Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1892-07-16
PLEA FOR GOOD ROADS
From a Traveller Who Knows How
Foreign Countries Beat America.
WAKEMAN IN OLD CHURCH TOWNS
Exeters Environment, Sunny Aspect and
Noble Cathedral.
SOME OF THE PLEASURES OF THE ROAD
CORRESPONDENCE OF THE DISPATCH ]

~
EXETER, ENGLAND, July 7.-Natur
wears other aspects than those of SUNSHINE
and gladness in these eight little" British
islands. The rain falls as though tumblet
upon you by mischievous elves who hav'
watched for your unwary coming. and tn
fogs and mists flap about the hills ant
mountains and slap the faces of the glen
and valleys like ships unstaid sail
pounding its deck in storm.
But you find sovereignty of elation ant
.e1ultation in wandering alone among tn,
historic and scenic glories of any land.
good staff or stick, a stout pair OF legs, {
receptive mind and above all a CHEEKY ant
sympathetic heart, whatever your luck, arr
the regal companions for such loiterings.
And nature never fails toappear to single
devotees at her myriad doors and windows
with radiant welcomings. How witching il
even this foggy morning, half disclosing
the wondrous charms of valley, mead and
stream! At times scarcely can your hand be
seen before you for the strange eddies
curlings and fantastic convolutions of the
fog. There is your road, hard as "British
conservatism" beneath your feet-one OF
the best and surest and most beautiful ways
the American wanderer upon it the keen
and patriotic pang that those of his grander
land are shamed by honest comparison.
Hard Facts for the Traveller.
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 mysteri-
| Gus sounds, can alone locate or divine.
Tramp, tramp, tramp, bravely as you may,
these grow into consciousness 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 solid 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,
rlvulets of the nights making wimple from
rocks to pool, in all manner of melodic
runs, from the staccato of tenor trills to the
barytone minors of state psalms.
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, making a dis
NAL he wgag 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 if impatient Of their sun
less prisoning. Hedge branches crackle
from the water weight, as in the frost bat
ties of approaching winter.
Sounds Heard From the Road.
Here and there, as the heavy breezes
move a trifle, 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 hidden
waterfall, while faint and tar and strangely
muffied, from little hamlets in the distance,
the notes of school bells steal family along
the folds of the clinging mist.
Making your way is sometimes like push
ing through impalpable banks of snow. But
in the CHEEKY old English inn, in the pres
ence of mullins white as snow, bacon crisp
and brown, and omlet as yellow as a FROST
painted beech leaf, jug of ''clotted" cream
as sweet az a nut kernel and a fragrant brew
ing of tea in the delft pot under the 'cosey."
you have reason to rejoice in the blood
tingle that comes from doing a half dozen
miles before breakfast over perfect road,
through genuine British fog.
1t was on such a morning that I came
over the east Devonshire hills and halted at
a wayside inn. still high up among their
wooded heights, as neared the old cathe-
dral town of Exeter.
Good Roads Shorten Long Journeys,
As the fog lifted I could see from my inn
window cart after cart jogging comfortably
on to the Saturday market day sales in Ex-
eter. From the bustling good wife of the
inn inquired the distance they had come.
"From round about Bow, Copplestone
and North Tawton," she answered.
"And how far is the farthest of those
places?" asked.
'tNorth Tawton may be likes 10 or IL
mile, sir, at least from Exeter
told her thought that good distance
for heavily laden cart drawn by only one
horse
"Contrarywise," she retorted cheeriIy,
"mapy comes from far beyond Eggestord
and Chumlelgb, % mile, sir, by hill and
dip; and many carts, sir. do be loaded as
heavy as a ton and a half and two tons sir.
American beasties 'aven't the might of
Devon cattle, am told, sir, she concluded
half quizzically.
Quite right she was, told her And I
clipped the wings of her Devonshire pride
by also relating, may the saints forgive me!
how we did not require that sort of cattle
in America; as we had railways between all
villages, all over our farms q could have
truthfully said railway Wortgages), did
chores on roller skates, and went to the
milking and visited neighbors on tram cars
propelled by electricity; for all OF which
she made ME pay handsomely at the reck-
oning.
Excellent Highways of En- gland.
That morning, all the way to Exeter,
alongside those huge carts which bowled
along under their great loads as easily as
over a cathedral floor, and in a thousand
other places on the highways of England,
ireland and Scotland, have inexpressibly
longed for the power to bodily transfer
some of these grand old roads to our coun-
try; to make American millionares, who may
still have American pride left in them, see
their beauty, magnifcence and utility be-
yond those of all things money and patriot |
ism can give to communities; and to compel |
American farmers to know what might be
the matchless independence of their lives |
and living with these perfect defenses for
their toll and homes and granaries against |
most of the monopolistic and corner"
denominations of our land.
set out to write about Exeter; but this |
subject of better American roads will not |
down. In five years time have tramped |
along 5000 miles of British roads. Each |
time I step my feet upon their broad, firm, |
even surface every drop of American blood |
In me tingles with shame at the thought of |
the mud pixies and bottomless road sfoughs |
of our own splendid country-rich, great |
and strong enough to match the roads of |
Europe without weeks delay. And yet |
for five months Of every year, and in a
lesser degree for the other seAen, half of the |
nf Our fa rmipU coumuu n ;t;ao o,o ;xo