nobody offered to bid for it, he gave it away,
and it was, "To carry all the women there,
and the men would follow fast enough."
This was received with agitation amongst the
bonnets, and wild applause amongst the
unhatted heads. There was present a large
number of little boys, sufficiently tight in
their jackets, who enjoyed every part of the
entertainment immensely. It was a pleasure
to see them there, and to know that their
sixpences could be spared from the
cupboard at home. May the time never come
when starveling sparrows, such as flutter
in town streets; and, too often, in village
streets also, may be seen in Wensleydale!

The first excursion on the railway took
place sometime before its completion, and
resulted in an accident to the enterprising lady
who originated it. She had never tried that
method of travelling before; and her ardent
mind, actuated by the curiosity which is so
commendable a trait in her sex, induced
her to enter an empty truck and to urge her
husband to push it. This he did with so
hearty a will that the vehicle had a sharp
run of half a mile on the rails, when it
tilted nearly over, and threw the fair traveller
out. She had just time to exclaim that she
was killed, when she sank into the soft mould
of the embankment as into a quicksand;
only the soles of her shoes being visible to
her horrified husband when he reached the
scene of the catastrophe. As a remarkable
instance of the tenacity of human life, it
may be stated, that the lady still survives
to tell the tale; to expatiate on what her
feelings were when the truck tilted over, and
to describe with affecting accuracy the
sensations of a lady when buried alive.

There is a beautiful walk, called Leyburn
Shawl, beyond the town; the further part is
a lofty, natural terrace; which, bending, and
sweeping to the north, commands an extensive
prospect both up and down the dale.
From it is visible Bolton Castle, built by
the Scroopes as a check on the proud
Nevilles: it stands in an open space and
looks across the valley towards Middleham,
as if keeping watch. It was for a short time
a place of confinement for Mary Stuart; and
local tradition states that she escaped thence,
and was retaken on Leyburn Shawl, at a point
still called Queen Mary's Gap. The village
of Wensley lies in the hollow of the dale by
the river. About a mile higher is Bolton
Hall. Opposite the Shawl, rises Penhill.

The next place of interest is Aysgarth
Force. It is formed of two falls with a
perpendilcular wall of rock on one side, and a
steep hill, covered with wood, on the other. It
is a spot of great natural beauty, but utilitarians
will be charmed to know that it has
been made subservient to the purposes of a
manufactory. A hideous square edifice stands
just above the falls. The village of Aysgarth
lies beyond; and, on the hill-side, is the fine
old church surrounded by a grave-yard
which is really a pleasant place to be buried
in, being in a beautiful green slope, open
to the sunshine and the fresh moorland
breezes; the dead rest together in families
and in generations. There are many names
of the yeomen of the dales which show that
from sire to son they have lived on the same
lands for a century or two back. They have
come out of Bishopsdale and other lonely
little valleys, to lay their bones side by side
with their forefathers. May they do so for
generations yet to come! They love not change
nor innovation, and cling to the soil as
tenaciously as families of more illustrious name.
Aysgarth churchyard does not lack its odd
epitaphs; one states that, for the recovery of
an ill-fated youth, "Physics was in vain;"
others hold out ungrammatical warnings,
of local composition.

Still higher up the river is Hardraw Scarr;
another fine water-fall; and, towards the head
of the dale, is a little lake, called Simmer Water.
Simmer Water belongs to legendary times.
Long, long ago,—how long nobody can take
upon himself to determine—there was a
beautiful city in this part of Wensleydale. A
city as beautiful and rich as legendary cities
mostly are; but its inhabitants were a close-
handed, churlish race. One glorious summer
evening when the air was sultry hot and all
the roads were white with dust, a pilgrim
passed wearily through the gate into the
town. The streets were busy with people
intent on work or pleasure. Each was going
his own way, looking only to his own ends,
and seeking only his own prosperity. Not
one turned a compassionate look on the poor
wayfarer; who had taken up his stand in a
public place, past which the human stream
flowed continuously. He uttered his petition:
"I am hungered, athirst, tired, afilicted with
sore disease;" but none gave heed to him,
and none stretched forth a hand to succour.
He stayed there till sunset, pleading in
vain; then he returned by the way he had
come. As he went slowly up the hill from
the city, an old couple met him who lived in
a poor little cottage on its brow; they
begged him to go in with them and rest.
They set food before him, and ministered to
all his wants. He sat on a rude bench by the
threshold, from whence the inhospitable
city was visible, flooded with golden and
purple light; its towers rising proudly
towards the sky, and its brazen gates glittering
in the western rays. He bade his host
look thitherward; and, whilst he gazed, there
came up the valley a wind from the east,
loud and strong as a tempestuous sea; then
the heaven was overspread with cloud,—
dense, lurid, thunderous; spears of lightning
pierced its thick darkness, and it drove
on with menacing growl till it came over the
white marble towers and great walls of the
city. For a moment it hung still as the folds
of a curtain, then sank slowly down until it
had enveloped the whole place with blackness.