The Rambler Who, For Old Association Or Other Reasons, Should Trace The
Forsaken Coach-Road Running almost In a Meridional Line From Bristol To
The South Shore Of England, Would Find Himself During the Latter Half
Of His Journey In the Vicinity Of Some Extensive Woodlands,
Interspersed With Apple-Orchards. Here The Trees, Timber Or
Fruit-Bearing, As The Case May Be, Make The Wayside Hedges Ragged By
Their Drip And Shade, Stretching over The Road With Easeful
Horizontality, As If They Found The Unsubstantial Air An Adequate
Support For Their Limbs. At One Place, Where A Hill Is Crossed, The
Largest Of The Woods Shows Itself Bisected By The High-Way, As The Head
Of Thick Hair Is Bisected By The White Line Of Its Parting. The Spot
Is Lonely.
Forsaken Coach-Road Running almost In a Meridional Line From Bristol To
The South Shore Of England, Would Find Himself During the Latter Half
Of His Journey In the Vicinity Of Some Extensive Woodlands,
Interspersed With Apple-Orchards. Here The Trees, Timber Or
Fruit-Bearing, As The Case May Be, Make The Wayside Hedges Ragged By
Their Drip And Shade, Stretching over The Road With Easeful
Horizontality, As If They Found The Unsubstantial Air An Adequate
Support For Their Limbs. At One Place, Where A Hill Is Crossed, The
Largest Of The Woods Shows Itself Bisected By The High-Way, As The Head
Of Thick Hair Is Bisected By The White Line Of Its Parting. The Spot
Is Lonely.
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