The national forum., 1910-07-09

1t is an old road, probably one of
those tracks which WIRE the frame
work of the country before julius
Caesar came; but his legions left
their mark upon it, and to-day 1t
stands as they made it. 1t is road
of steep rises and sharp descents, and
as straight as a rod, but with the adj
vent of vehicular traffic people prefer
to go around the hills !nstead Of over
them, so now it is little used, and the
broad greensward on either side is
continually encroaching on the white
ness, and it is overgrown with regu-
lar lines Of green, save where the
rumbling wheels of an occaslonaf
wagon keep the limestone bare.
1t is built high above the cultivated
land on either side and rises gradu-
ally upward till the fields give place
to thickets of dwarf oaks and holly
and thorn, with an undergrowth on
the stony soil Of bracken and bram-
Bile. Behind rolls q swelling stretch
of weald, and out at ono side, just be-
low, lie the faint outlines, as shown
by the height of the bushes, of one
time stupendous earthwork. Now it
is a series of mere ridges, with dykes
on the outer edges, reaching across
the countryside; simply long length
of green mounds upon which pene-
trating roots and earth worms have
persevered for centuries in their slow
leveling process, to mark where once
stood famous Roman camp. But
the white, straight road is as good
as ever; it has outlived the camp, it
will outlive many things of to-day
an eternal monument to the great
road makers of history.
Down below on the lower modern
road snorts a motor car; can see it
enveloped in white cloud of dust;
but up here I am alone with the
shades of forgotten legions. There is
no sense of solitude such as men eX-
perience in the unknown wilderness,
but you find more feeling of rest
fulness and satisfaction that you are
following in the footsteps of men
who, by building roads, shaped the
destiny Of nations.
Climbing steadily upward the edge
of the ridge turns the square side of
the camp and I wondered vaguely
under what conditions those dykes
were dug. Did our forebears hang
onto the fanks of their conquerors,
harassng them from every thicket of
oak and thorn, or were they willing
serving men? But they are dust
again and the spring wind whispers
of a new life as it rustles the dead
fronds of the ruddy bracken, and
there is the sharp blow Of the axe on
the green wood that tells Of other life.
A little further on, in the midst of
a clump of ash plants, I found it in
the shape OF an old hedger plying his
| bill hook with the vigorous skill that
comes with experience and is not lost
with years. / passed the time o. day
and he looked at me with the mild
curiosity of the countryside. His eyes
were of that intense blue that is sup
nosed I'd. denote n Saxon ancestry.
they we're set in a we%therworn face
scanned with the wrinkles of age and
sunlight. He bobbed his white head
gravely.
"Ay, a nice marn'n, tits that" he
said with deliberation.
| glanced at his neatly tied bundles
of ash plants; he followed my look.
"Ash plants" he said, for walkin'
sticks for town folk"
"I noticed lot coming up here" "
I said.
Yes, but not many folk come this
way" he explained; that's why
they've kept"
But it is a good road for walk
ing"
"Mebbe," said the old man, "but
tits the hills, they're cruel bad"
"Yes, they are bit steep, I own, "
I said. "They were not so particular
in those days; they were a marching
people"
The old man was looking down
across the countryside.
80 I've heard tell ont" he said
simply.
They we're a wonderful race OF
men," I went on.
Fighters, eh?" he interrupted.
Eyes, and conquered well nigh the
whole world"
"An' they carried swords an things
as'd clank like when they marched?''
"Well, 1 suppose So" I answered
uncertainty, a little puzzled.
The old hedger nodded his head;
he thought for moment or two.