SCOTLAND. 



" Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses ! 



In you let the niinions of luxury rove ; 

 Restore me the rocks where the snowflake reposes, 



Though still they are sacred to freedom and love : 

 Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains, 



Round their white summits though elements war ; 

 Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth flowing fountains, 



I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr." 



It was on Saturday, July i6th, that we went over 

 the border. The bridge across the boundary Hne was 

 soon reached. When midway over a halt was called, 

 and vent given to our enthusiasm. With three cheers 

 for the land of the heather, shouts of " Scotland for- 

 ever," and the waving of hats and handkerchiefs, we 

 dashed across the border. O Scotland, my own, my 

 native land, your exiled son returns with love for 

 you as ardent as ever warmed the heart of man for his 

 country. It's a God's mercy I was born a Scotchman, 

 for I do not see how I could ever have been contented 

 to be anything else. The little plucky dour deevil, set 

 in her own ways and getting them too, level-headed and 

 shrewd, with an eye to the main chance always and yet 

 so lovingly weak, so fond, so led away by song or story, 



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