Pitlochrie to Dalwhinnie. 303 



twisted by endless ages of struggle with the rocks 

 which impeded their passage, triumphantly clearing 

 their pathway to the sea at last by unceasing, persistent 

 endeavor. The sides of Scotia's glens are a never-failing 

 source of delight, the wild flowers and the ferns seem so 

 much more delicately fine than they are anywhere else. 

 One understands how they affected Burns. 



Some of our ladies, the Queen Dowager always for 

 one, will delay the coach any time to range the 

 sides of the glen ; and it is with great difficulty that 

 we can get them together to mount once more. The 

 horn sounds again and again, and still they linger ; and 

 when they at last emerge from the copse, it is with 

 handfuls or rather armfuls of Nature's smiles — lapfuls 

 of wild flowers — each one rejoicing in her trophies, 

 happy as the day is long, only it is not half long enough. 

 Go the sun down never so late it sinks to its rest too 

 soon. 



Dalwhinnie, August i. 

 Our drive from Pitlochrie to Dalwhinnie, thirty-two 

 miles, was from beginning to end unsurpassed — moun- 

 tain and moor, forest and glen. The celebrated falls 

 of Bruar lay in our route, and we spent two hours walk- 

 ing up the glen to see them. Well were we repaid. This 

 is decided to be the finest, most varied fall of all we have 

 seen. The amber torrent works and squirms itself 

 through caldrons there, and gorges here, and dashes over 



