THE LARCH. 



147 



rable remains of the Abbey of Dunkeld, whilst the 

 bleak and barren hill which was once Birnham wood 

 rises behind in the distance, and fills the imagination 

 of the spectator with poetic feeling ; with thoughts 

 of Macbeth, and Dunsinane, and of that master 

 spirit who could thus give to airy nothings 



A local habitation and a name, 



that should make the lapse of centuries appear as 

 moments only — so freshly does all he has ever 

 described rush into the mind, whenever the scenes 

 he has chosen for his actions present themselves to 

 the eye. 



With the Thane of Cawdor, the writer of this 

 article might say, whilst he was exploring the 

 beauties of Dunkeld, " So foul and fair a day I have 

 not seen," for it was one of incessant rain, which 

 yet had no power to veil the enchantments of the 

 scene, or to restrain his steps in quest of them ; 

 never, indeed, did he find " the wildly devious 

 walk" more delightful than that which he took alone, 

 on the banks of the Tay, by one of the most silent, 

 solemn, and sequestered paths that he had ever 

 trodden. The freshness of the woods, the murmur- 

 ing of the river, the noble aspect of the hills, pre- 

 senting new features at every winding of the road, 

 and arrayed in sober purple, or the deepest azure, 

 tilled his mind with admiration and delight, undis- 

 turbed by any trace of man, except what was here 



