New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1891-10-18


foam and, far away, the faint, delicate blue mist
upon mountain peaks that seem to tower INTO
heaven.
North Of the Forest of Athole now-and our
track is through land o. rock and heather, Win
not one tree TO give 1t shade and with no creature
stirring but an occasional sheep For miles ana
miles we look on nothing but lonely heath, ex-
tending ND the long mountain slopes on either
hand desolate beneath the clear sunshine of
September day. solitary human being is walk
ing over the moor, and the dreary waste grows
drearier STILL as our gaze rests upon his dark fig
| ure and sees it fade away. Soon we catch mo-
mcntary glimpse Of Loeb Ericht,-the highest OF
| the Scotch lochs and reputed its gloomicst,-and
grim and gaunt enough it is beneath the autumnal
| sky, which even now has begun to lower with the
remote approach of night. Around us, at distance
the outline Of the hills is much broken,-range be-
| yond range of swart and grisly mountains rising
upon all sides and filling the prospect We are in the
valley of the Spey and traversing the depth OF
| Glen Truim. A backward look through the hill
gap sees the whole wild landscape under semi
dome Of silver. Presently the glen becomes
wooded abodes of man appear; hundreds of sheep
are visible upon the moors; the mountain-peaks
| are nearer and the mists creep down upon them
| and swath them in a fleece of silver; while few
birds 1.-THE first that we have seen for hours fly
| low in the glen. There is noble view OF the
| Spey whose broad. black water flowing beneath
| the three arches of the Bridge Of Newtonmore,
! glstens like ebony in the morning light. AT
| at Kingussie we view a sumptuous fir-grove and q
ruined CASTLE and we are entranced with the lovely
effect of sunshine falling here and there from be-
| hind black clouds, on hills that otherwise are
| kept in shadow and in mist. The landscape here
is wonderfully various-a splendid breadth of valley,
bordered with young frs, and teeming with dense
| foliage and with great masses of purple heather.
The village of Kincraig is here Ia gem to be remem-
bered and revisted), and sweet Loeb Ellen is not
distant. We note the sharp and sudden contrast
of fr-groves with barren, desolate, rock-strewn
hillside lonely cabin sweeps into view, and
a woman at the door pensively looks at us we
| pass. Loeb Inch is eastward from our track ::
] Loeb ALIVE westward. Yonder, upon spur of the
| mountain, is monument to the Duke of Gordon.
There to the northeast, rises in faint blue cloud
| the mysterious Cairn-gorm mountain--which surely
never looked more beautiful than now. At AWE
| more the clouds lower and the mist is on the
| hills, but in the sky behind them there is
| q streak of silver. Miles of moorland succeed
| The sky darsens The wind is chill The country
is very lonely. If human beings are here they
make but little sign Of their presence. One low
cabin do indeed discern,-a mantle of green vel
| vet upon its roof and many hens roasted on
| it's window-sills in disconsolate meditation The
river Spey, broad and lovely flows through this
| plain and far the eye can reach its gaze
| fingers lovingly upon dense masses Of dark green
| broom among which, erect or couched, are the big
| and stately back cattle of the North. Fine CLEANS
of sunshine fall suddenly, now and then, out of
the gray sky, and riffs of wonderfully brilliant
blue shine through the sombre rack of the storm.
| More and more we delight in the little brnies
| that CLEAN like threads of silver on
the hillsides and biclSer into foam and music as
| they come dashiDg through the plain. The clouds
| threaten but the landscape smiles. Near at hand
| is shadow, but far away the sunshine falls upon
yellow field amid the blue-green of the fir-trecs
and seems to make glory over half the visible
| world.
| 1t is the land OF Macbeth through which for
some time we have been speeding, and at many u
| place upon those desolate, rocll-strewn moors Of
| peat and heather the Shakespeare-lover has seen
| the blasted heath" the stOrm-clouds hanging
low, fantastic masses of mist drifting over the wet
earth, Macbeth and Banquo with their marching
forces, and the dim shapes of the three Weird
| Sisters gliding upon the haunted air. 1t was to-
ward Forres that the victors were making, on that
day of destiny when first the deadly purpose In the
| heart Of Macbeth took form and voice in the evil
angels who thcnceforward were to lead him to his
| doom. We make toward Forres now. The sun,
beneath dark clouds to the westward, is sending
down shafts of light upon fertile valley, the har-
vest in sheavcs, the yellow fields of oats, the cattle
| in pasture and the sheep in fold; while the cold
wind, sweeping over woodland of birch and fir.
is sweeter than honey. Forres neXt-a cleanly
| stone town with q cOne-capped tower in the middle
of it; place that is ample in population, active
in enterprise and abundanuy possessed of the re-
| wards Of industry and thrift At Brodie, looking
across harvest fields and a low growth Of frs, we
see the gimmer Of gray and leaden water and so
catch our first glimpse of the Moray Firth. lit
tie while and we look upon the fine gray spires OF
Nairn, and see the Moray like river, and beyond
it the bald, round mountains of Caithness,
range beyond range, disappearing in the
angry northern sky. Westward a narrow
waterfall of light falling from dense
bank of slate-colored clouds, illumines little
river, the garments that are bleaching on the
copious bushes of the broom, the level lands OF
peat and heather, and the hard, white roads
that wind away toward Dalcross and Culoden
mighty flock Of sea-news momentarily darkens
the air, and we can hear their quick, sharp cries
and almost the whirrng rustic of their innumer-
able wings. The day is done,-a long and lovely
day of poetic pageant and unalloyed delight,-and
just as streaks of gold under layers of blue
and lead declare the sunset we sec the gray
battlcments ard towers Of our desired haven and
glide to our rest in the bosom of Inverness.
Wednesday Evening, September 23.-Eastward
from Inverness, on the way to Culloden, the road
at first skirts the southern shore of the Moray
Firth, and driving on it as ! did this morning
the traveller sees broad reach OF shining water
over which the sea-mews sport, and beyond il
the bleak hills Of Caithness, sleeping solitary in
the sun Soon the track bends southerly and
then east again, and finally, passing beneath an
arch of sumptuous beeches, it climbs the long
hillslope toward Drummossie Moor The hedges
on both its sides are filled with hips and haws