But what shall I say about the scenery ’twixt Bankfoot and Dunkeld? It is everywhere so grandly beautiful that to attempt to describe it is like an insult to its majesty and romance.
Now suppose the reader were set down in the midst of one of the finest landscape gardens, in the sweetest month of summer, and asked to describe in a few words what he saw around him, would he not find it difficult even to make a commencement? That is precisely how I am now situated.
But to run through this part of the country without a word would be mean and cowardly in an author.
Here are the grandest hills close aboard of us that we have yet seen—among them Birnam; the most splendid woods and trees, forest and streams, lakes and torrents, houses and mansions, ferns and flowers and heather wild. Look where I will it is all a labyrinth, all one maze of wildest beauty, while the sweet sunshine and the gentle breeze sighing thro’ the overhanging boughs, combined with the historical reminiscences inseparable from the scenery, make my bewilderment pleasant and complete.
Yes! I confess to being of a poetic turn of mind, so make allowance, mon ami, but—go and see Dunkeld and its surroundings for yourself—
“Here Poesy might woke her heaven-taught lyre,
And look through nature with creative fire
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides;
The woods, wild scattered, clothe their ample sides.
Th’ outstretching lake, embosomed ’mong the hills,
The eye with wonder and amazement fills.
The Tay meandering sweet in infant pride,
The Palace rising by its verdant side,
The lawns wood-fringed in nature’s native taste,
The hillocks dropt in nature’s careless haste;
The arches striding o’er the newborn stream,
The village glittering in the noontide beam.”
The above passage, from the poet Barns, refers to the village and scenery of Kumon, but it equally well describes the surroundings of Dunkeld.
Pitlochrie is our anchorage to-night.
The little town, when I first approached it, seemed, though picturesque and lovely in the extreme, almost too civilised for my gipsy ideas of comfort; the people had too much of the summer-lodging caste about them; there were loudly dressed females and male mashers, so I felt inclined to fly through it and away as I had done through Perth.
But the offer of a quiet level meadow at the other end of this village of villas, surrounded by hills pine-clad to their summits, and hills covered with heather, the maiden-blush of the heather just appearing on it, tempted me, and here I lie.