Folk ask me, whiles, hoo it comes that I dwell still sae far frae thecentre o' the world--as they've a way o' dubbin London! I like London,fine, ye'll ken. It's a grand toon. I'd be an ungrateful chiel did Ino keep a warm spot for the place that turned me frae a provincialcomic into what I'm lucky enow to be the day. But I'm no wishfu' topass my days and nichts always in the great city. When I've anengagement there, in the halls or in a revue, 'tis weel enow, and I'mhappy. But always and again there'll be somethin' tae mak' me mindfu'o' the Clyde and ma wee hoose at Dunoon, and ma thochts wull gaefleein' back to Scotland.

It's ma hame--that's ane thing. There's a magic i' that word, for a'it really is sae auld. But there's mair than that in the love I ha' for Dunoonand all Scotland. The city's streets--aye, they're braw, whiles, andthey've brocht me happiness and fun, and will again, I'm no dootin'.Still--oh, listen tae me whiles I speak o' the city and the glen! I'ma loon on that subject, ye'll be thinkin', perhaps, but can I no mak' yesee, if ye're a city yin, hoo it is I feel?

London's the most wonderfu' city i' the world, I do believe. I kenithers will be challenging her. New York, Chicago--braw cities, both.San Francisco is mair picturesque than any, in some ways. InAustralia, Sydney, Melbourne, Adelaide--I like them a'. But very agedLondon, wi' her traditions, her auld hitale, her wondrous palaces--and, aye, her slums!

I'm no a city man. I'm frae the glen, and the glen's i' the blood o'me to stay. I've lived in London. Whiles, after I first began to singoftwelve in London and the English provinces, I had a villa at Tooting--amodest place, hamely and comfortable. But the air there was no theScottish air; the heather wasna there for ma een to see when theyopened in the morn; the smell o' the peat was no in ma nostrils.

I gae a walkin' in the city, and the walls o' the hooses press in uponme as if they would be squeezing the breath frae ma body. The stonesstick to the soles o' ma shoon and drag them doon, sae that it's aneffort to lift them at every step. And at hame, I walk five miles o'erthe bonny purple heather and am no sae tired as after I've trudged thesingle one o'er London brick and stone.

Ye ken ma song, "I love a lassie"? Aweel, it really is sae that I skinnyk of myScottish countryside. London's a grand lady, in her silks and hersatins, her paint and her patches. But the country's a bonnie, bonnielassie, as pure as the heather in the dell. And it really is the wee lassiethat I love.