“The country’s a’ richt for folks that havena their health and dinna want to wear a collar to their wark, and Deid Slow and places like that may be fine for gaun to if ye want to get ower the dregs o’ the measles, but they’re nae places for ony man that loves his fellow-men. “And still there’s mony a phenomena! I ken a man that says he wad stay in the country a’ the year roond if he hadna to bide in Gleska and keep his eye on ither men in the same tred’s himsel’, to see they’re no’ risin’ early in the mornin’ and gettin’ the better o’ him. “It wadna suit Easy-gaun Erchie. Fine I ken whit the country is; did I no’ leeve a hale winter aboot Dairy when I was a halflin’? “It’s maybe a’ richt in summer, when you and me gangs oot on an excursion, and cheers them up wi’ oor melodeon wi’ bell accompaniment; but the puir sowls havena much diversion at the time o’ year the V-shaped depression’s deckin’ on Ben Nevis, and the weather prophets in the evening papers is promisin’ a welcome change o’ weather every Setturday. All ye can dae when your wark’s done and ye’ve ta’en your tea’s to put on a pair o’ top-boots and a waterproof, and gang oot in the dark. There’s no’ even a close to coort in, and if ye want to walk alang a country road at nicht thinkin’ hoo much money ye hae in the bank, ye must be gey smert no’ to fa’ into a ditch. Stars? Wha wants to bother glowerin’ at stars? There’s never ony change in the programme wi’ them in the country. If I want stars I gang to the Britannia. “Na, na, Gleska’s the place, and it’s nae wonder a’ the country-folks is croodin’ into’t as fast’s they can get their cottage homes sublet. “This is the place for intellect and the big pennyworth of skim-milk. “I declare I’m that ta’en wi’ Gleska I get up sometimes afore the fire’s lichted to look oot at the window and see if it’s still to the fore. “Fifteen, public-hooses within forty yairds o’ the close-mooth; a guttapercha works at the tap o’ the street, and twa cab-stances at the foot. My mornin’ ‘oors are made merry wi’ the de-lightfu’ strains o’ factory hooters and the sound o’ the dust-cart man kickin’ his horse like ony-thing whaur it’ll dae maist guid. “I can get onywhere I want to gang on the skoosh cars for a bawbee or a penny, but the only place I hae to gang to generally is my wark, and I wad jist as soon walk it, for I’m no in ony hurry. “When the rain’s blashin’ doon at nicht on the puir miserable craturs workin’ at their front plots in Deid Slow, or trippin’ ower hens that’ll no’ lay ony eggs, I can be improvin’ my mind wi’ Duffy at the Mull o’ Kintyre Vaults, or daunderin’ alang the Coocaddens wi’ my hand tight on. my watch-pocket, lookin’ at the shop windows and jinkin’ the members o’ the Sons of Toil Social Club (Limited), as they tak’ the breadth o’ the pavement.