THE EXHILARATIONS OF THE ROAD. 35 



but in the ditch or up the bank, is in a fair way to 

 far more serious degeneracy. 



Shakespeare makes the chief qualification of the 

 walker a merry heart : 



"Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, 



And merrily hent the stile-a ; 

 A merry heart goes all the day, 

 Your sad tires in a mile-a." 



The human body is a steed that goes freest and 

 longest under a light rider, and the lightest of all riders 

 is a cheerful heart. Your sad, or morose, or embit- 

 tered, or preoccupied heart settles heavily into the 

 saddle, and the poor beast, the body, breaks down 

 the first mile. Indeed, the heaviest thing in the 

 world is a heavy heart. Next to that the most bur- 

 densome to the walker is a heart not in perfect sym- 

 pathy and accord with the body a reluctant or un- 

 willing heart. The horse and rider must not only 

 both be willing to go the same way, but the rider must 

 lead the way and infuse his own lightness and eager- 

 ness into the steed. Herein is no doubt our trouble 

 and one reason of the decay of the noble art in this 

 country. We are unwilling walkers. We are not 

 innocent and simple-hearted enough to enjoy a walk. 

 We have fallen from that state of grace which capacity 

 to enjoy a walk implies. It cannot be said that as a 

 people we are so positively sad, or morose, or melan- 

 cholic as that we are vacant of that sportiveness and 

 surplusage of animal spirits that characterized our an- 

 cestors, and that springs from full and harmonious 



