They walked, discussing the Book of Job the while, to the house where lay the remains of the unfortunate youth.
Do not suppose that the Scotchman ran to imprint a farewell kiss on the brow of his dead son. He seized upon a Bible that lay on the drawing-room table, turned to the Book of Job, and having found the passage he had quoted, said with a triumphant look at the professor:
"It is the twenty-first verse—I knew I was right."
In days gone by, Scotch funerals were made the occasions of visiting and great drinking. During the week that preceded the actual burying, open house was kept for the relatives and friends of the corpse,[C] and prodigious quantities of whisky were consumed. These scenes took place among the aristocracy and the gentry as well as among the lower classes, and they culminated in a general drinking bout on the day of the interment.
The route of the funeral procession might be traced by the victims of Scotch hospitality to be seen lying helplessly inebriated by the wayside, and only a small remnant of it reached the graveyard. More than once was the coffin, which was carried by hand, left by the hedge, and the burial put off until the morrow. After several stages the defunct reached his long home.[D]
To-day such scenes would excite as much disgust in Scotland as anywhere else. Scotch manners and customs have greatly toned down.
In the lower classes, however, the burial of a relative is still an occasion for Bacchanalian festivities, and the day is finished up, as we have seen, at the theatre or other place of entertainment, where a pleasant evening can be spent.
But what is this in comparison with that which still goes on in Ireland in our day? That is where the thing is brought to perfection.
As I fear I might be taxed with imposture, if I attempted to give a description of the Irish wake, I will pass the pen to an English journalist.