_Ye’d herd a bit, and work the farm,_ _And keep the widow-wife frae harm:_ _And wha would keep ye snug and warm_ _In winter-time, Johnnie?—_ _The lass hersel’—that I’ll be sworn!_ _And bonnier creature ne’er was born:_ _Come down the strath the morrow’s morn,_ _Your best foot first, Johnnie!_ Well, there may be wise and friendly counsel in verses such as these; but they do not lend themselves readily to the musician who would adapt them for concert purposes. No; all such lyrical faculty as he possessed had been given in one direction. And yet not for one moment was he tempted to show Mr. Jaap any of those little love-lyrics that he had written about Meenie—those careless verses that seemed to sing themselves, as it were, and that were all about summer mornings, and red and white roses, and the carolling of birds, and the whispering of Clebrig’s streams. Meenie’s praises to be sung at the Harmony Club!—he could as soon have imagined herself singing there. One wet and miserable afternoon old Peter Jaap was passing through St. Enoch Square when, much to his satisfaction, he ran against the big skipper, who had just come out of the railway station. ’Hallo, Captain,’ said the little old man, ’back already?’ ’Just up frae Greenock; and precious glad to be ashore again, I can tell ye,’ said Captain M’Taggart. ’That _Mary Jane_ ’ll be my grave, mark my words; I never get as far south as the Mull o’ Galloway without wondering whether I’ll ever see Ailsa Craig or the Tail o’ the Bank again. Well, here I am this time; and I was gaun doon to hae a glass on the strength o’t—to the widow’s——’ ’We’ll gang in some other place,’ Mr. Jaap said. ’I want to hae a word wi’ ye about that young fellow Strang.’ They easily discovered another howf; and soon they were left by themselves in a little compartment, two big tumblers of ale before them. ’Ay, and what’s the matter wi’ him?’ said the skipper. ’I dinna rightly ken,’ the little old musician said, ’but something is. Ye see, I’m feared the lad has no’ muckle siller——’ ’It’s a common complaint, Peter!’ the skipper said, with a laugh. ’Ay; but ye see, the maist o’ us hae some way o’ leevin. That’s no the case wi’ Ronald. He came to Glasgow, as I understand it, wi’ a sma’ bit nest-egg; and he’s been leevin on that ever since—every penny coming out o’ his capital, and never a penny being added. That’s enough to make a young fellow anxious.’ ’Ay?’ ’But there’s mair than that. He’s a proud kind o’ chiel. It’s just wonderfu’ the way that Mrs. Menzies humours him, and pretends this and that so he’ll no be at any expense; and when they gang out driving she takes things wi’ her—and a lot o’ that kind o’ way o’ working; but a’ the same there’s sma’ expenses that canna be avoided, and deil a bit—she says—will he let her pay. And the sma’ things maun be great things to him, if he’s eating into his nest-egg in that way.’