f folks do not laugh much at a wedding in Scotland, they make up for it at a funeral.
Let me hasten to say, that I am sure it would be insulting the reader's intelligence to tell him that this applies only to the lower classes.
As a good Christian and a man who has led a busy and useful life, Donald calmly contemplates the approach of death—especially other people's.
Death is always near, he says to himself, and a wise man should not be alarmed at its approach.
Thus fortified with wisdom, he calmly looks the evil in the face, and lets it not disturb his little jog-trot existence. This does not imply that he is wanting in affection, it only means that he accepts the inevitable without murmuring, and that in him reason has the mastery over sentiment.
A guid wife would say to her husband in the most natural way in the world:
"Donald, I do not think you have long to live. Have you any special request to make me? Whom would you like invited to your funeral? Do you wish Jamie to be chief mourner?" and so on.
An Edinburgh lady told me that her housemaid one morning came and asked her for leave of absence until six in the evening, saying that her sister was to be buried that day.
The permission was granted, of course.