218 AMID THE HIGH HILLS 
than the reality, but not so in this case. In the 
hearts of how many men and women do the 
words of Aytoun find a responsive echo ; 
Give me but one hour of Scotland, 
Southern gales are not for me ; 
Though the glens are white with winter, 
Place me there and set me free. 
Why is it that so many persons, young and 
old, and of such different character, habits, and 
classes, are fascinated and held by the spell of 
this country ? What is the motive which is 
common to them all, if there is one ? No doubt 
with some it is the longing for rest and change 
of scene, or the opportunity of meeting old friends 
or relatives in the far North, with others the 
desire for sport or the gratification of artistic 
tastes, and with others the ardent yearning to 
hear again the old familiar sounds, familiar since 
their early childhood — the sound of the rushing 
burn, the breaking of the sea on the rock-bound 
shore, the call of the sea-birds — and to see once 
more the high hills and silvery lochs and scent 
again the fragrant heather. But underlying all 
these, and perhaps more often than not quite 
unconsciously, there is one dominant governing 
