You can see it nowhere else You can see it nowhere else You can see nowhere else in the world so much peaceful domesticity, so many roofs and spires, so many trees and so much green grass, as in an English countryside. The charm of English scenery is felt by all travellers, and even those who have merely passed through the land in a railway train are sensible of it. The charm is felt the more because it is unobtrusive. It does not force itself upon the notice, but pleases quietly and gradually. In the spring, the green fields are delightful to the eye; in the summer, they are pleasant to the sense of smell; in the autumn, they are rich and cheerful to the sense of colour; in the winter, they are gray and soothing to the mind. The very silence of the country has something of repose in it. The towns are far between, and the travel along the roads is slight. The fields are dotted with solitary houses, and the travellers who go by them are few. At evening, the farm labourers return homewards, and the sounds of their voices die away, and night falls upon the quiet landscape. In winter, the silence is more complete; but even in the busiest season of the year, there is something of silence in it. The birds twitter and chirp, but they do not clamour. The animals feed and rest, but they are not noisy. The very winds are not loud, but whisper through the trees. In the midst of all this quietness, human dwellings are set down, and men pursue their avocations. The clink of the hammer comes from the village smithy; the smoke rises from the village chimneys; and the bells of the village churches sound merrily on Sundays.
Original dispatch: Watch: 'Everybody back up!' Moment car explodes in NYC