in the
highlands of Perthshire. Unlike the Trossachs, which Sir Walter Scott
has immortalised in his "Lady of the Lake," Glen Ogle is a wild, rugged,
rocky pass, almost entirely destitute of trees, except at its lower
extremity; and of shrubs, except along the banks of the little burn
which meanders like a silver thread down the centre of the glen. High
precipitous mountains rise on either hand--those on the left being more
rugged and steep than those on the right. The glen is very narrow
throughout--a circumstance which adds to its wildness; and which, in
gloomy weather, imparts to the spot a truly savage aspect. Masses of
_debris_ and fallen rocks line the base of the precipices, or speckle
the sides of the mountains in places where the slopes, being less
precipitous than elsewhere, have served to check the fallen matter; and
the whole surface of the narrow vale is dotted with rocks of various
sizes, which have bounded from the cliffs, and, overleaping every
obstacle, have found a final resting-place on a level with the little
stream.

The road follows the course of the stream at the foot of the glen; but,
as it advances, it ascends the mountains on the right, and runs along
their sides until the head of the pass is gained. Here it crosses, by
means of a rude stone bridge, a deep chasm, at the bottom of which the
waters of the burn leap and roar among chaotic rocks--a foretaste of the
innumerable rushes, leaps, tumbles, and plunges, which await them all
down the glen. Just beyond this bridge is a small level patch of
mingled rocky and mossy ground. It is the summit of the mountain ridge;
yet the highest peaks rise above it, and so hem it in that it resembles
the arena of a rude amphitheatre. In the centre of this spot lies a
clear, still lake, or tarn, not more than a hundred yards in diameter.
This is the fountain-head of two streams. From the pools and springs,
within a stone's cast of the tarn, arise the infant waters of the burn
already mentioned, which, descending Glen Ogle, find their way to the
Firth of Tay, through Strath Earn. From the opposite side of the tarn
issues another brook, which, leaping down the other side of the
mountains, mingles its waters with Loch Tay, and finds its way, by a
much more circuitous route, to the same firth. The whole region is
desolate and lonely in the extreme, and so wild that a Rocky Mountain
hunter, transported thither by fairy power, might find himself quite at