uction of churches, the decay of religion must in time be the
consequence; for while the publick acts of the ministry are now performed
in houses, a very small number can be present; and as the greater part of
the Islanders make no use of books, all must necessarily live in total
ignorance who want the opportunity of vocal instruction.

From these remains of ancient sanctity, which are every where to be
found, it has been conjectured, that, for the last two centuries, the
inhabitants of the Islands have decreased in number. This argument,
which supposes that the churches have been suffered to fall, only because
they were no longer necessary, would have some force, if the houses of
worship still remaining were sufficient for the people. But since they
have now no churches at all, these venerable fragments do not prove the
people of former times to have been more numerous, but to have been more
devout. If the inhabitants were doubled with their present principles,
it appears not that any provision for publick worship would be made.
Where the religion of a country enforces consecrated buildings, the
number of those buildings may be supposed to afford some indication,
however uncertain, of the populousness of the place; but where by a
change of manners a nation is contented to live without them, their decay
implies no diminution of inhabitants.

Some of these dilapidations are said to be found in islands now
uninhabited; but I doubt whether we can thence infer that they were ever
peopled. The religion of the middle age, is well known to have placed
too much hope in lonely austerities. Voluntary solitude was the great
act of propitiation, by which crimes were effaced, and conscience was
appeased; it is therefore not unlikely, that oratories were often built
in places where retirement was sure to have no disturbance.

Raasay has little that can detain a traveller, except the Laird and his
family; but their power wants no auxiliaries. Such a seat of
hospitality, amidst the winds and waters, fills the imagination with a
delightful contrariety of images. Without is the rough ocean and the
rocky land, the beating billows and the howling storm: within is plenty
and elegance, beauty and gaiety, the song and the dance. In Raasay, if I
could have found an Ulysses, I had fancied a Phoeacia.

DUNVEGAN

At Raasay, by good fortune, Macleod, so the chief of the clan is called,
was paying a visit, and by him we were inv