Scotland/Scots > Reminiscences of a Highland parish

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A HIGHLAND PARISH.
leans poured down their kilted clans, the last “ old
guard” of the clan times, to do battle for “the
yellow-haired laddie and unless you cordially
believe (at least until you leave Loch Shiel) that
you would have joined them on that day, with the
probability even of losing your head and your
common sense, you are not in a fit state of spirit
to enjoy the scene.
Half way up this lake, and at its narrowest por¬
tion, there is a beautiful green island, which
stretches itself so far across as to leave but a nar¬
row passage for even the country boat. Above it,
and looking down on it, rises Ben Reshiepol for
2000 feet or more, with its hanging woods, gray
rocks, dashing streams, and utter solitude. On the
island is an old chapel, with the bell,—now we
believe preserved by the Laird,—which long ago
so often broke the silence of these wilds on holy
days of worship or of burial. There lie chiefs and
vassals, fierce cateran robbers of sheep and cattle,
murderers of opposing clans, with women and
children, Catholic and Protestant, Prince Charlie
men, and men who served in army and navy under
George the Third. How silent is the grave-yard !