Of fallen yellow
leaves with the cuckoo fluting before his time; nor would that
straggling procession of villagers appear, headed by an old
man in a smock frock with a big book in his hand; nor would I
hear for the first time the strange history of the church
which so enchanted me.
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. By and by the winding road led me down close to the
stream at a point where it broadened to a large still pool.
This was the ford, and on the other side was a small rustic
village, consisting of a church, two or three farm-houses with
their barns and outbuildings, and a few ancient-looking stone
cottages with thatched roofs. But the church was the main
thing; it was a noble building with a very fine tower, and
from its size and beauty I concluded that it was an ancient
church dating back to the time when there was a passion in the
West Country and in many parts of England of building these
great fanes even in the remotest and most thinly populated
parishes. In this I was mistaken through having seen it at a
distance from the other side of the ford after the sun had
set.
Never, I thought, had I seen a lovelier village with its old
picturesque cottages shaded by ancient oaks and elms, and the
great church with its stately tower looking dark against the
luminous western sky.
