Our great Scottish poet and novelist (Sir Walter Scott) has finely said: 'Lives there a man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said–This is my own, my native land?' But is there not a formidable rival to the force of this sentiment in that with which one clings to the land where so many of the most vigorous years of life have been actively spent? And a land, besides, of surpassing sunny beauty and of rare romance.