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To be properly enjoyed, a walking tour should be gone upon alone. If you go in a company, or even in pairs, it is no longer a walking tour in anything but name; it is something else and more in the nature of a picnic. A walking tour should be gone upon alone because you should be able to stop and go on, and follow this way and that, as the whim takes you; and because you must have your own pace, and neither trot alongside a champion walker, nor mince in time with a girl. And you must be open to all impressions and let your thoughts take colour from what you see. You should be as a pipe for any wind to play upon. There should be no cackle of voices at your elbow, to jar on the meditative silence of the morning. And so long as a man is reasoning he cannot surrender himself to that fine intoxication that comes of much motion in the open air, that begins in a sort of dazzle and sluggishness of the brain, and ends in a peace that passes comprehension.
During the first day or so of any tour there are moments of bitterness, when the traveller feels more than coldly towards his knapsack, when he is half in a mind to throw it bodily over the hedge. Yet it soon acquires a property of easiness. It becomes magnetic; the spirit of the journey enters into it again. And no sooner have you passed the straps over your shoulder again than the less of sleep are cleared from you, you pull yourself together with a shake and fall at once into your stride. And surely, of all possible moods, this, in which a man takes the road, is the best.