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The Highland monthly - National Library of Scotland

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296 <strong>The</strong> <strong>Highland</strong> Monthly.<br />

folds and booths, where tuneful voices once poured forth<br />

strains <strong>of</strong> melody, that arose in after years in lands far<br />

away. Often, when alone in this most beautiful and peace-<br />

ful scene, have I well-nigh melted into tears <strong>of</strong> tender regret,<br />

while no sound could be heard save the shepherd's whistle,<br />

or the barking <strong>of</strong> his dog, or the bleating <strong>of</strong> the ewes and<br />

Iambs. <strong>The</strong> rest and quietness <strong>of</strong> an eternal Sabbath<br />

surely would most harmonise with the prevailing spirit <strong>of</strong><br />

that scene. No one could listen to the songs and tales <strong>of</strong><br />

Ishbal Macindrui without feeling their influence here. While<br />

her father lived at Inverbeltane, she had spent the greater<br />

part <strong>of</strong> every grazing season at those shealings, and many<br />

old memories remained to her <strong>of</strong> loves, and joys, and<br />

sorrows, that filled the hearts <strong>of</strong> their occupants, now<br />

mouldering in the dust. Ihe shealings had all passed<br />

away ; so had all the homes at Inverbeltane ; and the little<br />

cot which she occasionally occupied there, was now the only<br />

dwelling within the bounds <strong>of</strong> a township where she remembered<br />

twenty families to have been reared. Close to it was<br />

a clump <strong>of</strong> rowan trees, which her brothers had planted<br />

before they took their departure for the New World. And<br />

within view from that spot, on a rising ground at the head<br />

<strong>of</strong> Lochgoy, was the graveyard <strong>of</strong> St Eonan, where the<br />

Macindruis <strong>of</strong> Inverbeltane had buried their dead for<br />

countless generations, and she knew that no grave would<br />

evermore be opened there, except for herself and her aged<br />

brother at Balmosses, when the last <strong>of</strong> the Macindruis would<br />

have passed away.<br />

But now it is full time that, without further ado, I withdrew<br />

from those sweet scenes, which memory depicts<br />

bathed in the brightness <strong>of</strong> a perpetual summer morning,<br />

and introduce the reader to that abode which was to me<br />

as the life and centre <strong>of</strong> the whole ; from whence, ere yet<br />

my thinking personality fairly took form, I looked abroad<br />

upon the world <strong>of</strong> moor, and hill, and stream, and wood,<br />

watching the changing face <strong>of</strong> nature, the constant altera-

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