The hollow is so small that it barely contains my tiffin basket, rifle, gun, and self-in fact, my grass-shod and Puttied extremities dangle over the rim, whence a steep slope shelves down some 200 feet to a brawling burn, the hum of which, mingling with the fitful sighing of the pines as the breeze sweeps through their sounding boughs, is perpetually in my ears.
"A Holiday in the Happy Valley with Pen and Pencil"
T. R. Swinburne