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    Jesse Cliffe
    Jesse Cliffe
    Jesse Cliffe
    Ebook55 pages40 minutes

    Jesse Cliffe

    By Mary Russell Mitford

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 15, 2013
    Jesse Cliffe

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      Book preview

      Jesse Cliffe - Mary Russell Mitford

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jesse Cliffe, by Mary Russell Mitford

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Jesse Cliffe

      Author: Mary Russell Mitford

      Release Date: October 2, 2007 [EBook #22839]

      Last Updated: January 9, 2013

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESSE CLIFFE ***

      Produced by David Widger

      JESSE CLIFFE.

      By Mary Russell Mitford

      Living as we do in the midst of rivers, water in all its forms, except indeed that of the trackless and mighty ocean, is familiar to our little inland county. The slow majestic Thames, the swift and wandering Kennett, the clear and brimming Loddon, all lend life and verdure to our rich and fertile valleys. Of the great river of England—whose course from its earliest source, near Cirencester, to where it rolls calm, equable, and full, through the magnificent bridges of our splendid metropolis, giving and reflecting beauty,* presents so grand an image of power in repose—it is not now my purpose to speak; nor am I about to expatiate on that still nearer and dearer stream, the pellucid Loddon,—although to be rowed by one dear and near friend up those transparent and meandering waters, from where they sweep at their extremest breadth under the lime-crowned terraces of the Old Park at Aberleigh, to the pastoral meadows of Sandford, through which the narrowed current wanders so brightly—now impeded by beds of white water-lilies, or feathery-blossomed bulrushes, or golden flags—now overhung by thickets of the rich wayfaring tree, with its wealth of glorious berries, redder and more transparent than rubies—now spanned from side to side by the fantastic branches of some aged oak;—although to be rowed along that clear stream, has long been amongst the choicest of my summer pleasures, so exquisite is the scenery, so perfect and so unbroken the solitude. Even the shy and foreign-looking kingfisher, most gorgeous of English birds, who, like the wild Indian retiring before the foot of man, has nearly deserted our populous and cultivated country, knows and loves the lovely valley of the Loddon.

           * There is nothing finer in London than the view from

           Waterloo-bridge on a July evening, whether coloured by the

           gorgeous hues of the setting sun reflected on the water in

           tenfold glory, or illuminated by a thousand twinkling lights

           from lamps, and boats, and houses, mingling with the mild

           beams of the rising moon. The calm and glassy river, gay

           with unnumbered vessels; the magnificent buildings which

           line its shores; the combination of all that is loveliest in

           art or in nature, with all that is most animating in motion

           and in life, produce a picture gratifying alike to the eye

           and to the heart—and the more exhilarating, or rather

           perhaps the more soothing, because, for London, so

           singularly peaceful and quiet. It is like some gorgeous town

           in fairyland, astir with busy and happy creatures, the hum

           of whose voices comes floating from the craft upon the

           river, or the quays by the water side. Life is there, and

           sound and motion; but blessedly free from the jostling of

           the streets, the rattling of the pavement, the crowd, the

           confusion, the tumult,

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