the old chiefs remained alive, little real hardship was
inflicted. They were {12} wedded to the old order of things, and left
it unchanged. With their successors, however, began a new era. These
men had come under the influence of the south, whither they had gone
for education, to correct the rudeness of their Highland manners. On
their return to their native country they too often held themselves
aloof from the uncouth dwellers in the hills. The mysterious love of
the Gael for his kith and kin had left them; they were no longer to
their dependants as fathers to children. More especially had these
Saxon-bred lordlings fallen a prey to the commercial ideas of the
south. It was trying for them to possess the nominal dignity of
landlords without the money needed to maintain their rank. They were
bare of retinue, shabby in equipage, and light of purse. They saw but
one solution of their difficulty. Like their English and Lowland
brethren, they must increase the rents upon their Highland estates. So
it came about that the one-time clansmen, reduced to mere tenants,
groaned for the upkeep of their overlords.

Nor did this end the misfortunes of the clansmen. An attractive lure
was held out to the new generation of chieftains, and greed and avarice
were to triumph. Southern {13} speculators had been rambling over the
Highlands, eager to exploit the country. These men had seen a land of
grass and heather, steep crag, and winter snow. Observing that the
country was specially adapted to the raising of sheep, they sought by
offering high rents to acquire land for sheep-walks. Thus, through the
length and breadth of the Highlands, great enclosures were formed for
the breeding of sheep. Where many crofters had once tilled the soil,
only a lone shepherd was now found, meditating on scenes of desolation.
Ruined dwellings and forsaken hamlets remained to tell the tale. Human
beings had been evicted: sheep had become the 'devourers of men.' In
many parts of the Highlands the inhabitants, driven from mountain
homes, were forced to eke out a meagre existence on narrow strips of
land by the seashore, where they pined and where they half-starved on
the fish caught in the dangerous waters.

From such a dilemma there was but one escape. Behind the evicted
tenantry were the sheep-walks; before them was the open sea. Few
herrings came to the net; the bannock meal was low; the tartan
threadbare. In their utter hopelessnes