The pavement beneath their feet was the saft dirt o' a country road, or the bonny grass.
City folk do long, I'm sure o' it, for the glen and the beauty o' the countryside.

Why else do they look as they do, and act as they do, when I sing to them o' the same?
And I've the memory of what many a one has said to me, wi' tears in his een.
"Oh, Harry--ye brocht the auld hame to ma mind when ye sang o' roaming in the gloaming! And--the wee hoose amang the heather!" 'Tis the hamely songs I gie 'em o' the country they aye love best, I find.

But why will they be content wi' what I bring them o' the glen and the dell?
Why will they no go back or oot, if they're city born, and see for themselves?
It's business holds some; others ha' other reasons.

But, dear, dear, 'tis no but a hint o' the glamour and the freshness and the beauty o' the country that ma songs can carry to them.

No but a hint! Ye canna bottle the light o' the moon on Afton Water; ye canna bring the air o' a Hieland moor to London in a box.
Will ye no seek to be oot sae much o' the year as ye can?
It may be true that your affairs maun keep you living in the city.