But I'm saying naething against Glasgo'.

I was but thinking o' the days when I wore the tartan and climbed the hills in the white dawns, and, kneeling on the top o' Ben Na Keen, saw the sun sink down wi' a smile.
It's little ane sees o' sunrising or sunsetting here, James," and David sighed heavily and wiped away the tender mist from his sight.
James looked at the old man with some contempt; he himself had been born and reared in one or other of the closest and darkest streets of the city.

The memories of his loveless, hard-worked childhood were bitter to him, and he knew nothing of the joy of a boyhood spent in the hills and woods.
"Life is the same everywhere, Mr.Cameron.I dare say there is as much sin and as much worry and care among the mountains as on the Glasgow pavements." "You may 'daur say' it, James, but that winna mak it true.

Even in this warld our Father's house has many mansions.

Gang your way up and up through thae grand solitudes and ye'll blush to be caught worrying among them." And then in a clear, jubilant voice he broke into the old Scotch version of the 121st Psalm: "I to the hills will lift mine eyes from whence doth come mine aid; My safety cometh from the Lord, who heaven and earth hath made." And he sang it to that loveliest of all psalm tunes, Rathiel's "St.
Mary's." It was impossible to resist the faith, the enthusiasm, the melody.