Ben Jonson strode, larking it to Scotland, so long 

 ago. I read with longing of the pedestrian feats of 

 college youths, so gay and light-hearted, with their 

 coarse shoes on their feet and their knapsacks on 

 their backs. It would have been a good draught of 

 the rugged cup to have walked with Wilson the orni 

 thologist, deserted by his companions, from Niagara 

 to Philadelphia through the snows of winter. I 

 almost wish that I had been born to the career of a 

 German mechanic, that I might have had that de 

 licious adventurous year of wandering over my coun 

 try before I settled down to work. I think how 

 much richer and firmer-grained life would be to me 

 if I could journey afoot through Florida and Texas, 

 or follow the windings of the Platte or the Yellow 

 stone, or stroll through Oregon, or browse for a sea 

 son about Canada. In the bright, inspiring days of 

 autumn I only want the time and the companion to 

 walk back to the natal spot, the family nest, across 

 two States and into the mountains of a third.^(What 

 adventures we would have by the way, what hard 

 pulls, what prospects from hills, what spectacles 

 we would behold of night and day, what passages 

 with dogs, what glances, what peeps into windows, 

 what characters we should fall in with, and how 

 seasoned and hardy we should arrive at our desti 

 nation ! 



For companion I should want a veteran of the 

 war! Those marches put something into him I 



