On the south side of a sloping tract of light ground, lively, warm,
and productive, stood a white, moderate-sized farm-house, which, in
consequence of its conspicuous situation, was a prominent and, we may
add, a graceful object in the landscape of which it formed a part. The
spot whereon it stood was a swelling natural terrace, the soil of which
was heavier and richer than that of the adjoining lands. On each side
of the house stood a clump of old beeches, the only survivors of that
species then remaining in the country. These beeches extended behind the
house in a land of angle, with opening, enough at their termination to
form a vista, through which its white walls glistened with beautiful
effect in the calm splendor of a summer evening. Above the mound on
which it stood, rose two steep hills, overgrown with furze and fern,
except on their tops, which were clothed with purple heath; they were
also covered with patches of broom, and studded with gray rocks, which
sometimes rose singly or in larger masses, pointed or rounded into
curious and fantastic shapes. Exactly between these hills the sun went
down during the month of June, and nothing could be in finer relief
than the rocky and picturesque outlines of their sides, as crowned with
thorns and clumps of wild ash, they appeared to overhang the valley
whose green foliage was gilded by the sun-beams, which lit up the scene
into radiant beauty.
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