Morning journal and courier., 1892-07-16
wAKEMAN,s WANDRRINGs.

wAKEMAN'S wANDERINGS.
ures of the Road-An Eloquent and
Practical Plea for Better American
Roads-The Ancient City OF Exeter
Its Glorious Environment, Sunny
Aspect and Noble Cathedral.
EXETER, England, July Q.
To the Editor OF the JOURNAL AND COURIER:
Nature wears other aspects than those
of sunshine and gladness in these Eight
little" British islands.
The rain falls as though tumbled 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 ships unstaid sails
pounding its deck in q storm.
But you find a sovereignty of elstion
and exultation in wandering alone among
the historic and scenic glories of any land.
A good staff or stick, a stout pair of legs,
a receptive mind and above all a CHEEKY
and sympathetic heart, whatever your
luck, are the regal companions for such
loiterings.
And nature never fails to appear to sim
gle devotees at her myriad doors aid win
dows with radiant welcomings. How
witching is even this foggy morning, half
disclosing the wondrous charms of val
ley, mead and streaml At times scarcely
can your hand be seen before You for the
strange eddies, curlings and fantastic con-
volutions 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 all the world, bring
ing to the heart of the American wander
er upon 1t the keen and patriotic pang
that those of his grander land are shsmed
by 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 awaken
ing life, intensified by near and far mys-
terious sounds, can alone locate or divine.
Tramp, tramp, tramp, bravely as you
may, these grow into consciousness SO i'm
perstive of recognition that, despite your
self, 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 fairies are rung in your ears beside
the road, Not a rod away, but invisible,
rivulets of the nights making wimple
from rocks to pools, in all manner of mel
odic runs, from the staccato of tenor
trills to the barytone minors of stately
psalms.
Just at your side perhaps q goose will
suddenly hiss, as if reaching its long neck
from fog hidden door puddle to snap at
you from behind the curtaining mist
Beyond or behind some chained dog, max
ing a dismal hewgag of kennel door and
chain, leaps in and out, baying to his peas-
ant 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 If impa-
| tient of their sunless prisonipg. Hedge
branches crackle from the water weight,
as in the frost battles of approaching win
| ter.
Here and there, as the heavy breezes
| move a trife, come the hesitant pipe OF
| stirring bird, the patter of wild hares
/ feet upon the slippery leaves, the shut.
| fling scsmper of some skulkin9 pheasant,
| the complaining chatter of rocks and
| davis, the half caught, hoarse resonance of
| hidden waterfall. while faint and far and
| strangely muff1ed, from little hamlet in the
| distance, the notes of school bells steal
family along the folds of the clinging
mist.
Making your way is sometimes like
pushing through impslpsble banks of
snow. But in the CHEEKY old English inn,
| in the presence of mullins white as snow,
| bacon crisp and brown, an omelet as yel-
| low as a frost painted beech leaf, a jug of
| "clotted" cream as sweet as a nut kernel
and a fragrant brewing of tea in the delft
pot under the "cosey," you have reason to
rejoice in the blood tingle that comes from
doing half dozen miles before breakfast
over a perfect road, through a genuine
British fog.
| 1t was on such a morning that / came
| over the east Devonshire hills and halted
at wayside inn, still high up among theil
| wooded heights, as nesred the old cathe
dral town of Exeter. AS the fog lifted
could see from my inn window cart after
cart jogging comfortably on to the Satur
day market day sales in Exeter. From
the bustling good wife of the inn 1 in
quired the distance they had come
"From round about Bow, Copplestont
and North Tawton," she answered.
"And how far Is the farthest of thos,
places" asked.
"North Tawton may be like ten Of
twelve mile, cir, at least from Exeter"
told her thought that a good dis
tance for a heavily laden cart drawn b,
only one horse.
"Contrarywise," she retorted cheerily
"many comes from far beyond Eggesfort
and Chumleigh, twenty-five miles, sir, b,
hill and dip; and many carts, sir, do b
loaded as heavy as ton and a half ant
two tons, sir. American beasties 'aven'
the might of Devon cattle, / am told
SIR" she concluded half quizzicslly.
Quite right she was, told her. Ant
I clipped the wings of her Devonshir
pride by also relating, may the saint
forgive mel how we did not require tha
sort of cattle in America; as we had rail
ways between all villages, all over on
farms q could have truthfully said, rail
way mortgsges), did chores on role
skates, and went to the milking and Wis
tied neighbors on tram cars propelled b,
electricity; for all of which she made m
pay handsomely at the reckoning.
That morning, all the way to Exeter
alongside those huge carts which bowlet
along under their great loads as easily a
over a cathedral floor, and in a Thousand
other places on the highways of England
Ireland and Scotland, 1 have inexpressibl
} longed for the power to bodily trsnsfe
some of these grand old roads to our coun
try; to make American millionaires, VIII
: may still have American pride left in them
see their beauty, magnifcence and utilit
1 beyond those of all things money and ps