There are also a few factory chimneys,
which are not fair to outward view, nor appropriate by a loch-side. On
the west are ranges of distant hills, low but not uncomely. On the east
rises a beautiful moorland steep with broken and graceful outlines. When
the sun shines on the red tilled land, in spring; when the smoke of
burning gorse coils up all day long into the sky, as if the Great Spirit
were taking his pipe of peace on the mountains; when the islands are
mirrored on the glassy water, then the artist rejoices, though the angler
knows that he will waste his day. As far as fishing goes, he is bound to
be "clean," as the boatmen say--to catch nothing; but the solemn peace,
and the walls and ruined towers of Queen Mary's prison, may partially
console the fisher. The accommodation is agreeable, there is a pleasant
inn--an old town-house, perhaps, of some great family, when the great
families did not rush up to London, but spent their winters in such
country towns as Dumfries and St. Andrews. The inn has a great green
garden at its doors, and if the talk is mainly of fishing, and if every
one tells of his monster trout that escaped the net, there is much worse
conversation than that.
When you reach Kinross, and, after excellent ham and eggs, begin to make
a start, the cockney element is most visible at the first.
Pages:
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74