CHAPTER IV.

ON THE TRAMP.

NO WHERE TO LAY HIS HEAD.

No prospect of anything to do, and having no hope of being helpful to his father and the family, he made up his mind to leave home in search of work. Introducing the reader to what follows, he remarks, "Some one has truly said, that ‘a man willing to work and unable to find that work, is perhaps the saddest sight that Fortune's inequalities exhibit under the sun. It is truly a sad sight to see a man begging a brother of the earth to give him leave to toil.' But when man solicits in vain, and can neither find food nor shelter, the aspect is even sadder. But surely the saddest sight of all is when the poor wanderer is young and weak, and has in him those strong emotions which bespeak an aspiring soul."

It was, we believe, about this time that the loom of the Inverary poet, William Thoms, was silenced at Newtyle, and that he, too, had to start on those adventures which his genius has made immortal. But though the wanderings of Mr Hillocks were of another stamp, they are equally interesting and more instructive. We shall give them in his own words, because in the ungarnished description of his condition he waxes pathetic, and at times he is poetical. We shall break in where he says, "I endured much before I got steady employment, but I shall only give one of the many instances of suffering during my sad sojourning.

NO WHERE TO LAY HIS HEAD.

37

"Reduced to one penny, I left Montrose for Brechin. The rich smile of fading day gilded the big tears of all but despair as they rolled down my pale cheeks. For a time I stood still and wept bitterly, and was all the better for it. Hope, as a dim shadow, appeared, and I plodded on till the last rays of the great orb of day had vanished, and the 'wee stars' began to run their path through the sky. All was hushed-it was a thrilling hush. Profound silence remained unmolested save the sharp beating within my breast, the rapidity of which increased as the road before me and all around me grew more dreary.

"I was faint as well as afraid, but I plodded along till a darting pang of hunger brought me down. Such are these pangs, the keenness of which can only be known to those who have felt them. Being very hungry before I left Montrose, I had bought some ginger-bread with my only penny, but I could not eat more than the half of it; and I had not been far on my way before I met a beggar woman and some children, all of whom seemed to be as much in want as I was, so they had my store.

"But God did not leave me, though I had sometimes left Him. He was kind. He did not then send bread, because then I could not eat it; but He sent sleep, that which I so much wanted. When I was in this all but insensible state, Nature's soft nurse threw her gentle arms around me, and wafted my soul to the land of dreams. It was a glorious dream, but only a dream. Imagine my surprise when I awoke and found myself, where I had folded my weary limbs, upon the hard bedewed wayside. Again my heart and spirit almost failed me as I felt bewildered; but as soon as I could walk I continued my journey to Brechin, arriving there in the morning.

"There I found the poor weaver to whom I had a note of introduction. He did not mention breakfast-perhaps he had

not any himself—and I could not ask it. It was hard times in Brechin, too, and there was no hope for me there; but our meeting was not in vain-it was a link in the mysterious chain of a loving Providence."

HOW THE POOR HELP THE POOR.

Though he did not get work at Brechin he procured another note of introduction to a weaver at Luthermuir-a semihamlet and semi-village lying in a flat plain about seven miles east of Brechin, and nine miles north of Montrose. About this time-1842 or 1843-the inhabitants were almost entirely Since then they have been increased by a strong admixture of Irish navvies. It was a miserable place; yet, to our hero, it seemed a "happy haven." His account of his first entrance is a page of real interest. He says :—

weavers.

"By the time I reached the man to whom my introductory note was addressed, my legs could scarcely bear me up. I fell asleep in his house before food could be got ready for me. When I awoke I was kindly offered some bread and a cup of tea; but, being so hungry and fatigued, I could not eat, becoming very faint, so much so that the kind people thought I had died. As I recovered somewhat, I heard one say— 'Poor fellow! perhaps he has not tasted food the day before.' This was too true, for I had eaten nothing save the half of my penny cake of ginger-bread for thirty hours.

"But while I was receiving this hearty sympathy and kind hospitality from my humane 'hostess' and her generous neighbours, my equally obliging 'host' was out to the village agents inquiring what news from Montrose, whence he and the others were longing for work. I was not a little astonished at the careworn and anxious-looking appearance of those around me, but as the host entered, he solved the problem. His countenance caused every one to smile; and every one leaped for

SUCCESS, AND THE RETURN HOME.

39

joy when he, addressing me, exclaimed in an animated tone'Guid news the nicht, min! cheer up; there's twa cart-load o' wabs come, an' every one has gotten a wab, an' there's twa to spare for you; there has nae been the like o' this for sax months afore.' I was happy to see others so glad, and said that I would be grateful if I could get a web to-morrow. "There's nae fear o' us noo,' said a female from the neighbourhood, in a joyful tone; 'God's to be good to us again.' 'Amen,' said I, 'and may He reward you for your kind attention to me. Perhaps I'll be the better for coming here.' 'I hope so,' responded a sensible middle-aged man, as he was bidding me good-night. 'You know,' said he, very seriously yet sınilingly, 'all places that the eye of Heaven visits are to a wise man ports and happy havens.'

"It was after the neighbours had retired that the most searching questions were put, drawing from me some idea of what I had undergone. It is said the real Scotchman would always be independent, if possible-that he would almost sooner starve than beg-and I confess I was touched with this spirit; but on this occasion I endeavoured to strike out a middle course-that is, to reveal as little as possible of my past sufferings, and yet to give a reason for my sad condition. This reason was not necessary to lead to help. The help had been rendered. Without any questions, my new friends had proved themselves to be in possession of no small share of the milk of human kindness. They did more than they were able. They had the heart and the will, and that helped them to find the way, though they were nearly as poor as myself.

"I could not help asking myself, what would the poor do were it not for the poor ?"

SUCCESS, AND THE RETURN HOME.

"But this was not all. Others soon manifested a like kindness. In a few days I began to gather strength, and was

soon able to ask for work. In this I succeeded, to the joy of all who had heard of the new tramp.' But when I received my first web I did not know very well how to go to work, the fabric being so very fine compared with that to which I had been accustomed. Pressing necessity caused me to venture, but I was not long left in the dilemma. As soon as my shopmates observed it, they came to the rescue, rendering all necessary help without being asked. I got on so well that I was soon able to make as good work and wages as any in the place."

Willing to work and having plenty of work is a great source of happiness to such workmen as our friend has ever been. Hence he was glad, even in this out-of-the-way place. We shall not soon forget the fact that "twa cart fu' o' wabs" made a whole village rejoice, and that one of the men thus made happy is found quoting fine English poetry in token of gratitude.

Continuing the record, the "young weaver" adds—“ At the end of one month, I was able to get some clothes to make me respectable; at the end of the second month, I was able to send some help to my dear father; and at the end of the third month, I returned home, healthy, happy, and thankful.”

A POINT GAINED.

Well may he ask, "What would the poor do were it not for the poor?" This is a very suggestive question, and the simple narration of this touching episode shows what the poor can do for the poor-here their great kindness turned the ebbing tide in the life of one who could not have withstood the terrible buffetings of adversity much longer. In this out-of-the-way place he saw much that he would have wished otherwise; but he felt the force and the benefit of practical charity, and this made him afterwards give a kind word on behalf of such, and