Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is highland,
And we in dreams behold the Hebrides.[36]
How many a man at the end of July or the beginning of August, worn out with his work in Parliament, or the Law Courts, or elsewhere, turns his face and his thoughts to the North, and finds even in his anticipations and dreams of the days to come refreshment and solace! In most things in this life the anticipation is far greater 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 motive which is surely spiritual rather than material—the desire for the environment which will uplift and ennoble, and with it bring a sense of being nearer to the pure—nearer to the things that are unseen and eternal—removed from all that is coarse and material.