His disjointed meditations were interrupted quite by the entrance of the man to whom alone of all men he could at the time have given a hearty welcome. The schoolmaster seated himself by his bedside, and they had a long talk. I had set down this talk, but came to the conclusion I had better not print it: ranging both high and wide, and touching on points of vital importance, it was yet so odd, that it would have been to too many of my readers but a Chimera tumbling in a vacuum--as they will readily allow when I tell them that it started from the question--which had arisen in Malcolm’s mind so long ago, but which he had not hitherto propounded to his friend --as to the consequences of a man’s marrying a mermaid; and that Malcolm, reversing its relations, proposed next, the consequences of a man’s being in love with a ghost or an angel. “I’m dreidfu’ tired o’ lyin’ here i’ my bed,” said Malcolm at length when, neither desiring to carry the conversation further, a pause had intervened. “I dinna ken what I want. Whiles I think its the sun, whiles the win’, and whiles the watter. But I canna rist. Haena ye a bit ballant ye could say till me, Mr Graham? There’s naething wad quaiet me like a ballant.” The schoolmaster thought for a few minutes, and then said,-- “I’ll give you one of my own, if you like, Malcolm. I made it some twenty or thirty years ago.” “That _wad_ be a trate, sir,” returned Malcolm; and the master, with perfect rhythm, and a modulation amounting almost to melody, repeated the following verses:-- The water ran doon frae the heich hope-heid, (_head of the valley_) _Wi’ a Rin, burnie, rin;_ It wimpled, an’ waggled, an’ sang a screed O’ nonsense, an’ wadna blin, (_cease_) _Wi’ its Rin, burnie, rin._ Frae the hert o’ the warl’, wi’ a swirl an’ a sway, _An’ a Rin, burnie, rin,_ That water lap clear frae the dark till the day, An’ singin’ awa’ did spin, _Wi’ its Rin, burnie, rin._ Ae wee bit mile frae the heich hope-heid, _Wi’ a Rin, burnie, rin,_ ’Mang her yows an’ her lambs the herd-lassie stude, An’ she loot a tear fa’ in, _Wi’ a Rin, burnie, rin._ Frae the hert o’ the maiden that tear-drap rase, _Wi’ a Rin, burnie rin;_ Wearily clim’in’ up narrow ways, There was but a drap to fa’ in, Sae slow did that burnie rin. Twa wee bit miles frae the heich hope-heid, _Wi’ a Rin, burnie, rin,_ Doon creepit a cowerin’ streakie o’ reid, An’ meltit awa’ within, _Wi’ a Rin, burnie, rin._ Frae the hert o’ a youth cam the tricklin’ reid, _Wi’ a Rin, burnie, rin;_ It ran an’ ran till it left him deid, An’ syne it dried up i’ the win’, An’ that burnie nae mair did rin. Whan the wimplin’ burn that frae three herts gaed _Wi’ a Rin, burnie, rin,_ Cam to the lip o’ the sea sae braid, It curled an’ grued wi’ pain o’ sin-- But it took that burnie in. “It’s a bonny, bonny sang,” said Malcolm; “but I canna say I _a_’thegither like it.”