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. All he could learn was what we had already told him, and so on he went, not knowing whether right or wrong, giving us a fine opportunity of seeing the city in the evening. At last, he came to the bridge over the Clyde, and there the tollman directed us to the Observatory.