From this hideosity you must resolutely turn
away; and then you may say, as I did, that your mortal eyes have
never rested on any thing so lovely as the ruins of Calder Abbey.
Sometimes Miss Martineau would tell us some pretty legend, or some
good story.
This was one of the legends: Near the borders of the Ullswater is
the beautiful Ara Force, one of the most lovely falls I have seen in
England. One may stand below, and look up at the rushing stream, or
above, on the top of the fall. Here, long ago, in the time of the
crusades, stood a pair of lovers; and here grows an old oak which
was their trysting tree. The lady was of noble birth, and lived in a
castle near by; and her true knight used to come at the still hour
of evening to meet her at the Ara Force.
At length the lover was called away to the Holy Land. As he left his
lady, he vowed to be her true knight, and to return and wed her.
Many long days passed away, and the lady waited in vain for her true
knight. Though she heard often from others of his chivalrous deeds
in the East, yet no word came from him to tell her he was faithful;
and she began to fear that he was no longer true to her, but was
serving some other lady. Despair at last came upon her; and she grew
wan and pale, and slept no longer soundly: But, when the world was
at rest, she would rise in her sleep, and wander to the trysting
tree, and pluck off the green oak leaves, and throw them into the
foaming water.
The knight was all this time faithful, but was not able to send word
to his lady love. At last, he returned to England, and hastened
towards the castle where she lived.
It was late at night when he came to the Ara Force; and he sat him
down under the trysting tree to wait for the morning. When he had
been there a long time, he saw a figure approach, all in white, and
pluck off the oak leaves, and fling them into the stream. Angry to
see the sacred tree thus injured, he rose to prevent it. The figure
started and awoke. In a moment he knew his beloved lady. She was now
on the frail bridge. The sudden shock, and the roar of the Force
below, had made her giddy. He leaped forward to embrace and save
her. Alas! too late. Her foot slipped, and she fell. It was all
over. The water tumbling far down into the rocky chasm beneath told
the story of death.
The knight was inconsolable. He retired from the world forever, and
built a monastery near by, on the borders of the lake, where he
died.
The frail bridge is now gone, and a strong plank, with a railing,
supplies its place. But the water still roars down the rock as on
the fatal night; and the foam and spray look as if the white
garments of the fair lady were still fluttering over the deep below.
From Ambleside I went with some friends to visit Dr. Nichol at
Glasgow. We took coach first, and then the railroad. For the sake of
economy we took a second class carriage. The second class carriages,
on the English railroad, are, in fact, boxes with small holes for
windows, from which you may, if you are not very short, see
something of the world you are flying through, but not much. Good,
honest, hard boards are on the floor, sides, tops, and seats; in
short, all around you. The backs are not slanted at all. You must
sit bolt upright, or not sit at all. Now and then, these vehicles
have a thin leather on the seats - not often.
Nothing can be more luxurious than a first class carriage. The
floors are nicely carpeted, the seats and backs are all stuffed;
each seat is a very nice easy chair. You can sleep in them almost as
well as in a bed; but these carriages are very expensive; and on
this account many of the gentry take those of the second class, hard
as they are.
We arrived at Glasgow at eight o'clock in the evening, and were
unfortunate enough to have a driver to the vehicle we took, who did
not know where the Observatory was. We knew that it was three miles
from the city, and not much more. We were advised by a gentleman,
who was in the same railroad box with us, to take a noddy, or a
minibus, to the Observatory. What these things were, of course, we
could only guess, and we did not care much, so we could only get out
of our wooden box. We came to the conclusion that we could
sympathize tolerably well with poor Box Brown.
We, as we had been advised, took a noddy. A minibus is only a small
omnibus. A noddy is a contrivance that holds four, and has a door at
the end, and only one horse, - very like a Yankee cab.
Glasgow, as every one knows, is one of the greatest manufacturing
cities in the world. Before we arrived, we were astonished at the
great fires from the iron works in the environs; and, as the streets
were well lighted, our eyes were dazzled and delighted with the
whole scene, and we were so pleased with the comfort of our noddy,
that we did not at first feel troubled at the fact that neither our
driver nor we knew where Dr. Nichol's house was. Presently we found
ourselves left in the middle of the street, and saw our noddy man,
in a shop as bright as day, poring over a directory.
