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Updated: June 23, 2025
As we rolled along, wedged into one of the post-chaises of those days, through various kinds of country, and especially through the mountains between Dunkeld and Crieff, it was a perpetual play, I might almost say roar, of fun and laughter.
But in the meantime you must resolve to be ready to march on Tuesday morning, by Keinacan and Tay Bridge, so as to be at Crieff on Wednesday, and even that way, if you do your best, you will be half a mark behind; but you will be able to make that up on Thursday, when I reckon we may meet at Dumblane, or Doun; but of this more fully in my next.
From Stirling the tourists proceeded northwards by Crieff and Glenalmond to Taymouth; thence, keeping by the banks of the river, to Aberfeldy, whose birks he immortalised in song. Here he had the good fortune to meet Niel Gow and to hear him playing.
One evening after dinner the four chums unusual circumstance were all present; MacNab, seated at the big round table, engaged in putting up a remarkably neat parcel, the others lounging at ease, smoking and talking. "Bedad, I know the address of that!" drawled FitzGerald from his long cane chair, "St. Andrew's Lodge, Crieff, Perthshire, N.B. Ahem presents endear absents."
Nevertheless, the poor man was in sore affliction, and as he and my grandfather travelled towards Crieff, many a bitter prayer did his vexed spirit pour forth in its grief that the right arm of the Lord might soon be manifested against the Roman locust that consumed the land and made its corruption naught in the nostrils of Heaven.
This celebrated gibbet was, in the memory of the last generation, still standing at the western end of the town of Crieff, in Perthshire.
And he counselled them not to proceed, as my grandfather had proposed, straight on to Edinburgh by the Queensferry, but to hasten up the country to Crieff and thence take the road to Stirling.
The fullest of the descriptions is the one bequeathed to us by John Ramsay, laird of Ochtertyre, near Crieff, the patron of Burns and the friend of Sir Walter Scott.
He said it was one Lewis Caw, from Crieff, who being a fugitive like himself, for the same reason, he had engaged him as his servant, but that he had fallen sick. 'Poor man! At the same time my heart warms to a man of his appearance. Her husband was gone a little way from home; but was expected every minute to return. She set down to her brother a plentiful Highland breakfast.
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