in the jolly, red-faced old gentleman who invariably had a half-crown for them, the strange little "glock" (man) who had played "crib" with them on the previous night. One of the queerest individuals known to the tramp community was old "Squire Lucas" as he was called, the eccentric gentleman who for many years lived the life of a hermit some mile or two from Hitchin. This strange man was known almost universally on the "road," and the funny stories current about him in the lodginghouse would fill a small book. Many a poor tramp felt a pang of regret when "Squire Lucas" died a few years since, for he was a sure "mark" in time of need. Any cadger could count on twopence from the "Squire," and in certain cases the tip went as high as fourpence. The hermit had his likes and dislikes. If a tramp could recite the Lord's Prayer he might safely count on threepence; but if he could say the Ave Maria a fourpenny piece was the regular reward-not four pennies, be it noted, but a fourpenny-piece. On a Sunday morning it was no unusual thing to see a score of tramps at the house of the hermit, and in due sequence Lucas would see them all at his little aperture, for it was only through this that audience was held. The store of knowledge concerning tramps that this man had accumulated was surprising. He would talk "padding ken" (lodging-house) slang with the oldest of them: he would "pucker cant" ("talk cant," or slang) so that many of the younger itinerants could not understand him. He prided himself on being a match for the most seasoned rogue, and it was generally admitted that he had never been "nailed" (deceived) but once, and that was by an Irishman. As I have said, Lucas preferred those who could repeat the Ave Maria to any others. Catholics were his favourites, and he once so far unbent to a great, simple-looking Irishman, as to engage him as a sort of watchman about the premises. For some time the hermit was very unapproachable; but at length "Moike"-that was what the Irishman called himself-by dint of his sanctimonious conduct quite gained the confidence of the recluse. He was armed with an old blunderbuss that would not go off-except, as Moike afterwards explained, when he himself went-on any account, and put to guard the premises from thieves, of whom Lucas was in constant dread. But one dark night Moike saw a chance of rewarding himself for his hitherto faithful service, and pocketing a little bowl of silver and copper from which his master was wont to relieve his callers, he made off, blunderbuss and all, much to the disgust of the hermit, who never afterwards put faith in any one. Speaking of Irishmen and Catholics reminds me of a very funny 66 دو experience of one whom I knew. He had been on the spree for a week, and was dying for a drink to quench his raging thirst, without having the wherewithal to pay for a single drop of the crathur. On ordinary occasions Pat would not have "told his riverence a loie " on any account, but dire necessity coerced him for once, and going to a priest known for his charity he unravelled such a yarn that even the good man, simple as he usually was, deemed it rather "thick." Taking Pat into the church, which his house adjoined, the reverend gentleman placed him on his knees and bade him pray while he went for his purse, and not to rise till he returned. Pat meekly obeyed, and at the end of an hour was still obeying, though less meekly, for the good priest had not returned. The sinner experienced untold agony during this unexpected penance, and when at the end of another half hour his reverence reappeared with a small written order on a local coffee-house keeper for a night's lodging and food, poor Pat gave way utterly to despair. It must not be supposed that imprisonment is always full of terrors for tramps, or even unwelcome. It not infrequently happens that the mendicant finds the inside of a prison preferable to the outside, and he accordingly lays himself out to get "seven days" or so, choosing to endure the hard fare and a plank bed within a gaol to the yet harder fare and no bed without. This is always in the winter, when hedges, and even haystacks, are apt to be cold sleeping quarters. But when a vagabond elects to get a few days in "stur" he does so only in those localities where the prison is known, either by experience or repute, to be a good one. There is a great deal of difference in prisons-at least there used to be. For instance, it used to be notorious among tramps a few years ago, that the county gaol at Devizes was the worst "hole" not only in Wiltshire, but for many miles round, while at Shepton Mallett, in Somerset, only a few miles away, the county prison was known to be a "spiffin ken," or first-rate place. Numerous and diverse methods are adopted for the regeneration of these wanderers. Many widely different religious bodies have from time to time undertaken to reform them. But with very rare exceptions it is a case of " once a tramp, always a tramp." There is a strange fascination about the free-and-easy existence, and few tramps are found to take kindly to the restraints of ordinary civic life. At one time it was very common to see the vicar of a parish or his curate smiling half reprovingly yet benignly amidst a houseful of grimy tramps on a Sunday morning, and to find two or three "chapel folk" fraternising with them in the evening. At Stroud and many other places the chapel people used to hold a service in the lodging-house "kitchen," after which the tramps were invited to a service at which small loaves were given away. But it was found that at those services where no "chuck (bread) was distributed there were no tramps, the inference being that it was the loaf, and not the preacher's eloquence, that constituted the "draw." The inference was correct. The slang made use of by genuine tramps is extensive and peculiar. A great deal might be written on this subject, but I have only space to glance at it here. It is never called "slang" by the old-fashioned cadgers, who are far more proficient in it than their modern brethren. It is known as "cant; " to "pucker cant," meaning to talk slang. Much of it is evidently derived from the gipsies, but there is a good deal that does not emanate from them. "Mong" is the gipsies' favourite term for "beg," and there is a well-known story of a gipsy who put his little son forward to beg of an old gentleman. All the while the artful hypocrite kept on saying, "Come away from the dear, good, kind gentleman. If we are starving, p'raps the good, kind gentleman hasn't brought any money with him; come away, my son, and don't bother the dear gentleman," then in a kind of stage whisper would be interpolated the injunction-" Mong, kiddie, mong," meaning "Beg, lad, beg." There are many words in this cant vocabulary that plainly indicate their classic origin. Such, for instance, is "panem " (bread), of which "chuck," "toke," "grub," "scran," and one or two others are better-known synonyms. "Mungeary," pronounced "munjáry," is a term used for food generally. It might possibly be traced to "manger," and it may be also that "beaua," pronounced "bewa," meaning a woman or wife, has some relation to the French "beau.' "" Vardey" means "look," "see," and is suggestive of the Latin "vide." I append a few cant words and expressions as a curiosity for those who take an interest in the subject:-Glock (man), cully, soubley (pal), methony (policeman), dona (woman), casa, crib, ken or kenna (house), boss or boss-crib (farmhouse), boss (farmer), com or combat (clergyman), combat's (vicarage), needy (tramp), nathers (lodgings), Vardey his nibs (look at him), Sunny the beaua (see the woman; look at her), Ne dash (stop it; be quiet; do not, &c.), nuke (head), Carab yer nuke (give you a crack on the head), rorty (street; also used adjectively for good, fine), midjic (shilling), dinary (money), stur (prison), dorough (livelihood), a cant (food obtained at a house), stiff, slang (a license), quid, thick-'un (sovereign), gammy, snidey (bad), &c., &c. Tramps have an ingenious method of transposing the syllables of the words they use, and this is extremely puzzling to novices. For example: suppose a tramp wished to warn another who was begging that a policeman had his eye on him. The cant phrase would be, "Ne dash, soubley, vardey the methony sunnying yer; " i.e., "Mind, old pal, see the policeman looking at yer." But an old hand would render it thus: "Ee-ne ash-der, oubley-ser, ardey-ver th' ethony-mer unnying-yer-ser." PEREGRINUS. BOURNEMOUTH and WIMBORNE. P ERHAPS nothing so increases the beauty of the country as an abundance of trees; and in this matter the streets of Bournemouth are remarkable: they look in places like shady lanes, so that the visitor might almost fancy himself in the open country, far from the turmoil of common existence. Where, again, could you find landscapes more smiling and solitude more seldom disturbed than on the vast heaths and in the far-reaching woods and parks which surround Wimborne on every side? Thackeray in "The Virginians," beautifully described the change that has in the last half-century come over our country roads and lanes : The high road a hundred years ago was not that grass-grown desert of the present time; it was alive with constant travel and gaiety. The ponderous waggon, with its bells and plodding team; the light post coach that achieved the journey from the White Hart, Salisbury, to the Swan with Two Necks, London, in two days; the strings of pack horses that had not yet left the road; my lord's gilt post-chaise and six with the outriders galloping on ahead; the country squire's great coach and heavy Flanders mares; the farmers trotting to market or the parson jolting to the cathedral town on Dumpling, his wife behind on the pillion- all these brisk sights and brisk people greeted the young traveller on his summer journey. Hodge, the farmer's boy, and Polly the milkmaid, bobbed a curtsey as the chaise whirled over the pleasant village green, and the whiteheaded children lifted their chubby faces and cheered. The church spires glistened with gold, the cottage gables glared in the sunshine, the great elms murmured in summer or cast purple shadows over the grass. But I must reluctantly leave the delights of country rambles, of which the visitor to Bournemouth may easily have his fill, and confine myself to the subject proper of this article. One of the most momentous events in the history of Bournemouth was the cutting of the new line from Brockenhurst to the East Station, a work involving great engineering difficulties, and costing three quarters of a million. For some years the obstacles to success threatened to overwhelm the contractors and to wear out the patience of the residents in the town. At last the Directors were rewarded for their energy and perseverance, and the |