‘So think I, Geordie—I am sure I would ne’er counsel you into ony conformity; but, though we hae nae dread nor fear o’ soldier-officers or drammaticals, it’s o’ the nature o’ a possibility that she will draw up wi’ some young lad o’ very creditable connexions and conduct; but wha, for some thraw o’ your ain, ye would na let her marry.—What would ye do then, Geordie? Ye would hae to settle, or ye would be a most horridable parent.’
‘My father, for so doing, disinherited Charles,’ said George gravely, and the words froze the very spirit of Dirdumwhamle.
‘That’s vera true, Geordie,’ resumed the Leddy; ‘a bitter business it was to us a’, and was the because o’ your worthy father’s sore latter end. But ye ken the property’s entail’t; and, when it pleases the Maker to take you to Himsel, by consequence Beenie will get the estate.’
‘That’s not so certain,’ replied George, jocularly looking at Dirdumwhamle;—‘my wife has of late been more infirm than usual, and were I to marry again, and had male heirs—’
‘Hoot, wi’ your male heirs, and your snuffies; I hate the very name o’ sic things—they hae been the pests o’ my life.—It would hae been a better world without them,’ exclaimed the Leddy, and then she added—‘But we need na cast out about sic unborn babes o’ Chevy Chase. Beenie’s a decent lassie, and will, nae doubt, make a prudent conjugality; so a’ I hae for the present is to say that I expek ye’ll tak your dinner wi’ us. Indeed, considering what has happened, it would na be pleasant to you to be seen on the plane-stanes the day,—for I’m really sorry to see, Geordie, that ye’re no just in your right jocularity. Howsever, as we’re to hae a bit ploy, I request and hope ye’ll bide wi’ us, and help to carve the bubbly-jock, whilk is a beast, as I hae heard your father often say, that requir’t the skill o’ a doctor, the strength o’ a butcher, and the practical hand o’ a Glasgow Magistrate to diject.’
Nothing more particular passed before dinner, the hour of which was drawing near; but a wedding-feast is, at any time, worthy of a chapter.
CHAPTER LXXVIII
The conversation which the Leddy, to do her justice, had, considering her peculiar humour and character, so adroitly managed with the bride’s father, did not tend to produce the happiest feelings among the conscious wedding-guests. Both the Laird of Dirdumwhamle and his wife were uneasy, and out of countenance, and the happy pair were as miserable as ever a couple of clandestine lovers, in the full possession of all their wishes, could possibly be. But their reverend grandmother, neither daunted nor dismayed, was in the full enjoyment of a triumph, and, eager in the anticipation of accomplishing, by her dexterous address, the felicitous work which, in her own opinion, she had so well begun. Accordingly, dinner was served, with an air of glee and pride, so marked, that Kittlestonheugh was struck with it, but said nothing; and, during the whole of the dijection of the dinner, as his mother persisted in calling the carving, he felt himself frequently on the point of inquiring what had put her into such uncommon good humour. But she did not deem the time yet come for a disclosure, and went on in the most jocund spirits possible, praising the dishes, and cajoling her guests to partake.
‘It’s extraordinar to me, Beenie,’ said she to the bride, ‘to lo and behold you sitting as mim as a May puddock, when you see us a’ here met for a blithesome occasion—and, Walky, what’s come o’er thee, that thou’s no a bit mair brisk than the statute o’ marble-stane, that I ance saw in that sink o’ deceitfulness, the Parliament House o’ Embrough? As for our Meg, thy mother, she was ay one of your Moll-on-the-coals, a sigher o’ sadness, and I’m none surprised to see her in the hypocondoricals; but for Dirdumwhamle, your respectit father, a man o’ property, family, and connexions—the three cardinal points o’ gentileety—to be as one in doleful dumps, is sic a doolie doomster, that uncle Geordie, there whar he sits, like a sow playing on a trump, is a perfect beautiful Absalom in a sense o’ comparison. Howsever, no to let us just fa’ knickitty-knock, frae side to side, till our harns are splattered at the bottom o’ the well o’ despair—I’ll gie you a toast, a thing which, but at an occasion, I ne’er think o’ minting, and this toast ye maun a’ mak a lippy—Geordie, my son and bairn, ye ken as weel as I ken, what a happy matrimonial your sister has had wi’ Dirdumwhamle—and, Dirdumwhamle, I need na say to you, ye hae found her a winsome helpmate; and surely, Meg, Mr. Milrookit has been to you a most cordial husband. Noo, what I would propose for a propine, Geordie, is, Health and happiness to Mr. and Mrs. Milrookit, and may they long enjoy many happy returns o’ this day.’
The toast was drank with great glee; but, without entering into any particular exposition of the respective feelings of the party, we shall just simply notice, as we proceed, that the Leddy gave a significant nod and a wink both to the bride and bridegroom, while the bride’s father was seized with a most immoderate fit of laughing at, what he supposed, the ludicrous eccentricity of his mother.