A tragedy in humbler life has been commemorated in a Tayside ballad, _The Weary Coble of Cargill_. The hero, Davie Drummond, is described as a “brave page,” also as the “butler of Stobhall,” who, with the keys of the mansion hanging at his belt, undertook to cross the swollen Tay one night in a coble or ferry-boat: this local Leander seems to have had a Hero on each bank, and to have played the perilous part of not being off with one love before being on with another. The heroine, “the lass of Ballathie,” took strong measures in a fit of jealousy, when Davie would not stay the night on her side the river-- His bed was made in Ballathie town, Of the clean sheets and of the strae; But I wat it was far better made Into the bottom o’ bonnie Tay. She bored the coble in seven pairts, I wat her heart might hae been sair, For there she got the bonnie lad lost, Wi’ the curly locks and the yellow hair. He put his foot into the boat, He little thocht o’ ony ill, But before that he was mid-waters, The weary coble began to fill.... I wat they had mair love than this When they were young and at the schule; But for his sake she wauked late And bored the coble o’ bonny Cargill. The poor youth was taken out a corpse; then too late came lifelong repentance to his resentful sweetheart-- There’s ne’er a clean sark gae on my back, Nor yet a kame gae in my hair, There’s neither coal nor candle light Shall shine in my bower for ever mair. At kirk or market I’se ne’er be at, Nor yet a blythe blink in my e’e, There’s ne’er a ane shall say to anither, That’s the lassie garr’d the young man dee. Above Cargill, the river is spanned by the Caledonian railway; then on the left bank comes in the Isla leading up to Blairgowrie, behind which opens one of the great passes into the Highlands. Between Meikleour and Kinclaven Castle, taken and burned by Wallace, the Tay makes an extravagant circumvention of inches and haughs, flowing north for one reach, then turning south, as it comes round from its eastward course by Murthly. The Highland line cuts across this elbow bend to pass opposite Caputh, reached by a floating bridge that looks safer than that coble of Cargill. In _Bonnie Scotland_ I could not but speak of the grounds of Murthly, with their show of ambitious structures; but I am not sure if I did justice to the gardens and miles of magnificent avenues, that, like those of Meikleour and Ballathie lower down, and of Dunkeld above, might call a blush to the cheek of Dr. Johnson’s ghost, if it could visit this edge of the Highlands. From near Murthly station one may walk for two and a half straight miles on a grass ride bordered by coniferous trees, bringing us down to the Dunkeld road, beyond Bankfoot, a highway which has taken care not to follow the vagaries of the river.