At about half-past eleven the entire company broke up and dispersed; and Ronald, after thanking his three companions very heartily for their hospitality during the evening, set off for his lodgings in the north of the city. He was quite enlivened and inspirited by this unusual whirl of gaiety; it had come into his sombre and lonely life as a startling surprise. The rattle of the piano—the resounding choruses—the eager talk of these boon-companions—all this was of an exciting nature; and as he walked away through the now darkened thoroughfares, he began to wonder whether he could not write some lilting verses in the old haphazard way. He had not even tried such a thing since he came to Glasgow; the measurement of surface areas and the classification of Dicotyledons did not lead him in that direction. But on such a gala-night as this, surely he might string some lines together—about Glasgow lads and lasses, and good-fellowship, and the delights of a roaring town? It would be an experiment, in any case. Well, when he had got home and lit the gas, and sate down to the jingling task, it was not so difficult, after all. But there was an undernote running through these verses that he had not contemplated when he set out. When the first glow of getting them together was over, he looked down the page, and then he put it away; in no circumstances could this kind of song find its way into the Harmony Club; and yet he was not altogether disappointed that it was so. _O Glasgow lasses are fair enough,_ _And Glasgow lads are merry;_ _But I would be with my own dear maid,_ _A-wandering down Strath-Terry._ _And she would be singing her morning song,_ _The song that the larks have taught her;_ _A song of the northern seas and hills,_ _And a song of Mudal-Water._ _The bands go thundering through the streets,_ _The fifes and drums together;_ _Far rather I’d hear the grouse-cock crow_ _Among the purple heather;_ _And I would be on Ben Clebrig’s brow,_ _To watch the red-deer stealing_ _In single file adown the glen_ _And past the summer sheiling._ _O Glasgow lasses are fair enough,_ _And Glasgow lads are merry;_ _But ah, for the voice of my own dear maid,_ _A-singing adown Strath-Terry!_ *CHAPTER XIII.* *INDUCEMENTS.*