“BINNORIE, O BINNORIE”
dark glen is revealed, mournful as the howling of a dog. For miles and miles neither dwelling nor man; and when a cottage does fly past it is as grey and stony as the rocks, and all by itself, nothing else for miles around. 
A lake without a fisherman, streams without a miller, pastures without a shepherd, road without a wayfarer. Only in the more fertile valleys graze the shaggy Scottish steers; they stand in the rain and lie down in the damp; perhaps that is why they are so overgrown with prickly tufts, as I have drawn them for you.
And the Scottish sheep have whole Have-
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