1 62 THE EXETER ROAD 



libations of tea in a morning,' he says, ' I love to 

 watch the clouds sailing from the west, and fancy 

 that "the spring comes slowly ujd this way." In 

 this hope, while " fields are dank, and ways are 

 mire," I follow the same direction to a neiohbourino; 

 wood, where, having gained the dry, level green- 

 sward, I can see my way for a mile before me, 

 closed in on each side by copse -wood, and ending 

 in a point of light more or less brilliant, as the day 

 is bright or cloudy.' And so this harbinger of our 

 own literary neurotics continues, dropping into a 

 morbid introspective strain, pulling up his soul, like 

 a plant, by the roots, to see how it is growing, 

 and babbling to the world, between the jewel-work of 

 his literature, of his follies and his unrest. Strange, 

 that this wiry pedestrian, this apostle of fresh air, 

 should be of the same douo-h of which the deo;enerates 

 of our time are compounded. 



XXIV 



It was here, however, that one of the most 

 thrilling episodes of the road was enacted in the 

 old days. The Mail from Exeter to London had 

 left Salisbury on the night of 20th October 1816, 

 and proceeded in the usual way for several miles, 

 when what was thouo;ht to be a laro;e calf was seen 

 trottino- beside the horses in the darkness. The 



o 



team soon became extremely nervous and fidgety, 

 and as the inn was approached they could scarcely 

 V)e kept under control. 



