But the visitor, who can command the time, should pursue his course along the carriage-drive towards the mansion before descending to the lake. Having passed the lodge, he will walk between scarlet rhododendrons and cream-coloured roses, which scent the air around. Two or three hundred yards will bring him to a path which strikes off at an acute angle on the left. Here he passes beneath laurel leaves and pine branches, by a winding route which in due time brings him to the eastern brow of the steep hill that overhangs the baronial dwelling. Trees lie here prostrate, torn up by the roots or snapped asunder some feet above the ground, and we find our way through this hurricane-havoc to a seat, upon which we scruple not to sit down.
“Heavens! What a goodly prospect spreads around,
Of hills and dales, and woods, and lawns, and lakes!”
You look over a varied mass of trees down upon the mansion, and the mansion looks over a varied mass of trees down upon the lake. How quiet and lovely that bay opposite, in which the fir and the beach are seen inverted, growing as if from antipoles, with their tops downwards! On the farther side of the valley you see a sloping grass park of quadrangular shape, sparsely studded with pines and limes which throw their tall shadows across the green on which cattle are feeding. The royal deer forest of Glenartney is seen stretching far away in the west, while by way of contrast, hills of heath and moorland lie all wild and uncultivated in the distant background. Many ascend this height to obtain the view it commands. The seat upon which we sit is covered with initials and names at full length of both ladies and gentlemen. George Rankin immortalised himself on the 14th February, 1857. The road leads across the hill and down the western brow to the mansion. Our tourist should by all means take advantage of the view from the observatory. It is more circumscribed, but not less picturesque. Art, nature, and genius, here go hand in hand in harmonious rivalry. And with a matter of fact applicability, with a life and meaning which mere sentimentality known not, you may quote the lines of Thomson—
“Of men the happiest he, who far from public rage,
Deep in the vale, with the choice few retired,
Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life.”
The tourist may now descend to the lake and get a near view of what we have already admired from the distance. And by thus reversing the positions he will have an opportunity of seeing both sides of the picture. It courts inspection, we have almost said, challenged comparisons, at every footstep. In fine summer evenings the pleasure of boating on the lake is often enjoyed by ladies, and in the winter the curler plies his keen and exhilarating game upon the ice.
Having taken reluctant leave of this attractive landscape, we soon find ourselves abreast of the parish church at Monzievaird, a little further is the parochial school. The schoolmaster, Mr. McRosty, is one of nature’s nobles, and a mathematical genius. Next appears the entrance gate to the parochial manse. The Rev. William Robertson, lineal or collateral descendant of the historian, is minister; a gentleman of extensive learning, refined taste, and very agreeable address. If our tourist however does not intend returning to Crieff he should take the road on the left, opposite the school house, and proceed to the hill on the top of which stands a monument to Sir David Baird. It is nearly half a mile distant, and the picturesque view from the summit of Tom-a-Chastel is more than worth the trouble of ascending. I shall not attempt to describe, but simply request the spectator to look around. And if on his descent he walks across the Bridge of Strowan close by, the quiet seclusion there will form a fine contrast to the exposure of the hill top. An old churchyard on his left, and the mansion on his right possess claims upon his notice. The neat looking house and beautiful park are the property of Thomas Graham Stirling, Esq.
Retracing our steps to the parochial school, and passing the manse, we reach, just beyond the fourth milestone, the entrance to Clathick House, the first ridge of the Grampians its background, and a verdant declivity its eastern skirt. This is the residence of W.L.Colquhoun, Esq. And before we have travelled five miles westward, we come in front of the magnificant mansion of Lawers, surrounded by a park which might grace the woodland scenery of Hants or Devonshire. The architectural proportions of the mansion seem faultless, and the convex form of the ground on each side, with the green lawn in front, gives it the appearance of standing on the surface of a grass-clad sphere sunk considerably above its diameter, at the base of a pine-clad hill. The proprietor of this delightful country seat is David Robertson Williamson, Esq. we now walk for some considerable distance along the highway, over-canopied by wide-spreading branches of beech trees, planted several generations since, on each side of the road. A little before reaching the bridge that crosses the Lednock, a northern tributary of the Earn, we see Dunmore crowned with its granite obelisk on our right. The “land of the mountains and the flood” is now fairly entered. The Aberuchills just before us rise high above the sensible horizon, and at their base we have reached Comrie, the head quarters of British earthquakes. The situation of the village is lovely, viewed from a few miles distant, and romantic when approached.
