WIDDICOMBE TOWER. 397 



its loneliness ; for the sun was bright, and horses were 

 grazing, and sheep bleating, and butterflies were flut- 

 tering, and large handsome dragon-flies were hawk- 

 ing to and fro on rustling wings over the rain-pools 

 in the sand-pits. 



So we jog along, opening and closing in turn one 

 and another of those wild fantastic heights, whose out- 

 lines ever change as we pass, and admiring the play- 

 ing lights and shadows over the dark purple surface 

 of the moor, as the clouds borne by the breeze expose 

 or conceal the sun. The brooks enliven the waste, 

 pouring along in haste, and sparkling among the 

 granite boulders of their beds. Several of these cross 

 the high road, the feeders of the Webbern, itself a 

 tributary of the Dart, affording clear cold draughts 

 to our thirsty throats, but with a somewhat ominously 

 brown tinge and moory taste. 



At length we emerge on a wide and most lovely 

 valley ; farms and hamlets scattered about its slopes, 

 each surrounded by its half-concealing groves of dark 

 trees, look like oases in the wilderness. Some dis- 

 tance up the vale, which bends away from sight 

 between the hills, we see the lofty church-tower of 

 Widdicombe, a fine gray square pile, of what is called 

 the Perpendicular style, with four pinnacles at the 

 corners. It rears its head far above the village, 

 which seems to nestle among the embosoming groves, 

 as if desirous to be unseen. It is the frontier of civili- 

 zation ; far beyond all is the wild and naked moor. 

 Imagination rests awhile on those sweet slopes, 



