tion of the little festivity at Symon's is well
wrought out. The third scene contains the love-making of Jenny and
Roger, where the faithful swain's happiness is rendered complete. With
great gusto Ramsay paints this episode, as well as with consummate
fidelity to nature,--a fact becoming increasingly apparent when one
notes the marked difference between the love-scene wherein Patie and
Peggy take part, and that wherein Jenny declares her love for Roger. The
latter scene is more decidedly tinged with rusticity than the former. In
the fourth scene Sir William reveals himself to Symon, and inquires
eagerly about the progress made by his son during his years of absence.
Symon praises the youth's devotion to letters, and then hints at his
love for Peggy, which Sir William declares must be forgotten.

The first scene of the Fourth Act relieves, by the introduction of
humorous episodes, the sentimentality whereinto the drama at this stage
shows signs of lapsing. Mause, Madge, and Bauldy have an interview, at
which the two last named come to blows; and when Bauldy has taken
himself off, the two women perfect their plans for playing on the
foolish fellow's superstitious fears. The remainder of the Fourth Act
deals with Patie's sorrow and Peggy's anguish when Sir William's
decision is made known. Of course, they vow everlasting fidelity to each
other. The scene between the lovers is a very powerful one, wherein
Ramsay evinced his sway over the subtler emotions. Yet here, as
elsewhere, his simplicity constitutes his strength. He never attempts to
depict any complex interaction of human passions. Like Aeschylus, he
contents himself with the representation of one elemental emotion at a
time, and he thoroughly exhausts the one '_moment_' before he passes on
to another. Few passages are there in literature more genuinely
pathetic, yet keeping more rigidly within the modesty of nature, than
that wherein poor Peggy, after dwelling on the golden past, tries to
picture the dull grey round of duty in the future when Patie shall have
been taken from her--

'Speak on, speak ever thus, and still my grief;
But short, I dare to hope the fond relief.
New thoughts a gentler face will soon inspire,
That with nice airs swims round in silk attire;
Then I, poor me! with sighs may ban my fate,
When the young laird's nae mair my heartsome Pate.
Nae mair again to hear sweet tales expresst
By the blyth shepherd that ex