"How do ye expect," said Sandy, "ever to be happy, or strong, or a man at a', as long as ye go on only looking to enjoy yersel -- yersel? Mony was the year I looked for nought but my ain pleasure, and got it too, when it was a' "'Sandy Mackaye, bonny Sandy Mackaye, An' muckle good cam' o't. Ye may fancy I'm talking like a sour, disappointed auld carle. But I tell ye nay. I've got that's worth living for, though I am downhearted at times, and fancy a's wrong, and there's na hope for us on earth, we be a' sic liars -- a' liars, I think -- I'm a great liar often mysel, especially when I'm praying." Alton Locke, chap. vii. |
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