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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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On a sultry d ay * towards the end of July , a traveller wap seen slowly advancing along the road which forms the passage from Herefordshire to Worcestershire , at the end of the Malvern Range . From the knapsack at his back , and the entire arrangement of his costume , lie was evidently one of those pedestrian tourists , whose complete
equipment for their vocation is a part of the true genius for travelling—those whose love of beholding nature in her varying aspects is stronger than the toil of ministering to the gratification of artificial wants . The noontide sun was burning fiercely , and every object around * that had once been called vegetation , showed signs that it had been both a * burning and shining light , * day after day , for weeks . The moss on the hills , so far famed for its extreme richness and beauty , was no longer
of that refreshing green which makes so sweet a promise of rest to the weary eye , and yields such kindly fulfilment to the pressure of a weary foot ; but now , brown and parched , and needing but a single spark to lighten it up into a blafce , like the driest hay . The poer sheep were lying exhausted jn all directions , crowding together in heaps , where any thing like shade could be found , gasping and panting for the moisture , for want of which they , and the moss , and , indeed , all creation , seemed to
be suffering . The traveller continued slowly to ascend the road , and as he reached the spot where the opposite valley opened upon him , he sent his eye forward with the intense expectation which an acclivity in a beautiful country seldom fails to excite . In this case it was not the expectation to admire , but an almost irritated longing for shelter from the burning sun , that made the heavens appear to give out heat like one vast concave of glowing metal . Behind him was one valley in a
misty swoon ; before him , all the exquisite richness , and beauty , and luxurious stretch of the view was lost in the thick yellow atmosphere , which Was as if the earth were sickening with fever . His eyes pulled up suddenly—like a checked horse when at full speed—from the distance * to seek for the nearest appearance of shelter . There were a few trees near a farm-house ; but then there were red tiles , and there would be noise from pigs and poultry . What was that , beyond the broad open
field , on the right ? A small , dark-looking church embosomed in trees . Shelter , shelter ! and he jerked up his knapsack , and seemed to gain fresh vigour at every step that brought him nearer to the object he sought . There was a scattered group of people at work in the open field , and he thought with a deepened interest of the hard fate of the peasant , who , in such days as these , had to labour unceasingly to earn a , bare subsistence ; and longed earnestly for the time when machinery
should have fulfilled its high destiny , in superseding the necessity of painful and laborious exertion in man . And there were women too ! and as he turned into the gate he sickened at the thought of such bitter toil being their portion . Little Malvern churchyard is perhaps one of the most perfect places of rest , both for the dead and for the living , that can be found for the searching . It lies at the foot of one of those hills * which are almost mountains , sheltered alike from wind and sun , by the high barrier beyond , and the rich trees which cluster around it . It
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THE WELSri WANDEKXR .
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Citation
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Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), July 2, 1834, page 514, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2635/page/54/
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