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.

That narrow foot-path led to civilisation, and has broadened into the highway because human fellowships and needs have multiplied and directed the countless feet that have beaten it into permanency.