THE VALLEY OF THE MAUDE OR 'ON DITS' A Tale BY MRS STEWART AUTHOR OF ATHELINE, OR THE CASTLE BY THE SEA' LONDON SAUNDERS, OTLEY, OTLEY, AND 66 BROOK STREET, HANOVER SQUARE CO. The Valley of the Maude Or On dits.' A CHAPTER I. Twist ye, twine ye, even so NARROW, rocky gorge, where long slopes of greenest turf alternated with huge boulders and immense blocks of living granite, echoed always with the music of a bright, clear, dashing river. Magnificent oaks and beeches, the boughs of which, though large and vigorous, were drawn out to an immense length by the moisture from the river, and nearly met in an arch across it, stood here and there on the grassy slopes." Miniature VOL. I. B 36 Miniature falls, interrupted by others grander and more picturesqué, lighted up with innumerable flashes, and often with 'the rainbow of the brooks,' the pleasant interwoven shadows of the trees. Young voices were in delightful harmony with the sounds of the river and the hum of myriads of insects, which flitted about like animated flowers among the bushes, the ferns, and long grasses that bordered the stream. The birds were taking their siesta in the hot summer's afternoon. ' Eugene! Eugene! lazy fellow! look! look! my boat has gone safely over the lower fall, and she's got good way on her! She'll get safe to sea this time; look at her tacking, you might fancy, round that cape!' The boy thus addressed was lying sleepily among the long grass on the bank, just where the river made a slight bend, and where it was divided by white gleaming blocks of granite into three separate falls, varying in height and breadth. 'I might fancy! you might fancy, I think! I have no imagination. I only see a bit of wood, with a white shape of calico or paper adorning it, that is all,' said Eugene. 'Thank Heaven, I have an imagination,' said Frank. Now I can follow that boat through all the wild scenery of our own valley; through the rich woodland slopes about Mayland; past the grey towers of Mayland cathedral; through corn fields and waving woods, till at length, on such a day as this, golden, bright, and hot, she floats in St. Werburgh's Bay like a water lily on a lake.' 'Your imagination must be tired, I should think; a journey of fifty miles at least, and in this burning sun, too!' 'There,' continued Frank, heedless of this interruption, there she finds a fleet of men-of-war-the Channel fleet. They don't care to waste their coals, you see; and there being no wind, they have cast anchor in St. Werburgh's Roads. If anybody on board sees that craft, and picks her up, he'll say she was built by a fellow |