It need hardly be said that in all tramp life plaintive and tragic elements are common, even on the surface.  Some are peculiar to Wicklow.  In these hills the summer passes in a few weeks from a late spring, full of odour and colour, to an autumn that is premature and filled with the desolate splendour of decay; and it often happens that, in moments when one is most aware of this ceaseless fading of beauty, some incident of tramp life gives a local human intensity to the shadow of one’s own mood.

One evening, on the high ground near the Avonbeg, I met a young tramp just as an extraordinary sunset had begun to fade, and a low white mist was rising from the bogs.  He had a sort of table in his hands that he seemed to have made himself out of twisted rushes and a few branches of osier.  His clothes were more than usually ragged, and I could see by his face that he was suffering from some terrible disease.  When he was quite close, he held out the table.

‘Would you give me a few pence for that thing?’ he said.  ’I’m after working at it all day by the river, and for the love of God give me something now, the way I can get a drink and lodging for the night.’

I felt in my pockets, and could find nothing but a shilling piece.

‘I wouldn’t wish to give you so much,’ I said, holding it out to him, ’but it is all I have, and I don’t like to give you nothing at all, and the darkness coming on.  Keep the table; it’s no use to me, and you’ll maybe sell it for something in the morning.’

The shilling was more than he expected, and his eyes flamed with joy.

’May the Almighty God preserve you and watch over you and reward you for this night,’ he said, ’but you’ll take the table; I wouldn’t keep it at all, and you after stretching out your hand with a shilling to me, and the darkness coming on.’

He forced it into my hands so eagerly that I could not refuse it, and set off down the road with tottering steps.  When he had gone a few yards, I called after him:  ’There’s your table; take it and God speed you.’

Then I put down his table on the ground, and set off as quickly as I was able.  In a moment he came up with me, holding the table in his hands, and slipped round in front of me so that I could not get away.

‘You wouldn’t refuse it,’ he said, ’and I after working at it all day below by the river.’

He was shaking with excitement and the exertion of overtaking me; so I took his table and let him go on his way.  A quarter of a mile further on I threw it over the ditch in a desolate place, where no one was likely to find it.

In addition to the more genuine vagrants a number of wandering men and women are to be met with in the northern parts of the county, who walk out for ferns and flowers in bands of from four or five to a dozen.  They usually set out in the evening, and sleep in some ditch or shed, coming home the next night with what they have gathered.  If their sales are successful, both men and women drink heavily; so that they are always on the edge of starvation, and are miserably dressed, the women sometimes wearing nothing but an old petticoat and shawl—­a scantiness of clothing that is sometimes met with also among the road-women of Kerry.