Scotland/Scots > Reminiscences of a Highland parish

CHURCHYARDS AND FUNERALS.
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visits the place has to navigate the lake in a rude
country boat; and if he attempts to sail, he must
probably do so with blankets attached to the oar,
and then trust to a fair wind. Yet what can be
more delicious than thus to glide along the shore
with a crew that won’t speak till they are spoken
to, and in silence gaze upon the ever-varying scene
—to skim past the bights and bays with their reedy
margins—the headlands tufted with waving birch
—the gulfy torrents pouring down their foaming
waterfalls and “ blowing their trumpets from the
steeps”—with the copse of oak and hazel, that
covers the sides of the mountain from the deep
dark water up to the green pasture, and beyond,
the bare rocks that pierce the blue.
Not unlikely the crew, when they take to their
oars, will sing “ Ho Mhorag,” in honour of Prince
Charlie, “ the lad wi’ the philabeg,” who on the
green diluvial plain at the head of the loch—where
his monument now stands — first unfurled his
banner, to regain the British crown; and if you
don’t know this romantic episode in history, the
boatmen will point out with pride the glens where
the Camerons, Macdonalds, Stewarts, and Mac-