Here, in the tutor’s answer to Hewson, we come on the moral of the poem, a moral to be pursued through commonplace lowliness of station and through high rank, into the habit of life which would be, in the one, not petty,—­in the other, not overweening,—­in any, calm and dignified.

  “’You are a boy; when you grow to a man, you’ll find things alter. 
  You will learn to seek the good, to scorn the attractive,
  Scorn all mere cosmetics, as now of rank and fashion,
  Delicate hands, and wealth, so then of poverty also,
  Poverty truly attractive, more truly, I bear you witness. 
  Good, wherever found, you will choose, be it humble or stately,
  Happy if only you find, and, finding, do not lose it.’”—­p. 14.

When the discussion is ended, the party propose to separate, some proceeding on their tour; and Philip Hewson will be of these.

  “‘Finally, too,’ from the kilt and the sofa said Hobbes in conclusion,
  ’Finally Philip must hunt for that home of the probable poacher,
  Hid in the Braes of Lochaber, the Bothie of what-did-he-call-it. 
  Hopeless of you and of us, of gillies and marquises hopeless,
  Weary of ethic and logic, of rhetoric yet more weary,
  There shall he, smit by the charm of a lovely potatoe-uprooter,
  Study the question of sex in the Bothie of what-did-he-call-it."’—­p.18.

The action here becomes divided; and, omitting points of detail, we must confine ourselves to tracing the development of the idea in which the subject of the poem consists.

Philip and his companions, losing their road, are received at a farm, where they stay for three days:  and this experience of himself begins.  He comes prepared; and, if he seems to love the “golden-haired Katie,” it is less that she is “the youngest and comeliest daughter” than because of her position, and that in that she realises his preconceived wishes.  For three days he is with her and about her; and he remains when his friends leave the farm-house.  But his love is no more than the consequence of his principles; it is his own will unconsidered and but half understood.  And a letter to Adam tells how it had an end: 

  “’I was walking along some two miles from the cottage,
  Full of my dreamings.  A girl went by in a party with others: 
  She had a cloak on,—­was stepping on quickly, for rain was
    beginning;
  But, as she passed, from the hood I saw her eyes glance at me:—­
  So quick a glance, so regardless I, that, altho’ I felt it,
  You couldn’t properly say our eyes met; she cast it, and left it. 
  It was three minutes, perhaps, ere I knew what it was.  I had
    seen her
  Somewhere before, I am sure; but that wasn’t it,—­not its import. 
  No; it had seemed to regard me with simple superior insight,
  Quietly saying to herself:  ’Yes, there he is still in his
    fancy...... 
  Doesn’t yet see we have here just