and reparations that have been made ever since. Its high ridge is then inclosed within a pasture just at Woodyates, then becomes the common road for half a mile, but immediately passes forward upon a down, the road going off to the right. I continued the Roman road for two or three mile, where it is rarely visited: it is very beautiful, smooth on both sides, broad at top, the holes remaining whence it was taken, with a ditch on each hand: it is made of gravel, flint, or such stuff as happened in the way, most convenient and lasting. There are vast numbers of Celtic barrows upon these downs, just of such manner and shapes as those of Salisbury plain: at the first and more considerable group I came to, there was a most convincing evidence of the Roman road being made since the barrows: two instances of this nature I gave in the last letter. One form of these barrows, for distinction sake, I call Druids (for what reasons I shall not stand here to dispute:) they are thus. A circle of about 100 foot diameter, more or less, is inclosed with a ditch of a moderate breadth and depth: on the outside of this ditch is a proportionate _vallum_; in the centre of this inclosure is a small tump, where the remains of the person are buried, sometimes two, sometimes three. Now so it fell out, that the line of direction of the Roman road necessarily carried it over part of one of these _tumuli_, and some of the materials of the road are dug out of it: this has two little tumps in its centre. [Sidenote: +Vindogladia.+] It was now my business to look out for the station in Antoninus called _Vindogladia_, mentioned in the last journey to be twelve mile from _Sorbiodunum_. By this time I was come to a proper distance: accordingly I found, at the end of this heath, the road which is all along called Iclingdike, descended a valley where a brook crosses it, from two villages called Gliffet. At All-Saints, or Lower Gliffet, there was a small ale-house, and the only one hereabouts (the Rose:) my old landlady, after some discourse preparatory, informed me that at Boroston, a mile lower upon the river, had been an old city; and that strangers had come out of their way on purpose to see it; that ruins and foundations were there; that it had seven parish-churches, which were beaten down in the war time; that many old coins had been ploughed up when she was a girl, which the children commonly played withal; but the case at present was plainly the same with that of old Troy, described in the ballad upon her wall, where she showed me these passionate verses, Waste lie those walls that were so good, And corn now grows where Troy towers stood.