A SUMMER-CLAD HEATH 



NDER a haze of cloud hung sky-high 

 above an invisible sea, the eastern horizon 

 lies hidden from my lofty standpoint. I 

 cannot win any glimpse of coast-line low 

 down under the pale atmosphere ; I cannot note those 

 remote features of river estuaries and towns upon 

 them that may be seen from here when the West 

 or South wind blows and lends sharp definition to 

 many distant things unseen in this sunshine. 



To-day the sky is cloudless ; the easterly wind a 

 mere breath, felt even at this altitude in pleasant 

 kisses upon the cheek, where I stand on the confines 

 of Devon's great central waste. Beneath, rolling out 

 of the misty horizon, there spreads the wide world of 

 the South Hams — field and forest, great round hills 

 and level plains between — extended like a fair 

 garment, bejewelled with harvests, enriched with all 

 those tawny tones that hot sunshine paints upon the 

 grass lands ; cooled by the silver threads of little rivers 

 intertwining, wrought out into a human pattern by the 

 far-reaching hedges, the orchards already beginning 

 to brighten with sunset-coloured fruit, the thatch and 

 whitewash of lonely cottages and hamlets, and the 



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