File:Beggars on horseback; a riding tour in North Wales (1895) (14596127087).jpg

Identifier: onhorsebabeggars00rossrich (find matches)
Title: Beggars on horseback; a riding tour in North Wales
Year: 1895 (1890s)
Authors: Ross, Martin, 1862-1915 Somerville, E. . (Edith none), 1858-1949
Subjects: Wales, North -- Description and travel
Publisher: Edinburgh, London : W. Blackwood and sons
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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fening into acute angles, that our foreheadshad been phrenologically remodelled by horse-flybites, and that our house-shoes were circling roundWales in a luggage-train. And that, I think, washow I cauc^ht one of mv verv finest colds in m\head. 32 BEGGARS ON HORSEBACK, CHAPTER III. Next morning Miss OFlannigan went out sketch-ing. The casual reader may skim this informationpermissively, as a harmless, picturesque thing, veryproper for young ladies ; but to the companionof Miss OFlannigans travels it has other aspects.For example, the aspect of Miss OFlannigan her-self, as she sat on a paling with her feet tuckedup, her hat tilted over a scarlet face, and her teethclenched on a spare paint-brush ; or mine, as Ileaned on the rail of a footbridge over againsther, in the furnace heat of the sun, with whatnegligence remains to the model who has stiffenedfor twenty minutes in the attitude so lightly andluxuriously undertaken. It must be admitted,however, that the cold caught the night before
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c BEGGARS ON HORSEBACK. 35 was, in that unrelenting blaze, slowly baked away.Probably the children who sat along the banksof the stream and discussed us in Welsh saw itrise like a mist and melt into the blue: MissOFlannigan did not see it, but when paintingshe sees nothing but values. Ordinary humanitydoes not see values any more than fairies, butMiss OFlannigan and other artists do. It was afternoon when we forsook the simplici-ties of Cannoffice, and went forth to the unknownand the unpronounceable. Five minutes strollwill exploit the place, with its half-dozen ancientcottages, its Zion, and its post-office, whereEnglish is a difficulty, and the forwarding of aletter to a given address a problem too deep tobe grappled with. But Cannoffice does not seemgreatly to care whether its visitors stay minutesor months. Incorruptibly sylvan and indomitablyWelsh, it shakes off the dust of each touristseason, and returns to its solitary and sufficingways of life, and there are moments when onec

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