Its wonted smile, the darling form,
Which awful death cannot efface,
However much it may deform.”
W. S.
On the third day after the defunct’s decease, if the person occupied no station above the ordinary level, the body will be led to its destined abode. This sorrowful day is early distinguished by melancholy arrangements. Verbal warnings having been previously circulated to the male inhabitants of the district, large and timeous preparations are necessary for their accommodation and entertainment. While the seating of the apartments destined to receive the company occupies the men, the arrangement of the entertainment occupies no less the attention of the women. In the meanwhile, the relations and family of the deceased attire themselves in the best mournings their circumstances can afford, and prepare themselves for going through the duties of the day with all possible fortitude and decency. The arrival of the wooden house of death, and the deposition of its inhabitant, early call forth many a sigh and tear at the parting which is about to take place. But the closing of the coffin is deferred till the eve of removal.
About twelve o’clock, the company, or, to speak more properly, the guests, successively arrive in scattered groups, dressed in all the variegated colours of the rainbow; and are received by some near connection of the deceased, who conducts them to the place appointed for their station.
With becoming gravity they take their seats, condoling very feelingly with the present friends on their lamentable loss, and carry on for a while a conversation very suitable to the business which brought them together. They are each served, on their arrival, with what is called a dram of “dry whisky,” and some fit person is appointed to keep the glass in active circulation. To him is also delegated a discretionary power of imposing extra penalties on late comers, who must compensate for their absence by drinking a double quantity on their arrival.
Thus, all equally well plied with the enlivening glass, the solemn aspect of the company is soon changed into a mixture of sorrow and joy. The moralist, who so recently uttered such sage reflections upon the shortness of life and its uncertainty, is transformed by some secret influence into the sprightly wit, whose humorous jokes and repartees continually agitate the risible powers of his audience. In short, the house of mourning is rapidly changing into a house of mirth; and such would be the opinion of any stranger who might visit the scene.
As soon as he approaches the door of the meeting-house, his ears are assailed with a confusion of sounds, which conveys to him the idea of entering a house full of bees. Seated in double rows, extending from one end of the house to the other, he finds it literally crammed, not with bees, but Highlandmen of every age and condition. In each end of the house he sees overflowing bowls, and walking to and fro, a host of waiters, bearing the full and empty glasses of the company, followed by others with bread and cheese, which are liberally distributed amongst the guests. Being seated in the place befitting his rank or station, if curiosity leads him to a closer examination of the complexion of his company, he will not be a little amused at the diversity of feelings and conversation distinguishing the individuals composing it. If the visitor or stranger whom we have supposed is of a serious cast of mind, and if he addresses himself to his elbow neighbour on the solemn character of the occasion, and laments the pitiful state of the family that may be thus deprived of their parent or provider—perhaps, if he listens for a moment with counterfeited seriousness, the sprightly sally of a rustic wit rings upon his ear, and a horse-laugh immediately shows the spectator he has no great relish for his subject. If, again, he addresses himself to one of a less jovial temperament, who has not yet been so much affected by the general infection upon the same subject, he will perhaps acknowledge the justness of his observations with a significant shake of the head, declaring at the same time the poignancy of his sorrow for the deceased, who, “new peace to him, was the best of souls.” But, at the same time, and in the same breath, he will make a digression to the alarming depreciation of agricultural produce, and the consequent inevitable ruin of poor farmers, if they do not immediately get a reduction of the one-half of their rents; and the concern he evinces for both matters makes it difficult to determine which loss he considers the greater calamity. Listening to the various topics of conversation discussed by the company in general, he will find seriousness form no part of it. Having already sufficiently moralized on the evils of life, they are now resolved to confine themselves entirely to its goods. Death, low prices, and high rents, have now given place to balls, feasts, and diversions. One group is warmly engaged in scheming a “dry or wet ball;” another group is warmly expatiating upon the good signs of the year, corroborated as they are by the “annual prognostic;” and others are as warmly engaged in recriminating each other for their notorious gallantries, and the like; while a good spring, a good harvest, and ready sale to sheep and cattle, are drunk by all with the greatest enthusiasm. All are become suddenly acquainted with the proverb, “A pound of care will not pay an ounce of debt;” and therefore they are determined to spend life in friendship and good hopes. In obedience to this wholesome resolution, each crony, as he gives his neighbour the hand, will also give him the pipe or the “sneeshan mill,” and would be very sorry to see him ill-used in a “pley,” or any such cause, without rendering him a helping hand.
As the drinking continues, the company become still more noisy. Repetitions of toasts, the vacant laugh, and incoherent exclamation, mingled with a few little oaths, are what perpetually burst upon the ear; and the sequel of such unhallowed carousals exhibit but too frequently a scene of the most improper levity.[T]