"A handless man a letter did write,
A dumb dictated it word for word:
The person who read it had lost his sight,
And deaf was he who listened and heard."
Early the next morning we emerged from the hollow of Luarca; about
an hour's riding brought us to Caneiro, a deep and romantic valley
of rocks, shaded by tall chestnut trees. Through the midst of this
valley rushes a rapid stream, which we crossed in a boat. "There
is not such a stream for trout in all the Asturias," said the
ferryman; "look down into the waters and observe the large stones
over which it flows; now in the proper season and in fine weather,
you cannot see those stones for the multitude of fish which cover
them."
Leaving the valley behind us, we entered into a wild and dreary
country, stony and mountainous. The day was dull and gloomy, and
all around looked sad and melancholy. "Are we in the way for Giyon
and Oviedo?" demanded Martin of an ancient female, who stood at the
door of a cottage.
