Summary

The Scottish Highlands, Highland Clans and Highland Regiments…

A thousand thongs bind the car on high. Hard polished bits shine in a wreath of foam. Thin thongs, bright-studded with gems, bend on the stately necks of the steeds—the steeds that, like wreaths of mist, fly over the streamy vales. The wildness of deer is in their course, the strength of the eagle descending on her prey. Their noise is like the blast of winter on the sides of the snow-headed Gormal.
“Within the car is seen the chief, the strong, stormy son of the sword; the hero’s name is Cuchullin, son of Semo, king of shells.
Source: Gutenberg

The Scottish Highlands, Highland Clans and Highland Regiments…

The pictures of suffering drawn, some of them we fear too true, are sometimes very harrowing, and any one who has been brought up among the hills, or has dwelt for a summer in a sweet Highland glen, can easily fancy with how sad a heart the Highlander must have taken his last long lingering look of the little cottage, however rude, where he passed his happiest years, nestled at the foot of a sunny brae, or guarded by some towering crag, and surrounded with the multitudinous beauties of wood and vale, heather and ferns, soft knoll and rugged mountain.
Source: Gutenberg

The Scottish Highlands, Highland Clans and Highland Regiments…

What good purpose, divine or human, could be served by keeping an increasing population in a land that cannot produce enough to keep the life in one-half of its people? Nothing but misery, and degradation, and oppression here; happiness, advancement, riches, and freedom on the other side of the water. Is there more than one conclusion?
In spite of all the emigration that has taken place from this country, no one has, we daresay, any real dread of depopulation; the population is increasing over all the land every year, not excepting the Highlands.
Source: Gutenberg

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