citizen; and, this is how he does it, copied from his little
pamphlet used on many a road:

RHYMES TO BE TRADED FOR BREAD

Being new verses by Nicholas Vachel Lindsay, Springfield, Illinois,
June, 1912, printed expressly as a substitute for money.

This book is to be used in exchange for the necessities of life on a
tramp-journey from the author's home town, through the West and back,
during which he will observe the following rules:

(1) Keep away from the cities.

(2) Keep away from the railroads.

(3) Have nothing to do with money. Carry no baggage.

(4) Ask for dinner about quarter after eleven.

(5) Ask for supper, lodging, and breakfast about quarter of five.

(6) Travel alone.

(7) Be neat, truthful, civil, and on the square.

(8) Preach the Gospel of Beauty.

In order to carry out the last rule there will be three exceptions
to the rule against baggage. (1) The author will carry a brief
printed statement, called "The Gospel of Beauty." (2) He will carry
this book of rhymes for distribution. (3) Also he will carry a small
portfolio with pictures, etc., chosen to give an outline of his view
of the history of art, especially as it applies to America.

Perhaps I have tarried too long over Vachel; but I have set down his
theories of vagabonding because many walkers will find them interesting.
"The Handy Guide for Beggars" will leave you footsore but better for the
exercise. And when the fascinating story of American literature in this
decade (1910-20) is finally written, there will be a happy and
well-merited corner in it for a dusty but "neat, truthful, and civil"
figure from Springfield, Illinois.

A good pipeful of prose to solace yourself withal, about sunset on a
lonely road, is that passage on "Lying Awake at Night" to be found in
"The Forest," by Stewart Edward White. Major White is one of the best
friends the open-air walker has, and don't forget it!

The motors have done this for us at least, that as they have made the
highways their own beyond dispute, walking will remain the mystic and
private pleasure of the secret and humble few. For us the byways, the
footpaths, and the pastures will be sanctified and sweet. Thank heaven
there are still gentle souls uncorrupted by the victrola and the
limousine. In our old trousers and our easy shoes, with pipe and stick,
we can do our fifteen miles between lunch and dinner, and glorify the
ways