by filling his
mouth with beef and porter, distributed the fragments among a hungry
and admiring population of young coal-heavers who looked on--like a
group starting out of Murillo's pictures--and with empty baskets and
joyous hearts set off on our homeward way. We glided at our own sweet
will down the river, exchanged the bark for our plethoric gig, and in
due course of time, after twelve starts at the twelve milestones,
arrived in safety at our home.

By this time there were no symptoms left of deficient health and
strength--the invalid would have done for an honorary member of the
club of fat people recorded in the _Spectator_; and we looked, with
disdain on the level territory on the banks of the Usk, and longed for
hills to climb, and walls to get over, and rocks to overcome, like
knights-errant in search of adventures. No walk was too great for us.
We thought of challenging Captain Barclay to a match against time, or
of travelling through England as the Pedestrian Wonders. Walker, the
twopenny postman, would have had no chance against us. So, merely by
way of practice, we started off one day, with straw-hats and short
summer frocks, and every other accompaniment of a professed
pedestrian's turn-out, and away we went on a pilgrimage to the
churchyard of Llanvair Kilgiden. Through rich fields of grass we
sauntered--over stiles we leapt--through hedges we dashed--and
occasionally became prosaic enough to walk on for half a mile or so in
a country lane, but generally we preferred trespassing through a
corn-field, and losing our way in searching for a short cut across a
plantation; and at last, after many hairbreadth 'scapes--after being
terrified by the bellowing of a bull, which turned out to be a
sentimental cow giving vent to her agitated feelings in what somebody
calls a "gentle voice and low"--after nearly losing half the party by
the faithlessness of a plank that crossed a ditch that swarmed with an
innumerable multitude of tadpoles--after surpassing these, and many
other perils, we at last got into the quiet road that leads from Penty
Goitre bridge down to the church of Llanvair--a large, solemn-looking
churchyard, ornamented with a goodly array of splendid yew-trees, and
boasting, at some former period, a majestic stone cross, now of course
defaced, and the very square it stood upon moss-grown and in ruins.
The church itself is a plain quiet structure, but the sylvan beauty
and peaceful seclusion of the sit