The record-union., 1892-07-16
Especial Correspondence of the RECORD
UNION. Copyright, 1897
EXETER, England july 9 I89l

N'4AS wears OIler aspects imam InOSe
OF sunshine and gladness in these tight
little" British islands.
The rain falls as though tumbIed upon
you by mischievous elves who have
watched for your unwary coming, and
the fogs and mists flap about the hills and
mountains and slap the faces of the glens
and valleys like a ships unstaid sails
pounding its deck in a storm.
But you find a sovereignty of elation
and exultation in wandering alone among
the historic and scenic glories of any
land. a good staff or stick, stout pair
of legs, a receptive mind, and, above all,
CHEEKY and sympathetic heart, what
ever your luck, are the regal companions
for such loiterings.
And nature never fails to appear to sin
gle devotees at her myriad doors and win
doWs with radiant welcomings. How
WltchIng is even this foggy morning, half
disclosing the wondrous charms of val
ley, mead and stream. At times scarcely
can your hand be seen before you for the
strange eddles, Curlings and fantastic con-
VoIutions OF the fog. There is your road,
hard as British conservatism" beneath
your feet, one Of the best and surest and.
most beautiful ways in ali the world.
Wanderer upon it the keen and patriotic
pang that those of his grander land are
shamed Oy honest comparison.
Even in the drizZle and fog you cannot
mistake both OF these hard facts. What
may be TO the right or left or before, your
fancy, quickened by the mornings awak-
enlng life, intensified by near and far
mysterious sounds, can alone locate or
divine. Tramp, tramp, tramp. brayeIy
as you may, these grow into conscious
ness so imperative of recognition that.
despite yourself, ever and again you stop
TO listen.
Drip, drip, drip from the leaves of the
hedges into water basins OF rock. the
great drops striking like silver pellets
upon swinging glass, until the very
chimes OF the Iairies are rung in your
ears beside the road, NoJa rod away, but
invisible, riVulets Of the nights making
wimpIe from rocks TO pools, in all man
ner OF melodic runs, from the staccato of
tenor trIlls to the baritone minors Of
stately psalms.
Just at your side perhaps a goose will
suddenly hiss as If reaching its long neck
Irom tog-hidden door puddle TO snap at
you from behind the curtaining mist.
beyond or behind some chained dog.
making a dismal hewgag of kennel door
and chain, leaps in and out, baying to his
peasant master of untimely footsteps.
over your head the restless abrasion OF
boughs whisper that the leaves, from
their weight OF fog cups, sigh and moan
as II impatient OF their sunless prisoninr.
Hedge branches crackle from the water
weight as in the frost battles of approach
ing winter.
Here and there, as the heavy breezes
move triHe, come the hesitant pipe of
stirring bird, the patter of wild hares' feet
upon the slippery leaves, the shutting
scamper OF some skulking pheasant, the
complaining chatter OF rocks and DAVIS,
the half caught, hOarse resonance Of hid
den waterfall, while faint and far and
strangely mud1ted, from Ittle hamlets in
the distance, the notes of school bells
steal family along the folds of the cling
ing mist
Making your way is sometimes like
pushing through impalpabIe banks of
snow. But in the CHEEKY old English
inn, in the presence of muffin white as
snow, bacon crisp and brown, an omelet
as yellow as frost painted beech leaf "A
Jug OF ''clOtted' cream as sweet as a nut
kernel, ana a fragrant brewing OF tea in
the delft pot under the "cosey,n YOU have
reason to rejoice in the blood tingle that
comes from doing half dozen miles be-
fore breakfast over perfect road through
genuine British fog.
1t was on such a morning that I came
over the east Deyonshire hills and halted
at a wayside inn, still high up among
their wooded nights, as / neared the old
cathedral town OF Exeter. AS the foo
lifted l could see from my inn window
cart after cart jogging comfortably on to
the Saturday market day sales in Exc
ter. From the bustling good wife of
the inn inquired the distance they had
come,
From 'round about Bow, Copplestope
and North Tawton," she answered.
And how far is the farthest of those
placeS?n asked.
North TaWton may be likes ten or
twelve mile, sir, at least from Exeter"
/ told her / thought that good dis
tance for heavily laden cart drawn by
only one horse.
"Contrarywise, - she retorted cheerilv.
many comes from TAR beyond Egges-
ford and Chumleigh, twenty-five mile,
sir, by hill and dip and many carts, sir.
do be loaded as heavy rs ton and. a half
and two tons, sir. American beasties
'aven't the might Of Devon cattle.
am told, sir" she concluded half quizzi-
cally.
quite right she was 7 told her. And I
clipped the wings OF her Devoushire pride
by also relatlng-nlay the saints forgive
mellow we did not require that sort of
cattle in America, as we had railways be-
tween ali villages. all over our farms Il
could have truthiully said railway mort
g8ges), did chores on roller skates. and
went To the milking and visited neigh
bOrs on tram-caTS propelled by electrici-
", for all of which she made me pay
handsomely at the reckoning.
That morning, all the way to Exeter,
alongside those huge carts which BOWED
along under their great loads as easily as
over a cathedral floor, and in q thousand
other places on the highways of England
Ireland and Scotland, | nave inexpreSsi-
bly, longed for the power TO bodily trans
fer some Of these grand old roads to our
country, to make American miilionaires
who NAV still have American pride lett
in them. see their beauty, magniticence
and utility beyond those of ali things
money and patriotism can give to COM
munities, and to compel American far
mers to know what might be the match
less independence of their lives and liv-
ing with these perfect defenses for their
toll and homes and granarieS against most
Of the monopolistic and corner abom-
nations of our land.
set out TO write about Exeter, but this
subject OF better American roads will not
down. In i've years time have tramped
along 5,OOO miles of British roads. Each
time j step my feet upon their broad,
firm, even surface every drop of Ameri-
can blood IN me tingles with shame at
the thought Of the mud pixies and bot
tomlesS road sloughs of our own splendid
country--rIch, great and strong enough
TO match the roads of Europe without a
weeks delay. And yet for i've months
of every year, and in lesser degree for
the other seven, half of the people of our
farming communities are imprisoned and
impoverished helplessly at home AS
one result the people of the whole conn
try pay in an indirect road tax througb
annual sharp advances on all food neces-