of the characters proceed afoot they are almost certain to be held up.
Mr. Isaac Walton, it is true, was a considerable rambler a century
earlier than this, and in his Derbyshire hills must have passed many
lonely gullies; but footpads were more likely to ambush the main roads.
It would be a hardhearted bandit who would despoil the gentle angler of
his basket of trouts. Goldsmith, too, was a lusty walker, and tramped it
over the Continent for two years (1754-6) with little more baggage than
a flute: he might have written "The Handy Guide for Beggars" long
before Vachel Lindsay. But generally speaking, it is true that
cross-country walks for the pure delight of rhythmically placing one
foot before the other were rare before Wordsworth. I always think of him
as one of the first to employ his legs as an instrument of philosophy.

After Wordsworth they come thick and fast. Hazlitt, of course--have you
paid the tax that R.L.S. imposes on all who have not read Hazlitt's "On
Going A Journey?" Then Keats: never was there more fruitful walk than
the early morning stroll from Clerkenwell to the Poultry in October,
1816, that produced "Much have I travelled in the realms of gold." He
must have set out early enough, for the manuscript of the sonnet was on
Cowden Clarke's table by breakfast time. And by the way, did you know
that the copy of Chapman's Homer which inspired it belonged to the
financial editor of the _Times_? Never did financial editor live to
better purpose!

There are many words of Keats that are a joyful viaticum for the walker:
get these by rote in some membrane of memory:

The great Elements we know of are no mean comforters: the open sky
sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown--the Air is our robe of
state--the Earth is our throne, and the sea a mighty minstrel