Marriage feasts, we are creditably informed, as the Leddy would have said, are of greater antiquity than funerals; and those with which the weddings of Walkinshaw and his sister were celebrated, lacked nothing of the customary festivities. The dinners which took place in Edinburgh were, of course, served with all the refinements of taste and dissertations on character, which render the entertainments in the metropolis of Mind occasionally so racy and peculiar. But the cut-and-come-again banquets of Glasgow, as the Leddy called them, following on the return of the Laird and his bride to his patrimonial seat, were, in her opinion, far superior, and she enjoyed them with equal glee and zest.

‘Thanks be, and praise,’ said she, after returning home from one of those costly piles of food, ‘I hae lived to see, at last, something like wedding doings in my family. Charlie’s and Bell Fatherlans’s was a cauldrife commodity, boding scant and want, and so cam o’t—Watty’s was a walloping galravitch o’ idiocety, and so cam o’t—Geordie’s was little better than a burial formality trying to gie a smirk, and so cam o’t—as for Meg’s and Dirdumwhamle’s, theirs was a third marriage—a cauld-kail-het-again affair—and Beenie and Walky’s Gretna Green, play-actoring,—Bed, Board, and Washing, bore witness and testimony to whatna kind o’ bridal they had. But thir jocose gavaulings are worthy o’ the occasion. Let naebody tell me, noo, that the three P’s o’ Glasgow mean Packages, Puncheons, and Pigtail, for I have seen and known that they may be read in a marginal note Pomp, Punch, and Plenty. To be sure, the Embroshers are no without a genteelity—that maun be condescended to them. But I jealouse they’re pinched to get gude wine, poor folk—they try sae mony different bottles: naething hae they like a gausie bowl. Therefore, commend me to our ain countryside,—Fatted calves, and feasting Belshazzers,—and let the Embroshers cerimoneez wi’ their Pharaoh’s lean kine and Grants and Frazers.’

But often when the heart exults, when the ‘bosom’s lord sits light upon his throne,’ it is an omen of sorrow. On the very night after this happy revel of the spirits, the Leddy caught a fatal cold, in consequence of standing in the current of a door while the provost’s wife, putting on her pattens, stopped the way, and she was next morning so indisposed that it was found necessary to call in Dr. Sinney to attend her; who was of opinion, considering she was upwards of seventy-six, that it might go hard with her if she did not recover; and, this being communicated to her friends, they began to prepare themselves for the worst.

Her daughter, the Lady of Dirdumwhamle, came in from the country, and paid her every mark of attention. At the suggestion of her husband, she, once or twice, intimated a little anxiety to know if her mother had made a will; but the Leddy cut her short, by saying,—

‘What’s t’at to thee, Meg? I’m sure I’m no dead yet, that t’ou should be groping about my bit gathering.’

Dirdumwhamle himself rode daily into Glasgow in the most dutiful manner; but, receiving no satisfaction from the accounts of his wife respecting the Leddy’s affairs, he was, of course, deeply concerned at her situation; and, on one occasion, when he was sitting in the most sympathising manner at her bedside, he said, with an affectionate and tender voice,—

‘That he hoped she would soon be well again; but, if it was ordain’t to be otherwise, he trusted she would give her daughter some small memorial over and by what she might hae alloo’t her in will.’

‘’Deed,’ replied the Leddy, as she sat supported by pillows, and breathing heavily, ‘I’ll no forget that—for ye may be sure, when I intend to dee, that I’ll mak my ain hands my executioners.’

‘Aye, aye,’ rejoined the pathetic Laird, ‘I was ay o’ that opinion, and that ye would act a mother’s part in your latter end.’

To this the Leddy made no reply; but by accident coughed rather a little too moistly in his face, which made him shift his seat, and soon after retire.

He had not long taken his leave, when Milrookit and Robina came in, both in the most affectionate manner; and, after the kindest inquiries, they too hoped that she had made her departure clear with this world, and that, when she was removed to a better, no disputes would arise among surviving friends.

‘I’m sure,’ said Robina, ‘we shall all greatly miss you; and I would be very glad if you would give me some little keepsake out of your own hands, if it were no more than the silver teapot.’

‘I canna do that yet, Beenie, my Leddy, for ye ken I’m obligated to gie the Laird and Nell Frizel a tea banquet, as soon’s I’m able. But when I’m dead and gone, for we’re a’ lifelike and a’ deathlike, if ye outlive me, ye’ll fin’ that I was a grandmother.’

‘It’s pleasant to hear,’ said Milrookit, ‘that ye hae sic an inward satisfaction of health; but I hope ye’ll no tak it ill at my wishing for a token o’ my grandfather. I would like if ye would gie me from yourself the old-fashioned gold watch, just because it was my grandfather’s, and sae lang in his aught.’

‘Aye, Walky, I won’er thou does na wis for me, for I was longer in his aught. Bairns, bairns, I purpose to outlive my last will and testament, so I redde ye keep a calm sough.’

This they thought implied that she had made some provision for them in her last will and testament; and although disappointed in their immediate object, they retired in as complete peace of mind as any affectionate grandchildren like them could retire from a deathbed.

To them succeeded the mother of Walkinshaw.

‘Come away, Bell Fatherlans,’ said the Leddy—‘sit down beside me;’ and she took her kindly by the hand. ‘The Milrookits, auld and young, hae been here mair ravenous than the worms and cloks of the tomb, for they but devour the dead body; but yon greedy caterpillars would strip me o’ leaf and branch afore my time. There was Dirdumwhamle sympathising for a something over and aboon what Meg’s to get by the will. Then came Beenie, another of the same, as the Psalmist says, simpering, like a yird tead, for my silver teapot, and syne naething less would serve her gudeman but a solemneesing wheedlie for the auld gold watch. But I’ll sympathise, and I’ll simper, and I’ll wheedle them.—Hae, tak my keys, and gang into the desk-head, and ye’ll fin’ a bonny sewt pocketbook in the doocot hole next the window, bring’t to me.’

Mrs. Charles did as she was desired; and when the pocketbook was brought, the old Leddy opened it, and, taking out one of her Robin Carricks, as she called her bills, she said,—

‘Bring me a pen that can spell, and I’ll indoss this bit hundred pound to thee, Bell, as an over and aboon; and when ye hae gotten’t, gang and bid Jamie and Mary come to see me, and I’ll gie him the auld gold watch, and her the silver teapot, just as a reward to the sympathizing, simpering, and wheedling Milrookits. For between ourselves, Bell, my time is no to be lang noo amang you. I feel the clay-cold fingers o’ Death handling my feet; so when I hae settled my worldly concernments, ye’ll send for Dr. De’ilfear, for I would na like to mount into the chariots o’ glory without the help o’ an orthodox.’

All that the Leddy required was duly performed. She lingered for several days; but, at the end of a week from the commencement of her illness, she closed her eyes, and her death was, after the funeral, according to the Scottish practice, announced in that loyal and well-conducted old paper, the Glasgow Courier, as having taken place, ‘to the great regret of all surviving friends.’