These familiar sights and sounds touched me with a sudden pathos; there
is nothing in human associations so venerable, so familiar, as the
lowing of the home-coming kine and the bleating of the flocks. They
carry one back to the first homes and the most ancient families. Older
than history, more ancient than civilisation, are these familiar tones
which unite the low-lying meadows and the upland pastures with the fire
on the hearthstone and the nightly care of the fold. When the shadows
deepen over the country-side, the oldest memories are revived and the
oldest habits recalled by the scenes about the farm-house. The same
offices fall to the husbandman, the same sights reveal themselves to
the housewife, the same sounds, mellow with the resonance of uncounted
centuries, greet the ears of the children as in the most primitive ages.
The highway itself stands as a memorial of the most venerable customs
and the most ancient races. As I lift my eyes from its beaten
road-bed, and look out upon it through the imagination, it escapes all
later boundaries and runs back through history to the very dawn of
civilisation; it marks the earliest contact of men with a world which
was wrapped in mystery. The hour that saw a second home built by human
hands heard the first footfall on the first highway.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29