Yet, if you be wise, sometimes you will leave the fascination of the river and wander a mile or two inland and see the queer, quiet little villages that stand away from the river bank; or adventure, perhaps, from Bourne End up the Wye valley towards High Wycombe and find picturesque Penn--not the home of the family of the founder of Pennsylvania, but of one with which it was connected--and see in the church the memorials to some of the grandchildren of the famous William Penn. To find Penn’s grave you must go a little further afield, through Beaconsfield to Jordans, where in the little Quaker burial ground that one of the greatest of the founders of the United States lies buried in a simple grave. In all this fascinating country you are seldom more than thirty miles from London, and always within touch of a station from which you can reach Paddington in about an hour’s journey. [Illustration: _Bisham Abbey._] [Illustration: Old and bearded man playing a pipe on a dark but moonlit night, with revelers dancing in the background.] THE EVIL WEDDING OF STANTON DREW. Under the southern slopes of bold Dundry Hill in North Somersetshire you will find the queerly named little river Chew, on the banks of which is the village of Stanton Drew. Nowadays it is an out-of-the-way little spot, but far back in history it must have been a place of considerable importance, for close to its church are the remains of what was once a gigantic building--some call it a Druid temple--of a very early race of men. There are the relics of at least three stone circles, and about the smallest of these a strange story is told. It is the story of the Evil Wedding, and it explains why the stones came there. Long, long ago, as the tale goes, there had been a marriage at Stanton Drew, and the wedding party met on the place where now the stone circle stands to indulge in feasting and dancing. It was on a Saturday, and the festivities were at their height when midnight struck. Then the harpist, a pious old man, who was playing for the dancing merry-makers, refused to continue any longer, saying that he would not profane the Sabbath. Each member of the party tried to persuade the aged musician to continue, and chief among the suppliants was the bride, who grew very angry at the harpist’s continual refusals. She would go on with the dance for all his obstinate ways, she said, and she would find another musician even if she had to go to the nether world in search of him. At that moment a venerable old man with a long grey beard wandered out of the night and asked what all the altercations was about. When they told him, he gave a merry laugh and said that he would play for them; so the pious old harpist departed, and the dance began again.