I Will Here Give An Account Of Yet Another Of The Many
Well-Remembered Delightful Spots Which I Would Not Revisit,
Nor Even Look Upon Again If I Could Avoid Doing So By Going
Several Miles Out Of My Way.
It was green open country in the west of England - very far
west, although on the east side of
The Tamar - in a beautiful
spot remote from railroads and large towns, and the road by
which I was travelling (on this occasion on a bicycle) ran or
serpentined along the foot of a range of low round hills on my
right hand, while on my left I had a green valley with other
low round green hills beyond it. The valley had a marshy
stream with sedgy margins and occasional clumps of alder and
willow trees. It was the end of a hot midsummer day; the sun
went down a vast globe of crimson fire in a crystal clear sky;
and as I was going east I was obliged to dismount and stand
still to watch its setting. When the great red disc had gone
down behind the green world I resumed my way but went slowly,
then slower still, the better to enjoy the delicious coolness
which came from the moist valley and the beauty of the evening
in that solitary place which I had never looked on before.
Nor was there any need to hurry; I had but three or four miles
to go to the small old town where I intended passing the
night.
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