CHAPTER VII 



THE BIG GLEN 



In the Island of Mull, noted for its wild hill scenery and 

 the beauty of its deep valleys, is the glen of which I write. 

 It is known as the Glen More, or " Great Glen " — for does 

 it not traverse the whole breadth of the island from sea- 

 shore to seashore ? — and during a sojourn on this western 

 island I learned to know it intimately, and appreciate fully 

 its wildness and charm. 



Few people pass through the glen, even during the 

 long summer days, and during the winter months, when 

 dark mist-clouds brood constantly on the hills, the rough 

 road leading through it is untrodden for days on end. 



During winter, too, great gales from the south-west 

 and west, sweeping straight from off the surface of the 

 broad Atlantic, sigh and moan through the glen, driving 

 before them stinging showers of sleet and rain, so that it 

 is almost impossible to walk against the storm, and the 

 glen is filled with gloom and stern grandeur. 



The raven has his home in the glen. On still days, when 

 the hills are purple, and when the view is wide and clear, 

 one can hear him croaking huskily from afar, and can see 

 him, accompanied maybe by his mate, forging his way 

 with pow^erful wing-beats to some far-off rock where he 

 has his nest. 



The eagle formerly bred in the glen, and even without 

 leaving the track one can see the small rock where, over- 

 looking a dark loch — Loch Airdglas — the hen bird brooded 

 her two speckled eggs in early spring. Now the rock is 

 taken over by a pair of ravens and the eagle has gone. 

 Buzzards there are in plenty in the glen. How closely 



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