them its comic side,--it appears to them
exquisitely humorous in the human weakness it causes and brings to
light; and if they do not enjoy the song in its praise, they seldom fail
to laugh heartily at the description of the plights into which it leads
its devotees.

Perhaps no country contains a richer collection of love-songs than
Scotland. We have a song for every phase of the motley-faced
passion,--from its ludicrous aspect to its highest and most rapturous
form. Every pulsation of the heart, as moved by love, has had its poetic
expression; and we have lovers pouring out the depths of their souls to
all kinds of maids, and in all kinds of situations. And maids are
represented as bodying forth their feelings, also, under the sway of
love. Many of these feminine lyrics are written by women themselves.
Some of them exult in the full return which their love meets; but for
the most part, it is a keen sorrow that forces women to poetic
composition. They thus contribute our most pathetic songs--wails
sometimes over blasted hopes and blighted love, as in "Waly, Waly;" or
over the death of a deeply-loved one, as in Miss Blamire's "Waefu'
Heart;" or over the loss of the brave who have fallen in battle, as in
Miss Jane Elliot's "Flowers of the Forest."

Peculiarly characteristic of Scotland are the songs that describe the
development of love, after the lovers have been married. Here the
comical phase is most predominant. For the most part, the Scottish
songster delights in describing the quarrels between the goodman and the
goodwife--the goodwife in the early poems invariably succeeding in
making John yield to her. Sometimes, however, there is a deeper and
purer current of feeling, to which Burns especially has given
expression. How intensely beautiful is the affection in "John Anderson,
my Jo!" And we have in "Are ye sure the news is true?" the whole
character of a very loving wife brought out by a simple incident in her
life,--the expected return of her husband. Some of these songs also have
been written by poetesses, such as Lady Nairn's exquisite "Land of the
Leal;" and really there is such delicacy, such minute accuracy in the
portrayal of a woman's feelings in "Are ye sure the news is true?" that
one cannot help thinking it must have been written by Jean Adams, or
some woman, rather than by Mickle:--

"His very foot has music in 't,
As he comes up the stair."

What man has an ear so delicate as to hear suc