Early in last century, a military road was carried through this glen, by a set of men brought up in the stiff formal engineering of the period, who went straight to their end, caring neither for scenery, nor for legends, for the graves of bards, nor for big stones, as one of their number—Captain Burt, a very matter-of-fact but clear narrator, who was present—shows. "A small part of the way through the glen had been marked out by two rows of camp colours, placed at a good distance one from another, whereby to describe the line of the intended breadth and regularity of the road by the eye. There happened to lie directly in the way, an exceedingly large stone, and, as it had been made a rule from the beginning, to carry on the roads in straight lines, as far as the way would permit, not only to give them a better air, but to shorten the passengers' journey, it was resolved the stone should be removed, if possible, though, otherwise, the work might have been carried along on either side of it. "The soldiers by vast labour, with their levers and picks, or hand-screws, tumbled it over and over till they got it quite out of the way, although it was of such enormous size, that it might be matter of great wonder how it could ever be removed by human strength and art, especially to such who had never seen an operation of that kind; and upon their digging a little way into that part of the ground, where the centre of the base had stood, there was found a small cavity about two feet square, which was guarded from the outward earth, at the bottom, tops, and sides, by square flat stones. This hollow contained some ashes, scraps of bones, and half burned ends of stalks of heath; which last we concluded to be a small remnant of a funeral pile." Burt, returning to the spot after a short absence, asked the officer in charge "what had become of the sarcophagus." "He answered that he had intended to preserve it in the condition I left it, till the commander-in-chief had seen it, as a curiosity, but that it was not in his power so to do; for soon after the discovery was known to the Highlanders, they assembled from distant parts, and, having formed themselves into a body, they carefully gathered up the relics, and marched with them in solemn procession to a new place of burial, and there discharged their fire-arms over the grave, as supposing the deceased had been a military officer."—Burt's Letters, ii. 188. The engineer officer, desirous to account for so unaccountable a proceeding naturally drew on the etiquette of his own profession. We make the supporters of Ossian a free gift of this anecdote, not doubting that they will appreciate our liberality. |