be gained on payment of a penny. To one of
these rooms the tramp, after he has performed
his morning ablutions and made the most of
his scanty wardrobe, betakes himself, and there
he stays reading, or affecting to read, until
evening, when he goes out to meet fellow craftsmen
from whom he hopes to get intelligence
of a job. He only goes back to his inn at
an hour when those who "use the house" are
assembled. He can always relate the adventures
he has met witlh on the road. Mostly
he can sing a comic song—generally an Irish
one, as by merely rolling his trousers up to
the knees, and using the poker as a shillelagh,
he can give it in character. In a word, he is a
man of the world and "good company," and
is regarded as an acquisition by the circle
who meet to have their evening pipe and glass
in the large well-warmed kitchen of the Hand
and Hammer. For the time being he is looked
upon by the tribe of the Hand and Hammer
as their special guest, as a Brave of some
kindred and friendly tribe. They applaud the
stories of the son of the long bow and brother
of the tough yarn, while he smokes the pipe
of peace and drinks the glass of friendship
with the admiring children of the Hand and
Hammer. And should it so fall out that he
becomes a dweller in those parts, and when in
collar resorts to the happy drinking-ground of
the Hand and Hammer, he soon becomes a
brother and chief of the tribe.

If there be any romance connected with so
essentially distressful a thing as being out of
collar, it is the romance of the road; and
tramping experiences and adventures are stock
subjects of workshop conversation. Upon the
day when I entered upon my apprenticeship I
was much astonished and mystified by a scrap
of conversation on the subject of "the road"
which I overheard. In the dinner-hour I was
standing beside a stove around which a number
of workmen were grouped, when one of them
observed, "Brassy Harry came into town last
night." "Ay?" exclaimed the others. "Yes,"
said the first speaker, "he's been on the road
five weeks, and he came forty miles yesterday."
At this statement there was a general elevation
of eyebrows, upon which the speaker added, in
an explanatory tone: "But he got a good lift
from a farmer." Now, the phrase, "of the road,"
was at this time indissolubly connected in my
mind with visions of dashing highwaymen
mounted on powerful coal-black steeds, so I was
much surprised to discover, on the following
day, that a pale, wayworn-looking man whom I
saw standing at the workshop gate was Brassy
Harry. I began to wonder how he dared show
himself thus openly, and, above all, what he
could possibly want at a workshop gate.
"Want?" said the workman to whom I
applied for enlightenment. "Why, what should
he want? He wants a job." "Wants a job?"
I exclaimed, in astonishment. "Yes. He's a
brass-moulder, that's why we call him Brassy,
and he's been out of collar, and tramping for
the last five weeks, poor chap!" I now saw
the mistake under which I had been labouring,
and was very glad when I heard later in the
day that Brassy had got a job, and was to start
on the following morning. And on the following
morning he did start, as I had especial cause
to remember, for on that morning, while eating
the "snack" which I had brought with me by
way of lunch, I threw a crust of bread under
the stove. I had scarcely done so when I
received from Brassy a ringing box on the ear,
which almost knocked me under the stove.
Before I could ask "What's that for?" Brassy,
in a tone of voice that was kindly rather than
otherwise, said to me: "Excuse me clouting
thee, my lad, but happen it'll do thee good, for
perhaps it'll teach thee never to waste a bit o'
bread again. Unless thou hast better luck than
most o' thy kind, the day'll come when thou'll
be glad on a bit o' bread like that you've
chucked away. When you're on t' road you'll
think turnips good eating, and look on bread as
Sunday grub." After this little incident we
became the best of friends, and many a cunning
"wrinkle" did he put me up to in the way of
my trade, and many an interesting tale of life
on the road did he tell me during the three
years we were shopmates.

It has twice fallen to my lot to go on the
road. The first occasion was just after I was
"out of my time." It was in the month of
November. I had just become lord of myself,
and was determined to show—by refusing to
listen to the advice of disinterested friends, who
were older, wiser, and more experienced than
myself—that I was a man. Go on the road I
would, and go on the road I did, and most
sincerely I repented of that same going before
many days were over my unhappy head. With
a bundle containing a change of clothes under
my arm, and in company with a mate who, like
myself, was going on the road for the first
time, I set out at seven o'clock one clear frosty
morning. We had taken a good warm breakfast
before starting, and were well under way by
daylight. The coldness of the weather necessitating
a good pace, we reached the town at which we
intended to stay for the night—and which was
twenty-eight miles distant—early in the afternoon.
After a tea-dinner we rested for an hour,
and then went out to a place at which we knew
the men of our trade were wont to congregate,
in order to get "the tips" as to the
probabilities of getting work in that town. We
were received by our fellow-craftsmen in all
brotherly kindness, but the intelligence they
had to give us was not very encouraging, being
to the effect that trade was dull, and many men
were out of work. There was nothing for us
but to continue our journey; and at an early
hour next morning we were again on the road.
At starting, we felt rather sick and footsore,
but we got better as we warmed to our work,
and, after the first five miles, got along at a
tolerably good rate, though not so quickly as on
the day before. Our conversation was also less
cheerful and more forced than it had been
on the first day, and the night was rapidly