Farewell, brave
gentlemen! I watch, half sadly, half self-contented, the red coats
scattered like sparks of fire over hill and dale, and turn slowly
homeward, to visit my old women.
I pass through a gateway, out upon a village green, planted with rows
of oaks, surrounded by trim sunny cottages, a pleasant oasis in the
middle of the wilderness. Across the village cricket-ground--we are
great cricketers in these parts, and long may the good old game live
among us; and then up another hollow lane, which leads between damp
shaughs and copses toward the further moor.
Curious things to a minute philosopher are these same hollow lanes.
They set him on archaeological questions, more than he can solve; and
I meditate as I go, how many centuries it took to saw through the
warm sandbanks this dyke ten feet deep, up which he trots, with the
oak boughs meeting over his head. Was it ever worth men's while to
dig out the soil? Surely not. The old method must have been, to
remove the softer upper spit, till they got to tolerably hard ground;
and then, Macadam's metal being as yet unknown, the rains and the
wheels of generations sawed it gradually deeper and deeper, till this
road-ditch was formed.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188