The Argosy — page 140: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

128 On the Wye. bowling away on the road to Ludlow. For the moment it is a narrow road ; the hedges rise up on either side, enclosing fields of rich green pasture, and cattle of various kinds cropping the grass or quietly chewing the cud: the old cows looking all the while with their blinking eyes and wise faces as if they were pondering over the affairs of the nation. What a drive it is! Every step of the way of such beauty as you find only in England, and in the most favoured of her counties. A maze of undulating hills, near and afar off; of richest pastures ; of well-grown, waving trees ; of running brooks; of splendid hedges ; of banks of ferns and wild flowers: whilst every now and again the whole beauty. of the scene seems to culminate in one point, and you long to stop the carriage and gaze around for hours. Presently, after a drive of some miles, Ludlow itself came into view, with its hilly streets, its church tower, beacon to a most worthy edifice ; its famous, most interesting castle, proclaiming its existence and de- manding attention from its hill-crowned summit. Nothing can be more beautiful than the situation of Ludlow as you approach it—not as now—but from the railroad. The town sleeping on the hill-side and basking in the hollow; the square tower rising against a back- ground of trees; the hills gloriously wooded, suggestive of all that is sylvan and delightful. The smoke, curling upwards from a forest chimney, adds no little to the rural charm of the scene—as smoke invariably does when thrown out by a background of wooded heights. We progressed onwards, and clattered into Ludlow ; up one hill and down another ; until at last we came to a full stop at the station. After all, the rain had rather laid the dust than damped our enjoyment. We began to hope again. The train steamed up; the station-master sscured a vacant com- partment ; a whistle, a puff, and we were gone. Our first halt was at Hereford. Here we spent an hour or two for the sake of the cathedral, which never greatly impresses us. We attended service, but could not bestow great praise on the choir. Perhaps they have a reserve force for special occasions. Back to the station, and onwards again towards Ross. Here we were on one of the most exquisite bits of railroad travelling in England : the road lying between Hereford and Gloucester. Six or seven times it crossed the Wye. Its rich banks, its winding course, may be traced on all sides; surrounded by an amphitheatre of luxuriant hills, which shift their aspect as the train rushes onwards. . The red tinge of the soil gives to the landscape that glow of warmth which so heightens its effect. Look where and when you will, nothing but a bewildering wealth and maze of beauty meets the eye: an effect increased tenfold if the sky happens to be cloudless and the sua is pouring its charm and influence upon the earth. The presence and comicbooks.com