Chapter 1: Basic Concepts
Data Types
Variables
Operators
Basic Data Structures
Control Flow
Functions and Modules
Functions and Parameters
Defining and Calling Functions
Positional and Keyword Arguments
Returning Values
Multiple Return Values
Built-in Functions
Importing Modules
Overview of Python Modules
Importing Modules in Your Code
Creating and Using Your Own Modules
Creating a Custom Python Module
Using a Custom Python Module
Organizing Your Code with Modules
Chapter 2: Input and Output
Standard Input/Output
Basic input/output with Python
Reading and writing to the console
Reading and Writing Files
Reading text and binary files with Python
Writing data to files
Error Handling
Handling exceptions with try/except blocks
Raising your own exceptions

Chapter 3: Object-Oriented Programming

Classes and Objects
Methods and Attributes
Inheritance
The Benefits of Inheriting Properties and Methods From Parent Classes
Creating child classes
Polymorphism
Using polymorphism in Python
Polymorphism in Inheritance
Overriding Methods

Chapter 4: Advanced Topics

Regular Expressions
Overview of Regular Expressions:
Using Regular Expressions in Python:
Lambda Functions
Introduction to Lambda Functions:
List Comprehensions
Creating Lists with List Comprehensions:
Advanced List Comprehension Techniques:
Decorators
Overview of Decorators in Python:
Creating and Using Decorators:
Generators
Overview of Generators in Python:
Creating and Using Generators:

BOOK 2: PYTHON LIBRARIES AND

TOOLS
Chapter 1: Python Libraries and Applications
NumPy
Overview of NumPy:
 Using NumPy for numerical computations:
Pandas
Overview of Pandas
Using Pandas for data manipulation and analysis:
Matplotlib
Overview of Matplotlib:
Creating data visualizations with Matplotlib:
Flask
Overview of Flask
Building web applications with Flask
Django
Overview of Django
Building web applications with Django

Chapter 2: Working with APIs

What are APIs?
Types of APIs
HTTP Requests and Responses
Overview of HTTP protocol
Sending and receiving HTTP requests with Python
JSON Data Format
Introduction to JSON
Parsing and creating JSON data in Python
Accessing APIs with Python
Using the Requests library to access APIs
Authentication with APIs
Examples of Popular APIs
Twitter API
OpenWeatherMap API
Google Maps API

Chapter 3: Data Analysis and Visualization

Reading Data with Pandas
Importing data into Pandas
Working with different data formats
Data Cleaning and Preparation
Handling missing data
Data normalization and scaling
Exploratory Data Analysis
Summary statistics and visualizations
Data profiling and exploration techniques
Visualizing Data with Matplotlib and Seaborn
Creating charts and graphs with Matplotlib
Using Seaborn for advanced visualization
Basic Statistical Analysis with Python
Descriptive Statistics
Hypothesis Testing
Chapter 4: Machine Learning with Python
Overview of Machine Learning
Types of Machine Learning Algorithms
Supervised and Unsupervised Learning
Supervised Learning
Unsupervised Learning
Difference between Supervised and Unsupervised Learning
Scikit-Learn Library
Using Scikit-Learn for machine learning tasks
Examples of using Scikit-Learn for machine learning tasks
Common Machine Learning Algorithms
Applications of Machine Learning in Python

Chapter 5: Web Scraping with Python

What is Web Scraping?
How to Use Python for Web Scraping
Requests Library
BeautifulSoup Library
Scraping Data from Websites
Step 1: Send a GET Request
Step 2: Parse the HTML
Step 3: Extract Data
Data Extraction and Cleaning
Regular Expressions
String Manipulation

Chapter 6: Data Science with Python

Introduction to Data Science
Working with Data Frames in Python
Data Visualization with Matplotlib and Seaborn
Exploratory Data Analysis and Statistical Analysis
Linear and Logistic Regression Analysis

Chapter 7: Web Development with Python

Introduction to web development with Python
Creating dynamic websites using Flask and Django
Building web applications with Python

Chapter 8: Testing and Debugging in Python

Why Testing and Debugging is Important
Types of Testing in Python
Unit Testing with Pytest
Debugging Techniques in Python
Profiling Python Code

Chapter 9: Networking with Python

 Introduction to networking in Python
Basic networking concepts
Socket programming with Python
Client-server communication in Python
Networking libraries in Python (e.g. Twisted, Scapy)

Chapter 10: Game Development with Python

Introduction to Game Development with Python
Pygame library for Game Development
Creating Games with Python
Physics Simulation in Python Game Development
Game Design Principles and Strategies

Chapter 11: Cybersecurity with Python

Introduction to Cybersecurity with Python
Cryptography and Encryption in Python
Network Security with Python
Web Security with Python
Threat Detection and Response with Python

Chapter 12: Big Data with Python

Introduction to Big Data and Python
Processing Big Data with Python
Working with Hadoop and Spark using Python
Storing and Managing Big Data with Python
Data Visualization and Analysis for Big Data with Python

Chapter 13: Natural Language Processing with Python

Introduction to natural language processing:
Text pre-processing and cleaning with Python:
Sentiment analysis with Python:
Named entity recognition with Python:
Topic modeling with Python:

BOOK 3: MASTERING PYTHON LIKE A

PRO
Chapter 1: Deep Learning with Python
Introduction to deep learning
Neural network basics
Keras library for deep learning with Python
Convolutional neural networks for image processing
Recurrent neural networks for natural language processing
Chapter 2: Cloud Computing with Python
Introduction to Cloud Computing with Python
Cloud Computing Platforms (e.g. AWS, Google Cloud, Azure)
Managing Cloud Infrastructure with Python
Deploying Python Applications to the Cloud
Big Data Processing in the Cloud with Python

Chapter 3: GUI Programming with Python

Introduction to GUI programming with Python
Tkinter library for GUI programming with Python
Building desktop applications with Python
Designing user interfaces with Python
Event-driven programming in GUI programming with Python

Chapter 4: Mobile App Development with Python

Introduction to Mobile App Development with Python
Kivy Library for Mobile App Development with Python
Building Cross-Platform Mobile Apps with Python
User Interface Design for Mobile Apps with Python
Mobile App Deployment with Python

Chapter 5: Future Work and Next Steps

Review of Python Basics
Tips for Continued Learning and Practice
Future Directions and Applications for Python
Applications of Python in different fields:
Appendix: Python Reference
Python Version
Syntax
Data Types
Variables
Operators
String Methods
Date and Time
File Handling
Exception Handling

Conclusion
 Introduction to Python

I nlanguage
recent times, Python has gained popularity as a high-level programming
due to its simplicity, versatility, and power. It is used for a lot of
different things, like building websites, doing scientific computing, and
making artificial intelligence. In this chapter, we'll show you what Python is
and what it can do for you. Furthermore, we will provide guidance on how
to install Python and establish a suitable development environment.

WHAT IS PYTHON?
Guido van Rossum developed Python, a general-purpose programming
language, in the late 1980s. Python's design philosophy emphasizes
simplicity, code readability, and ease of use. The language is open-source,
allowing free usage and contribution by all.
The versatility of Python is one of its major strengths. It can be applied to
various applications, including web development, scientific computing, and
artificial intelligence. Companies like Google, Facebook, Dropbox, and
many others make use of it.
Python is also known for its clear and concise syntax. Python uses
indentation to denote block structure, making code more readable and
comprehensible. Furthermore, Python has a vast and active developer
community that contributes to its advancement and creates additional
libraries and tools that enhance its functionalities.

Brief history and development of Python

Python was initially released in 1991 and has since undergone numerous
significant updates and versions. The language has evolved to become a
versatile tool for software development, scientific computing, and data
analysis.
In the early 2000s, Python's powerful libraries, such as NumPy, SciPy, and
Matplotlib, helped it become very popular in scientific computing. When
Django, a web framework for building web apps, came out, it made the
language popular in web development as well.
Currently, Python is among the most widely used programming languages
globally, serving various purposes such as scientific computing, data
analysis, web development, artificial intelligence, and machine learning, to
name a few.

Features and strengths of Python

Python's simplicity, readability, and user-friendliness are some of its
defining features and strengths. Some of its notable characteristics include:

Easy-to-learn syntax: Python's simple and uncluttered syntax is

easy to learn and understand, making it an excellent language
for novice programmers.
Large standard library: Python comes with a vast standard
library that includes modules for various functions such as file
I/O, networking, and database operations, among others. This
feature makes it easy to write complex applications without
having to start from scratch.
Cross-platform compatibility: Python can operate on multiple
platforms, including Windows, macOS, and Linux, among
 others. This makes it highly adaptable, allowing users to
develop and execute programs across multiple operating
systems.
Object-oriented programming support: Python supports object-
oriented programming (OOP), a programming approach that
allows developers to write modular and reusable code, reducing
the amount of time spent on writing repetitive code.
Python's versatility stems from its broad range of applications. Developers
can use Python to build websites, perform scientific computations, conduct
data analysis, and implement artificial intelligence and machine learning
solutions, among other applications.

WHY LEARNS PYTHON?

Python is a widely-used programming language that has numerous
applications. Acquiring proficiency in Python can lead to vast career
prospects and assist in resolving intricate problems. Here are some of the
reasons why you should consider learning Python:

Real-world applications of Python

Python is applied in various practical, real-world scenarios, ranging from
web development, data analysis to scientific computing, with companies
like Google, Facebook, Dropbox, among others, utilizing it. Here are some
common areas where Python is frequently used:

Web development: Python frameworks, including Flask and

Django, are used to build web applications.
Data analysis and visualization: Python has an array of libraries
and tools, such as NumPy, Pandas, and Matplotlib, which
facilitate data analysis and visualization.
Scientific computing: Python is widely applied in scientific
computing applications, such as in the fields of physics,
biology, and chemistry.
Artificial intelligence and machine learning: Python has
multiple libraries and tools for artificial intelligence and
 machine learning, including TensorFlow and PyTorch.
Automation and scripting: System administrators and testers
often use Python to write scripts and automate tasks.

Career opportunities with Python:

Acquiring Python proficiency can lead to vast career prospects, as the
programming language is applied across diverse industries and applications.
Some of the careers where Python skills are in demand include:

Web developer: Python is used to create web applications, and

web development is a growing field.
Data analyst: Python is used in data analysis and visualization,
and data analytics is a growing field.
Scientific researcher: Python is used in scientific computing
applications, such as in the fields of physics, biology, and
chemistry.
Machine learning engineer: Python is widely utilized in
machine learning and artificial intelligence applications.
Software developer: Python is a versatile language that can be
applied to diverse applications, making it a valuable skill for
software developers

INSTALLING PYTHON
Once you have decided on the version of Python you want to install, the
next step is to download the installation package from the official Python
website. The download process may differ slightly depending on your
operating system. Here are the installation instructions for Windows,
macOS, and Linux:

Windows:
1. Visit the official Python website and download the latest
version of Python intended for Windows operating system.
2. Once the download is complete, execute the installation file
and adhere to the prompts provided to install Python.
 3. Choose the destination directory where Python will be
installed.
4. Choose whether to add Python to the PATH environment
variable.
5. Choose whether to install additional features such as pip, tcl/tk
support, and documentation.
6. Click on "Install" and after that wait for the installation process
to complete.

macOS:
1. Visit the official Python website and download the latest
version of Python compatible with the macOS operating
system.
2. After the download is complete, run the installation file and
follow the prompts provided to install Python.
3. Choose the destination directory where Python will be
installed.
4. Choose whether to add Python to the PATH environment
variable.
5. Choose whether to install additional features such as pip, tcl/tk
support, and documentation.
6. Click "Install" and wait for the installation process to complete.

Linux:
Depending on your Linux distribution, you can either use the package
manager or download the installation package from the Python website.
For example, if you are using Ubuntu, you can use the following command
to install Python 3:
sudo apt-get update sudo apt-get install python3
Once Python is installed, you can check the version by running the
following command in the terminal:
python3 --version
Configuring the Python Environment:
After you install Python, you may want to set up your environment by
setting up variables, installing more packages, and changing your editor or
integrated development environment (IDE). Here are some tips on
configuring your Python environment:
Setting up environment variables:

PATH: Add the directory where the Python executable is to the

PATH variable so that you can run Python from any directory
in the terminal.
PYTHONPATH: Add the directories that hold your Python
modules to the PYTHONPATH variable so that you can use
them in your Python scripts.
Installing additional packages
Python's PIP serves as the package manager that facilitates effortless
installation and management of Python packages.
In contrast, virtualenv is a useful tool that establishes secluded Python
environments for your projects, enabling the installation of packages
without impacting the global Python installation.
Customizing your editor or IDE:
There are many popular Python editors and IDEs, such as PyCharm, Visual
Studio Code, Sublime Text, and Jupyter Notebook.
You can change your editor or integrated development environment (IDE)
by adding plugins, changing the theme, and setting up code snippets and
templates.
Overall, installing and configuring Python can seem daunting at first, but
with these simple instructions and tips, you should be able to get up and
running in no time.

PYTHON DEVELOPMENT
ENVIRONMENTS
Python development environments (IDEs) are software tools that let you
create and manage Python projects in an integrated development
environment. IDEs usually have features like syntax highlighting, code
completion, tools for debugging, and version control built in. There are
many popular Python integrated development environments (IDEs) and text
editors, and each has its own pros and cons. Some of the most popular
options include:

PyCharm: JetBrains created PyCharm, a powerful IDE. It

offers advanced features such as intelligent code completion,
debugging tools, and integration with Git, Mercurial, and other
version control systems. PyCharm also includes support for
web development with Django and Flask.
Microsoft's Visual Studio Code: It is a widely known text
editor called Visual Studio Code. It features built-in support for
Python, including code completion, syntax highlighting, and
debugging tools. Additionally, Visual Studio Code offers
support for various other languages and frameworks, making it
a versatile choice for developers.
Spyder: Spyder is an open-source Integrated Development
Environment (IDE) specially created for scientific computing
and data analysis. It provides a range of scientific tools and
libraries, including NumPy, SciPy, and Matplotlib, as well as
features such as debugging, profiling, and testing.
Jupyter Notebook: Jupyter Notebook is a web-based tool that
lets users create and share documents with live code,
visualizations, and narrative text. It is commonly used in
scientific computing and machine learning.
IDLE: IDLE is the default Integrated Development
Environment (IDE) that comes with standard Python
distribution. It offers fundamental features like debugging tools
and syntax highlighting, making it a suitable choice for
beginners.

Choosing the Right IDE for Your Needs

When picking an integrated development environment (IDE) for Python
development, it's important to think about your own needs and preferences.
Some IDEs are designed for specific types of projects, such as scientific
computing or web development, while others are more general-purpose. It's
worth noting that various IDEs have distinct features and capabilities.
Therefore, it is critical to select one that suits your specific needs and
requirements.
Some factors to consider when choosing an IDE include:

Features: Consider the features that are important to you, such

as debugging tools, code completion, and version control
integration.
Ease of use: Choose an IDE that is easy to use and navigate,
especially if you are a beginner.
Compatibility: Make sure the IDE you choose is compatible
with your operating system and other tools you may be using.
Cost: Some IDEs, such as PyCharm, require a license for full
functionality, while others are free and open source.
In conclusion, identifying the most suitable IDE is subjective and reliant on
individual requirements and preferences. It is advisable to experiment with
different options to discover the best fit for your programming needs.
In this chapter, we've introduced the basics of Python programming and
discussed why it's such a popular and powerful language. We've also given
you instructions on how to install Python and set up your development
environment. We've talked about some popular Python integrated
development environments (IDEs) and text editors, and we've given you
tips on how to choose the right IDE for your needs. In the next chapters,
we'll go into more detail about variables, data types, and control structures,
which are all important parts of Python programming.
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
 Walking Tours
It must not be imagined that a walking tour, as some would have
us fancy, is merely a better or worse way of seeing the country.
There are many ways of seeing landscape quite as good; and none
more vivid, in spite of canting dilettantes, than from a railway train.
But landscape on a walking tour is quite accessory. He who is indeed
of the brotherhood does not voyage in quest of the picturesque, but
of certain jolly humours—of the hope and spirit with which the
march begins at morning, and the peace and spiritual repletion of
the evening's rest. He cannot tell whether he puts his knapsack on,
or takes it off, with more delight. The excitement of the departure
puts him in key for that of the arrival. Whatever he does is not only
a reward in itself, but will be further rewarded in the sequel; and so
pleasure leads on to pleasure in an endless chain. It is this that so
few can understand; they will either be always lounging or always at
five miles an hour; they do not play off the one against the other,
prepare all day for the evening, and all evening for the next day.
And, above all, it is here that your overwalker fails of
comprehension. His heart rises against those who drink their curaçoa
in liqueur glasses, when he himself can swill it in a brown john. He
will not believe that the flavour is more delicate in the smaller dose.
He will not believe that to walk this unconscionable distance is
merely to stupefy and brutalise himself, and come to his inn, at
night, with a sort of frost on his five wits, and a starless night of
darkness in his spirit. Not for him the mild luminous evening of the
temperate walker! He has nothing left of man but a physical need
for bedtime and a double nightcap; and even his pipe, if he be a
smoker, will be savourless and disenchanted. It is the fate of such an
one to take twice as much trouble as is needed to obtain happiness,
and miss the happiness in the end; he is the man of the proverb, in
short, who goes further and fares worse.
 Now, to be properly enjoyed, a walking tour should be gone upon
alone. If you go in a company, or even in pairs, it is no longer a
walking tour in anything but name; it is something else and more in
the nature of a picnic. A walking tour should be gone upon alone,
because freedom is of the essence; because you should be able to
stop and go on, and follow this way or that, as the freak takes you;
and because you must have your own pace, and neither trot
alongside a champion walker, nor mince in time with a girl. And then
you must be open to all impressions and let your thoughts take
colour from what you see. You should be as a pipe for any wind to
play upon. "I cannot see the wit," says Hazlitt, "of walking and
talking at the same time. When I am in the country, I wish to
vegetate like the country," which is the gist of all that can be said
upon the matter. There should be no cackle of voices at your elbow,
to jar on the meditative silence of the morning. And so long as a
man is reasoning he cannot surrender himself to that fine
intoxication that comes of much motion in the open air, that begins
in a sort of dazzle and sluggishness of the brain, and ends in a
peace that passes comprehension.
During the first day or so of any tour there are moments of
bitterness, when the traveller feels more than coldly towards his
knapsack, when he is half in a mind to throw it bodily over the
hedge and, like Christian on a similar occasion, "give three leaps and
go on singing." And yet it soon acquires a property of easiness. It
becomes magnetic; the spirit of the journey enters into it. And no
sooner have you passed the straps over your shoulder than the lees
of sleep are cleared from you, you pull yourself together with a
shake, and fall at once into your stride. And surely, of all possible
moods, this, in which a man takes the road, is the best. Of course, if
he will keep thinking of his anxieties, if he will open the merchant
Abudah's chest and walk arm in arm with the hag—why, wherever
he is, and whether he walk fast or slow, the chances are that he will
not be happy. And so much the more shame to himself! There are
perhaps thirty men setting forth at that same hour, and I would lay a
large wager there is not another dull face among the thirty. It would
be a fine thing to follow, in a coat of darkness, one after another of
these wayfarers, some summer morning, for the first few miles upon
the road. This one, who walks fast, with a keen look in his eyes, is
all concentrated in his own mind; he is up at his loom, weaving and
weaving, to set the landscape to words. This one peers about, as he
goes, among the grasses; he waits by the canal to watch the
dragon-flies; he leans on the gate of the pasture, and cannot look
enough upon the complacent kine. And here comes another talking,
laughing, and gesticulating to himself. His face changes from time to
time, as indignation flashes from his eyes or anger clouds his
forehead. He is composing articles, delivering orations, and
conducting the most impassioned interviews, by the way. A little
farther on, and it is as like as not he will begin to sing. And well for
him, supposing him to be no great master in that art, if he stumble
across no stolid peasant at a corner; for on such an occasion, I
scarcely know which is the more troubled, or whether it is worse to
suffer the confusion of your troubadour or the unfeigned alarm of
your clown. A sedentary population, accustomed, besides, to the
strange mechanical bearing of the common tramp, can in no wise
explain to itself the gaiety of these passers-by. I knew one man who
was arrested as a runaway lunatic, because, although a full-grown
person with a red beard, he skipped as he went like a child. And you
would be astonished if I were to tell you all the grave and learned
heads who have confessed to me that, when on walking tours, they
sang—and sang very ill—and had a pair of red ears when, as
described above, the inauspicious peasant plumped into their arms
from round a corner. And here, lest you think I am exaggerating, is
Hazlitt's own confession, from his essay "On going a Journey," which
is so good that there should be a tax levied on all who have not read
it:—
"Give me the clear blue sky over my head," says he, "and the
green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and a three
hours' march to dinner—and then to thinking! It is hard if I cannot
start some game on these lone heaths. I laugh, I run, I leap, I sing
for joy."
 Bravo! After that adventure of my friend with the policeman, you
would not have cared, would you, to publish that in the first person?
But we have no bravery nowadays, and, even in books, must all
pretend to be as dull and foolish as our neighbours. It was not so
with Hazlitt. And notice how learned he is (as, indeed, throughout
the essay) in the theory of walking tours. He is none of your athletic
men in purple stockings, who walk their fifty miles a day: three
hours' march is his ideal. And then he must have a winding road, the
epicure!
Yet there is one thing I object to in these words of his, one thing
in the great master's practice that seems to me not wholly wise. I do
not approve of that leaping and running. Both of these hurry the
respiration; they both shake up the brain out of its glorious open-air
confusion; and they both break the pace. Uneven walking is not so
agreeable to the body, and it distracts and irritates the mind.
Whereas, when once you have fallen into an equable stride, it
requires no conscious thought from you to keep it up, and yet it
prevents you from thinking earnestly of anything else. Like knitting,
like the work of a copying clerk, it gradually neutralises and sets to
sleep the serious activity of the mind. We can think of this or that,
lightly and laughingly, as a child thinks, or as we think in a morning
doze; we can make puns or puzzle out acrostics, and trifle in a
thousand ways with words or rhymes; but when it comes to honest
work, when we come to gather ourselves together for an effort, we
may sound the trumpet as loud and long as we please; the great
barons of the mind will not rally to the standard, but sit, each one,
at home, warming his hands over his own fire and brooding on his
own private thought!
In the course of a day's walk, you see, there is much variance in
the mood. From the exhilaration of the start, to the happy phlegm of
the arrival, the change is certainly great. As the day goes on, the
traveller moves from the one extreme towards the other. He
becomes more and more incorporated with the material landscape,
and the open-air drunkenness grows upon him with great strides,
until he posts along the road, and sees everything about him, as in a
cheerful dream. The first is certainly brighter, but the second stage is
the more peaceful. A man does not make so many articles towards
the end, nor does he laugh aloud; but the purely animal pleasures,
the sense of physical well-being, the delight of every inhalation, of
every time the muscles tighten down the thigh, console him for the
absence of the others, and bring him to his destination still content.
Nor must I forget to say a word on bivouacs. You come to a
milestone on a hill, or some place where deep ways meet under
trees; and off goes the knapsack, and down you sit to smoke a pipe
in the shade. You sink into yourself, and the birds come round and
look at you, and your smoke dissipates upon the afternoon under
the blue dome of heaven; and the sun lies warm upon your feet, and
the cool air visits your neck and turns aside your open shirt. If you
are not happy, you must have an evil conscience. You may dally as
long as you like by the roadside. It is almost as if the millennium
were arrived, when we shall throw our clocks and watches over the
housetop, and remember time and seasons no more. Not to keep
hours for a lifetime is, I was going to say, to live for ever. You have
no idea, unless you have tried it, how endlessly long is a summer's
day, that you measure out only by hunger, and bring to an end only
when you are drowsy. I know a village where there are hardly any
clocks, where no one knows more of the days of the week than by a
sort of instinct for the fête on Sundays, and where only one person
can tell you the day of the month, and she is generally wrong; and if
people were aware how slow Time journeyed in that village, and
what armfuls of spare hours he gives, over and above the bargain,
to its wise inhabitants, I believe there would be a stampede out of
London, Liverpool, Paris, and a variety of large towns, where the
clocks lose their heads, and shake the hours out each one faster
than the other, as though they were all in a wager. And all these
foolish pilgrims would each bring his own misery along with him, in a
watch-pocket! It is to be noticed, there were no clocks and watches
in the much-vaunted days before the flood. It follows, of course,
there were no appointments, and punctuality was not yet thought
upon. "Though ye take from a covetous man all his treasure," says
Milton, "he has yet one jewel left; ye cannot deprive him of his
covetousness." And so I would say of a modern man of business,
you may do what you will for him, put him in Eden, give him the
elixir of life—he has still a flaw at heart, he still has his business
habits. Now, there is no time when business habits are more
mitigated than on a walking tour. And so during these halts, as I say,
you will feel almost free.
But it is at night, and after dinner, that the best hour comes.
There are no such pipes to be smoked as those that follow a good
day's march; the flavour of the tobacco is a thing to be remembered,
it is so dry and aromatic, so full and so fine. If you wind up the
evening with grog, you will own there was never such grog; at every
sip a jocund tranquillity spreads about your limbs, and sits easily in
your heart. If you read a book—and you will never do so save by fits
and starts—you find the language strangely racy and harmonious;
words take a new meaning; single sentences possess the ear for half
an hour together; and the writer endears himself to you, at every
page, by the nicest coincidence of sentiment. It seems as if it were a
book you had written yourself in a dream. To all we have read on
such occasions we look back with special favour. "It was on the 10th
of April 1798," says Hazlitt, with amorous precision, "that I sat down
to a volume of the new Heloïse, at the Inn at Llangollen, over a
bottle of sherry and a cold chicken." I should wish to quote more, for
though we are mighty fine fellows nowadays, we cannot write like
Hazlitt. And, talking of that, a volume of Hazlitt's essays would be a
capital pocket-book on such a journey; so would a volume of Heine's
songs; and for Tristram Shandy I can pledge a fair experience.
If the evening be fine and warm, there is nothing better in life
than to lounge before the inn door in the sunset, or lean over the
parapet of the bridge, to watch the weeds and the quick fishes. It is
then, if ever, that you taste joviality to the full significance of that
audacious word. Your muscles are so agreeably slack, you feel so
clean and so strong and so idle, that whether you move or sit still,
whatever you do is done with pride and a kingly sort of pleasure.
You fall in talk with any one, wise or foolish, drunk or sober. And it
seems as if a hot walk purged you, more than of anything else, of all
narrowness and pride, and left curiosity to play its part freely, as in a
child or a man of science. You lay aside all your own hobbies, to
watch provincial humours develop themselves before you, now as a
laughable farce, and now grave and beautiful like an old tale.
Or perhaps you are left to your own company for the night, and
surly weather imprisons you by the fire. You may remember how
Burns, numbering past pleasures, dwells upon the hours when he
has been "happy thinking." It is a phrase that may well perplex a
poor modern girt about on every side by clocks and chimes, and
haunted, even at night, by flaming dial-plates. For we are all so
busy, and have so many far-off projects to realise, and castles in the
fire to turn into solid, habitable mansions on a gravel soil, that we
can find no time for pleasure trips into the Land of Thought and
among the Hills of Vanity. Changed times, indeed, when we must sit
all night, beside the fire, with folded hands; and a changed world for
most of us, when we find we can pass the hours without discontent,
and be happy thinking. We are in such haste to be doing, to be
writing, to be gathering gear, to make our voice audible a moment in
the derisive silence of eternity, that we forget that one thing, of
which these are but the parts—namely, to live. We fall in love, we
drink hard, we run to and fro upon the earth like frightened sheep.
And now you are to ask yourself if, when all is done, you would not
have been better to sit by the fire at home, and be happy thinking.
To sit still and contemplate,—to remember the faces of women
without desire, to be pleased by the great deeds of men without
envy, to be everything and everywhere in sympathy, and yet content
to remain where and what you are—is not this to know both wisdom
and virtue, and to dwell with happiness? After all, it is not they who
carry flags, but they who look upon it from a private chamber, who
have the fun of the procession. And once you are at that, you are in
the very humour of all social heresy. It is no time for shuffling, or for
big empty words. If you ask yourself what you mean by fame,
riches, or learning, the answer is far to seek; and you go back into
that kingdom of light imaginations, which seem so vain in the eyes
of Philistines perspiring after wealth, and so momentous to those
who are stricken with the disproportions of the world, and, in the
face of the gigantic stars, cannot stop to split differences between
two degrees of the infinitesimally small, such as a tobacco pipe or
the Roman Empire, a million of money or a fiddlestick's end.
You lean from the window, your last pipe reeking whitely into the
darkness, your body full of delicious pains, your mind enthroned in
the seventh circle of content; when suddenly the mood changes, the
weathercock goes about, and you ask yourself one question more:
whether, for the interval, you have been the wisest philosopher or
the most egregious of donkeys? Human experience is not yet able to
reply; but at least you have had a fine moment, and looked down
upon all the kingdoms of the earth. And whether it was wise or
foolish, to-morrow's travel will carry you, body and mind, into some
different parish of the infinite.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
 Sylvanus Urban discovers a Good
Brew
It must be nearly thirty years ago, long before the days of bicycles
and motors, since Sylvanus Urban, then but a boy, passed over it.
He had started from Chepstow on a solitary walking tour, and was
soon caught in a rattling thunderstorm on the Wyndcliff. Tintern
Abbey and Raglan Castle are fresh in his memory to-day. A mile or
two out of Monmouth he came upon some excellent nutty-hearted
ale, that George Borrow would have immortalised. As he pursued his
way to Raglan Castle he pondered on the ale—"this way and that
dividing the swift mind"—until at length, in despair of meeting an
equal brew, he turned back again and had another tankard.
Heavens, what days were those! In his pack he carried the Essays of
Elia and read them in an old inn at Llandovery, where the gracious
hostess lighted in his honour tall wax candles fit to stand before an
altar. After leaving Llandovery, he lost his way among the
Caermarthenshire hills, and was in very poor plight with hunger and
fatigue when he reached the white-washed walls of Tregaron. At
Harlech he rested for a couple of days, and then covered the way to
Beddgelert—twenty miles, if he remembers rightly—at a spanking
pace; proceeding in the late afternoon to climb Snowdon, and
arriving at Llanberis an hour or so before midnight. Back to London,
every inch of the way, walked the young Sylvanus. He indulges the
hope that he may yet shoulder his pack again.
Gentleman's Magazine.
 Minchmoor
Now that everybody is out of town, and every place in the guide-
books is as well known as Princes Street or Pall-Mall, it is something
to discover a hill everybody has not been to the top of, and which is
not in Black. Such a hill is Minchmoor, nearly three times as high as
Arthur's Seat, and lying between Tweed and Yarrow.
The best way to ascend it is from Traquair. You go up the wild old
Selkirk road, which passes almost right over the summit, and by
which Montrose and his cavaliers fled from Philiphaugh, where Sir
Walter's mother remembered crossing, when a girl, in a coach-and-
six, on her way to a ball at Peebles, several footmen marching on
either side of the carriage to prop it up or drag it out of the moss
haggs; and where, to our amazement, we learned that the Duchess
of Buccleuch had lately driven her ponies. Before this we had passed
the grey, old-world entrance to Traquair House, and looked down its
grassy and untrod avenue to the pallid, forlorn mansion, stricken all
o'er with eld, and noticed the wrought-iron gate embedded in a foot
deep and more of soil, never having opened since the '45. There are
the huge Bradwardine bears on each side—most grotesque
supporters—with a superfluity of ferocity and canine teeth. The
whole place, like the family whose it has been, seems dying out—
everything subdued to settled desolation. The old race, the old
religion, the gaunt old house, with its small, deep, comfortless
windows, the decaying trees, the stillness about the doors, the grass
overrunning everything, nature reinstating herself in her quiet way—
all this makes the place look as strange and pitiful among its fellows
in the vale as would the Earl who built it three hundred years ago if
we met him tottering along our way in the faded dress of his youth;
but it looks the Earl's house still, and has a dignity of its own.
We soon found the Minchmoor road, and took at once to the hill,
the ascent being, as often is with other ascents in this world,
steepest at first. Nothing could be more beautiful than the view as
we ascended, and got a look of the "eye-sweet" Tweed hills, and
their "silver stream." It was one of the five or six good days of this
summer—in early morning, "soft" and doubtful; but the mists
drawing up, and now the noble, tawny hills were dappled with
gleams and shadows—

"Sunbeams upon distant hills gliding apace"—

the best sort of day for mountain scenery—that ripple of light and
shadow brings out the forms and the depths of the hills far better
than a cloudless sky; and the horizon is generally wider.
Before us and far away was the round flat head of Minchmoor,
with a dark, rich bloom on it from the thick, short heather—the hills
around being green. Near the top, on the Tweed side, its waters
trotting away cheerily to the glen at Bold, is the famous Cheese Well
—always full, never overflowing. Here every traveler—Duchess,
shepherd, or houseless mugger—stops, rests, and is thankful;
doubtless so did Montrose, poor fellow, and his young nobles and
their jaded steeds, on their scurry from Lesly and his Dragoons. It is
called the Cheese Well from those who rest there dropping in bits of
their provisions, as votive offerings to the fairies whose especial
haunt this mountain was. After our rest and drink, we left the road
and made for the top. When there we were well rewarded. The
great round-backed, kindly, solemn hills of Tweed, Yarrow, and
Ettrick lay all about like sleeping mastiffs—too plain to be grand, too
ample and beautiful to be commonplace.
There, to the north-east, is the place—Williamhope ridge—where
Sir Walter Scott bade farewell to his heroic friend Mungo Park. They
had come up from Ashestiel, where Scott then lived, and where
Marmion was written and its delightful epistles inspired—where he
passed the happiest part of his life—leaving it, as Hogg said, "for
gude an' a'"; for his fatal "dreams about his cottage" were now
begun. He was to have "a hundred acres, two spare bed-rooms, with
dressing rooms, each of which will on a pinch have a couch-bed."
We all know what the dream, and the cottage, and the hundred
acres came to—the ugly Abbotsford; the over-burdened, shattered
brain driven wild, and the end, death, and madness. Well, it was on
the ridge that the two friends—each romantic, but in such different
ways—parted never to meet again. There is the ditch Park's horse
stumbled over and all but fell. "I am afraid, Mungo, that's a bad
omen," said the Sheriff; to which he answered, with a bright smile
on his handsome, fearless face—"Freits (omens) follow those who
look to them." With this expression, he struck the spurs into his
horse, and Scott never saw him again. He had not long been
married to a lovely and much-loved woman, and had been speaking
to Scott about his new African scheme, and how he meant to tell his
family he had some business in Edinburgh—send them his blessing,
and be off—alas! never to return! Scott used to say, when speaking
of this parting, "I stood and looked back, but he did not." A more
memorable place for two such men to part in would not easily be
found.
Where we are standing is the spot Scott speaks of when writing to
Joanna Baillie about her new tragedies—"Were it possible for me to
hasten the treat I expect in such a composition with you, I would
promise to read the volume at the silence of noonday upon the top
of Minchmoor. The hour is allowed, by those skilful in demonology,
to be as full of witching as midnight itself; and I assure you I have
felt really oppressed with a sort of fearful loneliness when looking
around the naked towering ridges of desolate barrenness, which is
all the eye takes in from the top of such a mountain, the patches of
cultivation being hidden in the little glens, or only appearing to make
one feel how feeble and ineffectual man has been to contend with
the genius of the soil. It is in such a scene that the unknown and
gifted author of Albania places the superstition which consists in
hearing the noise of a chase, the baying of the hounds, the
throttling sobs of the deer, the wild hollos of the huntsmen, and the
'hoof thick beating on the hollow hill.' I have often repeated his
verses with some sensations of awe, in this place." The lines—and
they are noble, and must have sounded wonderful with his voice and
look—are as follows. Can no one tell us anything more of their
author?—

"There oft is heard, at midnight, or at noon,

Beginning faint, but rising still more loud,
And nearer, voice of hunters, and of hounds;
And horns, hoarse-winded, blowing far and keen!
Forthwith the hubbub multiplies; the gale
Labours with wilder shrieks, and rifer din
Of hot pursuit; the broken cry of deer
Mangled by throttling dogs; the shouts of men,
And hoofs thick beating on the hollow hill.
Sudden the grazing heifer in the vale
Starts at the noise, and both the herdman's ears
Tingle with inward dread—aghast he eyes
The mountain's height, and all the ridges round,
Yet not one trace of living wight discerns,
Nor knows, o'erawed and trembling as he stands,
To what or whom he owes his idle fear—
To ghost, to witch, to fairy, or to fiend;
But wonders, and no end of wondering finds."

We listened for the hunt, but could only hear the wind sobbing
from the blind "Hopes."[3]
[3] The native word for hollows in the hills: thus, Dryhope,
Gameshope, Chapelhope, &c.

The view from the top reaches from the huge Harestane Broadlaw
—nearly as high as Ben Lomond—whose top is as flat as a table, and
would make a race-course of two miles, and where the clouds are
still brooding, to the Cheviot; and from the Maiden Paps in
Liddesdale, and that wild huddle of hills at Moss Paul, to Dunse Law,
and the weird Lammermoors. There is Ruberslaw, always surly and
dark. The Dunion, beyond which lies Jedburgh. There are the
Eildons, with their triple heights; and you can get a glimpse of the
upper woods of Abbotsford, and the top of the hill above Cauldshiels
Loch, that very spot where the "wondrous potentate,"—when
suffering from languor and pain, and beginning to break down under
his prodigious fertility,—composed those touching lines:—

"The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill

In Ettrick's vale is sinking sweet;
The westland wind is hushed and still;
The lake lies sleeping at my feet.
Yet not the landscape to mine eye
Bears those bright hues that once it bore,
Though evening, with her richest dye,
Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore.

With listless look along the plain

I see Tweed's silver current glide,
And coldly mark the holy fane
Of Melrose rise in ruined pride.
The quiet lake, and balmy air,
The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree,
Are they still such as once they were,
Or is the dreary change in me?

Alas! the warped and broken board,

How can it bear the painter's dye!
The harp of strained and tuneless chord,
How to the minstrel's skill reply!
To aching eyes each landscape lowers,
To feverish pulse each gale blows chill;
And Araby or Eden's bowers
Were barren as this moorland hill."

There, too, is Minto Hill, as modest and shapely and smooth as

Clytie's shoulders, and Earlston Black Hill, with Cowdenknowes at its
foot; and there, standing stark and upright as a warder, is the stout
old Smailholme Tower, seen and seeing all around. It is quite curious
how unmistakable and important it looks at what must be twenty
and more miles. It is now ninety years since that "lonely infant," who
has sung its awful joys, was found in a thunderstorm, as we all
know, lying on the soft grass at the foot of the grey old Strength,
clapping his hands at each flash, and shouting, "Bonny! bonny!"
We now descended into Yarrow, and forgathered with a shepherd
who was taking his lambs over to the great Melrose fair. He was a
fine specimen of a border herd—young, tall, sagacious, self-
contained, and free in speech and air. We got his heart by praising
his dog Jed, a very fine collie, black and comely, gentle and keen
—"Ay, she's a fell yin; she can do a' but speak." On asking him if the
sheep dogs needed much teaching—"Whyles ay and whyles no; her
kind (Jed's) needs nane. She sooks't in wi' her mither's milk." On
asking him if the dogs were ever sold, he said—"Never, but at an
orra time. Naebody wad sell a gude dowg, and naebody wad buy an
ill ane." He told us with great feeling, of the death of one of his best
dogs by poison. It was plainly still a grief to him. "What was he
poisoned with?" "Strychnia," he said, as decidedly as might Dr
Christison. "How do you know?" "I opened him, puir fallow, and got
him analeezed!"
Now we are on Birkindale Brae, and are looking down on the same
scene as did

"James Boyd (the Earle of Arran, his brother was he),"

when he crossed Minchmoor on his way to deliver James the

Fifth's message to

"Yon outlaw Murray,

Surely whaur bauldly bideth he."

"Down Birkindale Brae when that he cam

He saw the feir Foreste wi' his ee."
 How James Boyd fared, and what the outlaw said, and what
James and his nobles said and did, and how the outlaw at last made
peace with his King, and rose up "Sheriffe of Ettricke Foreste," and
how the bold ruffian boasted,

"Fair Philiphaugh is mine by right,

And Lewinshope still mine shall be;
Newark, Foulshiels, and Tinnies baith
My bow and arrow purchased me.

And I have native steads to me

The Newark Lee o' Hangingshaw.
I have many steads in the Forest schaw,
But them by name I dinna knaw."

And how King James snubbed

"The kene Laird of Buckscleuth,

A stalwart man and stern was he."

When the Laird hinted that,

"For a king to gang an outlaw till

Is beneath his state and dignitie.
The man that wins yon forest intill
He lives by reif and felony."

"Then out and spak the nobil King,

And round him cast a wilie ee.

'Now haud thy tongue, Sir Walter Scott,

Nor speak o' reif or felonie—
For, had every honest man his awin kye,
A richt puir clan thy name wud be!'"
 (by-the-bye, why did Professor Aytoun leave out this excellent hit
in his edition?)—all this and much more may you see if you take up
The Border Minstrelsy, and read "The Song of the Outlaw Murray,"
with the incomparable notes of Scott. But we are now well down the
hill. There to the left, in the hollow, is Permanscore, where the King
and the outlaw met:—

"Bid him mete me at Permanscore,

And bring four in his companie;
Five Erles sall cum wi' mysel',
Gude reason I sud honoured be."

And there goes our Shepherd with his long swinging stride. As
different from his dark, wily companion, the Badenoch drover, as
was Harry Wakefield from Robin Oig; or as the big, sunny Cheviot is
from the lowering Ruberslaw; and there is Jed trotting meekly
behind him—may she escape strychnia, and, dying at the fireside
among the children, be laid like

"Paddy Tims—whose soul at aise is—

With the point of his nose
And the tips of his toes
Turn'd up to the roots of the daisies"—

unanaleezed, save by the slow cunning of the grave. And may her
master get the top price for his lambs!
Do you see to the left that little plantation on the brow of
Foulshiels Hill, with the sunlight lying on its upper corner? If you
were there you might find among the brackens and foxglove a little
headstone with "I. T." rudely carved on it. That is Tibbie Tamson's
grave, known and feared all the country round.
This poor outcast was a Selkirk woman, who, under the stress of
spiritual despair—that sense of perdition, which, as in Cowper's case,
often haunts and overmasters the deepest and gentlest natures,
making them think themselves
 "Damn'd below Judas, more abhorred than he was,"—

committed suicide; and being, with the gloomy, cruel superstition

of the time, looked on by her neighbours as accursed of God, she
was hurried into a rough white deal coffin, and carted out of the
town, the people stoning it all the way till it crossed the Ettrick.
Here, on this wild hillside, it found its rest, being buried where three
lairds' lands meet. May we trust that the light of God's reconciled
countenance has for all these long years been resting on that once
forlorn soul, as His blessed sunshine now lies on her moorland
grave! For "the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed;
but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the
covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy
on thee."
Now, we see down into the Yarrow—there is the famous stream
twinkling in the sun. What stream and valley was ever so be-sung!
You wonder at first why this has been, but the longer you look the
less you wonder. There is a charm about it—it is not easy to say
what. The huge sunny hills in which it is embosomed give it a look at
once gentle and serious. They are great, and their gentleness makes
them greater. Wordsworth has the right words, "pastoral
melancholy"; and besides, the region is "not uninformed with
phantasy and looks that threaten the profane"—the Flowers of
Yarrow, the Douglas Tragedy, the Dowie Dens, Wordsworth's Yarrow
Unvisited, Visited, and Re-Visited, and, above all, the glamour of Sir
Walter, and Park's fatal and heroic story. Where can you find eight
more exquisite lines anywhere than Logan's, which we all know by
heart:—
 "His mother from the window looked,
With all the longing of a mother;
His little sister, weeping, walked
The greenwood path to meet her brother.
They sought him east, they sought him west,
They sought him all the forest thorough—
They only saw the cloud of night,
They only heard the roar of Yarrow."

And there is Newark Tower among the rich woods; and Harehead,
that cosiest, loveliest, and hospitablest of nests. Methinks I hear
certain young voices among the hazels; out they come on the little
haugh by the side of the deep, swirling stream, fabulosus as was
ever Hydaspes. There they go "running races in their mirth," and is
not that—an me ludit amabilis insania?—the voice of ma pauvre
petite—animosa infans—the wilful, rich-eyed, delicious Eppie?

"Oh blessed vision, happy child,

Thou art so exquisitely wild!"

And there is Black Andro and Glowr owr'em and Foulshiels, where
Park was born and bred; and there is the deep pool in the Yarrow
where Scott found him plunging one stone after another into the
water, and watching anxiously the bubbles as they rose to the
surface. "This," said Scott to him, "appears but an idle amusement
for one who has seen so much adventure." "Not so idle, perhaps, as
you suppose," answered Mungo, "this was the way I used to
ascertain the depth of a river in Africa." He was then meditating his
second journey, but had said so to no one.
We go down by Broadmeadows, now held by that Yair
"Hoppringle"—who so well governed Scinde—and into the grounds
of Bowhill, and passing Philiphaugh, see where stout David Lesly
crossed in the mist at daybreak with his heavy dragoons, many of
them old soldiers of Gustavus, and routed the gallant Graeme; and
there is Slainmens Lee, where the royalists lie; and there is
Carterhaugh, the scene of the strange wild story of Tamlane and
Lady Janet, when

"She prinked hersell and prinned hersell

By the ae light of the moon,
And she's awa' to Carterhaugh
To speak wi' young Tamlane."

Noel Paton might paint that night, when

"'Twixt the hours of twelve and yin

A north wind tore the bent";

when "fair Janet" in her green mantle

"—— heard strange elritch sounds

Upon the wind that went."

And straightway

"About the dead hour o' the night

She heard the bridles ring;
Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill,
The hemlock small blew clear;
And louder notes from hemlock large
And bog reed, struck the ear,"

and then the fairy cavalcade swept past, while Janet, filled with
love and fear, looked out for the milk-white steed, and "gruppit it
fast," and "pu'd the rider doon," the young Tamlane, whom, after
dipping "in a stand of milk and then in a stand of water,"
 "She wrappit ticht in her green mantle,
And sae her true love won!"

This ended our walk. We found the carriage at the Philiphaugh

home-farm, and we drove home by Yair and Fernilee, Ashestiel and
Elibank, and passed the bears as ferocious as ever, "the orange sky
of evening" glowing through their wild tusks, the old house looking
even older in the fading light. And is not this a walk worth making?
One of our number had been at the Land's End and Johnnie Groat's,
and now on Minchmoor; and we wondered how many other men
had been at all the three, and how many had enjoyed Minchmoor
more than he.
Dr John Brown.
 In Praise of Walking
As a man grows old, he is told by some moralists that he may find
consolation for increasing infirmities in looking back upon a well-
spent life. No doubt such a retrospect must be very agreeable, but
the question must occur to many of us whether our life offers the
necessary materials for self-complacency. What part of it, if any, has
been well spent? To that I find it convenient to reply, for my own
purposes, any part in which I thoroughly enjoyed myself. If it be
proposed to add "innocently," I will not quarrel with the amendment.
Perhaps, indeed, I may have a momentary regret for some pleasures
which do not quite deserve that epithet, but the pleasure of which I
am about to speak is obtrusively and pre-eminently innocent.
Walking is among recreations what ploughing and fishing are among
industrial labours: it is primitive and simple; it brings us into contact
with mother earth and unsophisticated nature; it requires no
elaborate apparatus and no extraneous excitement. It is fit even for
poets and philosophers, and he who can thoroughly enjoy it must
have at least some capacity for worshipping the "cherub
Contemplation." He must be able to enjoy his own society without
the factitious stimulants of the more violent physical recreations. I
have always been a humble admirer of athletic excellence. I retain,
in spite of much head-shaking from wise educationalists, my early
veneration for the heroes of the river and the cricket-field. To me
they have still the halo which surrounded them in the days when
"muscular Christianity" was first preached and the whole duty of
man said to consist in fearing God and walking a thousand miles in a
thousand hours. I rejoice unselfishly in these later days to see the
stream of bicyclists restoring animation to deserted highroads or to
watch even respected contemporaries renewing their youth in the
absorbing delights of golf. While honouring all genuine delight in
manly exercises, I regret only the occasional admixture of lower
motives which may lead to its degeneration. Now it is one merit of
walking that its real devotees are little exposed to such temptations.
Of course there are such things as professional pedestrians making
"records" and seeking the applause of the mob. When I read of the
immortal Captain Barclay performing his marvellous feats, I admire
respectfully, but I fear that his motives included a greater admixture
of vanity than of the emotions congenial to the higher intellect. The
true walker is one to whom the pursuit is in itself delightful; who is
not indeed priggish enough to be above a certain complacency in
the physical prowess required for his pursuit, but to whom the
muscular effort of the legs is subsidiary to the "cerebration"
stimulated by the effort; to the quiet musings and imaginings which
arise most spontaneously as he walks, and generate the intellectual
harmony which is the natural accompaniment to the monotonous
tramp of his feet. The cyclist or the golf-player, I am told, can hold
such intercourse with himself in the intervals of striking the ball or
working his machine. But the true pedestrian loves walking because,
so far from distracting his mind, it is favourable to the equable and
abundant flow of tranquil and half-conscious meditation. Therefore I
should be sorry if the pleasures of cycling or any other recreation
tended to put out of fashion the habit of the good old walking tour.
For my part, when I try to summon up remembrance of "well-
spent" moments, I find myself taking a kind of inverted view of the
past; inverted, that is, so far as the accidental becomes the
essential. If I turn over the intellectual album which memory is
always compiling, I find that the most distinct pictures which it
contains are those of old walks. Other memories of incomparably
greater intrinsic value coalesce into wholes. They are more massive
but less distinct. The memory of a friendship that has brightened
one's whole life survives not as a series of incidents but as a general
impression of the friend's characteristic qualities due to the
superposition of innumerable forgotten pictures. I remember him,
not the specific conversations by which he revealed himself. The
memories of walks, on the other hand, are all localised and dated;
they are hitched on to particular times and places; they
spontaneously form a kind of calendar or connecting thread upon
which other memories may be strung. As I look back, a long series
of little vignettes presents itself, each representing a definite stage
of my earthly pilgrimage summed up and embodied in a walk. Their
background of scenery recalls places once familiar, and the thoughts
associated with the places revive thoughts of the contemporary
occupations. The labour of scribbling books happily leaves no distinct
impression, and I would forget that it had ever been undergone; but
the picture of some delightful ramble includes incidentally a
reference to the nightmare of literary toil from which it relieved me.
The author is but the accidental appendage of the tramp. My days
are bound each to each not by "natural piety" (or not, let me say, by
natural piety alone) but by pedestrian enthusiasm. The memory of
school days, if one may trust to the usual reminiscences, generally
clusters round a flogging, or some solemn words from the spiritual
teacher instilling the seed of a guiding principle of life. I remember a
sermon or two rather ruefully; and I confess to memories of a
flogging so unjust that I am even now stung by the thought of it.
But what comes most spontaneously to my mind is the memory of
certain strolls, "out of bounds," when I could forget the Latin
grammar, and enjoy such a sense of the beauties of nature as is
embodied for a child in a pond haunted by water-rats, or a field
made romantic by threats of "mantraps and spring-guns." Then,
after a crude fashion, one was becoming more or less of a reflecting
and individual being, not a mere automaton set in movement by
pedagogic machinery.
The day on which I was fully initiated into the mysteries is marked
by a white stone. It was when I put on a knapsack and started from
Heidelberg for a march through the Odenwald. Then I first knew the
delightful sensation of independence and detachment enjoyed
during a walking tour. Free from all bothers of railway time-tables
and extraneous machinery, you trust to your own legs, stop when
you please, diverge into any track that takes your fancy, and drop in
upon some quaint variety of human life at every inn where you put
up for the night. You share for the time the mood in which Borrow
settled down in the dingle after escaping from his bondage in the
publishers' London slums. You have no dignity to support, and the
dress-coat of conventional life has dropped into oblivion, like the
bundle from Christian's shoulders. You are in the world of Lavengro,
and would be prepared to take tea with Miss Isopel Berners or with
the Welsh preacher who thought that he had committed the
unpardonable sin. Borrow, of course, took the life more seriously
than the literary gentleman who is only escaping on ticket-of-leave
from the prison-house of respectability, and is quite unequal to a
personal conflict with "blazing Bosville"—the flaming tinman. He is
only dipping in the element where his model was thoroughly at
home. I remember, indeed, one figure in that first walk which I
associate with Benedict Moll, the strange treasure-seeker whom
Borrow encountered in his Spanish rambles. My acquaintance was a
mild German innkeeper, who sat beside me on a bench while I was
trying to assimilate certain pancakes, the only dinner he could
provide, still fearful in memory, but just attackable after a thirty-
miles' tramp. He confided to me that, poor as he was, he had
discovered the secret of perpetual motion. He kept his machine
upstairs, where it discharged the humble duty of supplying the place
of a shoe-black; but he was about to go to London to offer it to a
British capitalist. He looked wistfully at me as possibly a capitalist in
(very deep) disguise, and I thought it wise to evade a full
explanation. I have not been worthy to encounter many of such
quaint incidents and characters as seem to have been normal in
Borrow's experience; but the first walk, commonplace enough,
remains distinct in my memory. I kept no journal, but I could still
give the narrative day by day—the sights which I dutifully admired
and the very state of my bootlaces. Walking tours thus rescue a bit
of one's life from oblivion. They play in one's personal recollections
the part of those historical passages in which Carlyle is an
unequalled master; the little islands of light in the midst of the
darkening gloom of the past, on which you distinguish the actors in
some old drama actually alive and moving. The devotee of other
athletic sports remembers special incidents: the occasion on which
he hit a cricket-ball over the pavilion at Lord's, or the crab which he
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