was inclined to think it proceeded from vanity, he strove to subdue.
The air was fresh, and seemed in its breeze to waft a perfume from the wild flowers and heath, which grew in rich profusion along the verge of the hill, on one side bounding the path, while sheep and goats, browsing on the summit, were cropping the scented and nutritious herbage. The southern landscape widened into an extensive luxuriancy, and as the eye descended to the vale, on the opposite side of the Cynon, was seen the village, romantically situated, its whitewashed roofs*[1] occasionally intermingling with the darkened foliage.
Philimore slackened his pace, in order to contemplate the striking beauties such an assemblage of objects presented.
"What an enchanting country!" ejaculated he; "how diversified the scenery! calculated at once to delight the senses and beguile the imagination."
"Hark!" said the Doctor, interrupting him, "methought I heard sounds more tuneful than the village church is wont to afford us."
- ↑ *The roofs of the cottages in parts of Wales are white-washed.
