Long before Kittlestonheugh returned to Glasgow, the indissoluble knot
was tied between his daughter and her cousin, Walkinshaw Milrookit. The
Laird of Dirdumwhamle was secretly enjoying this happy consummation
of a scheme which he considered as securing to his son the probable
reversion of an affluent fortune, and a flourishing estate. Occasional
flakes of fear floated, however, in the sunshine of his bosom, and
fell cold for a moment on his heart. His wife was less satisfied. She
knew the ardour with which her brother had pursued another object; she
respected the consideration that was due to him as a parent in the
disposal of his daughter; and she justly dreaded his indignation and
reproaches. She was, therefore, anxious that Mr. Milrookit should
return with her to the country before he came back from Camrachle. But
her mother, the Leddy, was in high glee, and triumphant at having so
cleverly, as she thought, accomplished a most meritorious stratagem,
she would not for a moment listen to the idea of their going away
before dinner.
‘Na; ye’ll just bide where ye are,’ said she. ‘It will be an unco-like
thing no to partake o’ the marriage feast, though ye hae come without
a wedding garment, after I hae been at the cost and outlay o’ a jigot
o’ mutton, a fine young poney cock, and a Florentine pie; dainties
that the like o’ hae na been in my house since Geordie, wi’ his quirks
o’ law, wheedled me to connive wi’ him to deprive uncle Watty o’ his
seven lawful senses, forbye the property. But I trow I hae now gotten
the blin’ side o’ him at last: he’ll no daur to say a word to me about
a huggery-muggery matrimonial, take my word for’t; for he kens the
black craw I hae to pluck wi’ him anent the prank he played me in
the deevelry o’ the concos mentos, whilk ought in course o’ justice
to have entitled me to a full half of the income o’ the lands; and a
blithe thing, Dirdumwhamle, that would hae been to you and your wife,
could we hae wrought it into a come-to-pass; for sure am I, that, in
my experience and throughgality, I would na hae tied my talent in a
napkin, nor hid it in a stroopless tea-pot, in the corner o’ the press,
but laid it out to usury wi’ Robin Carrick. Howsever, maybe, for a’
that, Meg, when I’m dead and gone, ye’ll find, in the bonny pocket-book
ye sewed lang syne at the boarding-school for your father, a testimony
o’ the advantage it was to hae had a mother. But, Sirs, a wedding-day
is no a time for molloncholious moralizing; so I’ll mak a skip and
a passover o’ a matter and things pertaining to sic Death, and the
Leddy’s confabbles as legacies, and kittle up your notions wi’ a wee
bit spree and sprose o’ jocosity, afore the old man comes; for so, in
course o’ nature, it behoves us to ca’ the bride’s father, as he’s now,
by the benison o’ Dr. De’ilfear, on the lawfu’ toll-road to become, in
due season, an ancestor. Nae doubt, he would hae liked better had it
been to one of his ain Walkinshaws o’ Kittlestonheugh; but, when folk
canna get the gouden goun, they should be thankful when they get the
sleeve.’
While the Leddy was thus holding forth to the Laird and his wife, the
carriage with George stopped at the door. Dirdumwhamle, notwithstanding
all his inward pleasure, changed colour. Mrs. Milrookit fled to another
room, to which the happy pair had retired after the ceremony, that
they might not be visible to any accidental visitors; and even the
Leddy was for a time smitten with consternation. She, however, was the
first who recovered her self-possession; and, before Mr. Walkinshaw was
announced, she was seated in her accustomed elbow chair with a volume
of Mathew Henry’s _Commentary_ on her lap, and her spectacles on her
nose, as if she had been piously reading. Dirdumwhamle sat opposite
to her, and was apparently in a profound sleep, from which he was not
roused until some time after the entrance of his brother-in-law.
‘So, Geordie,’ said the Leddy, taking off her spectacles, and shutting
the book, as her son entered; ‘what’s come o’ Jamie?--hae ye no brought
the Douglas-tragedy-like mountebank back wi’ you?’
‘Let him go to the devil,’ was the answer.
‘That’s an ill wis, Geordie.--And so ye hae been a gouk’s errant? But
how are they a’ at Camrachle?’ replied the Leddy; ‘and, to be sober,
what’s the callan gaun to do? And what did he say for himsel, the
kick-at-the-benweed foal that he is? If his mother had laid on the taws
better, he would nae hae been sae skeigh. But, sit down, Geordie, and
tell me a’ about it.--First and foremost, howsever, gie that sleepy
bodie, Dirdumwhamle, a shoogle out o’ his dreams. What’s set the man a
snoring like the bars o’ Ayr, at this time o’ day, I won’er?’
But Dirdumwhamle did not require to be so shaken; for, at this
juncture, he began to yawn and stretch his arms, till, suddenly seeing
his brother-in-law, he started wide awake.
‘I am really sorry to say, mother,’ resumed Kittlestonheugh, ‘that my
jaunt to Camrachle has been of no avail. The minister’s wife, who, by
the way, is certainly not in her right mind, has already written to her
relation, Glengael, to beg his interest to procure a cadetship to India
for James; and, until she receives an answer, I will let the fellow tak
his own way.’
‘Vera right, Geordie, vera right; ye could na act a more prudential and
Solomon-like part,’ replied his mother. ‘But, since he will to Cupar,
let him gang, and a’ sorrow till him; and just compose your mind to
approve o’ Beenie’s marriage wi’ Walky, who is a lad of a methodical
nature, and no a hurly-burly ramstam, like yon flea-luggit thing,
Jamie.’
Dirdumwhamle would fain have said amen, but it stuck in his throat. Nor
had he any inducement to make any effort further by the decisive manner
in which his brother-in-law declared, that he would almost as soon
carry his daughter’s head to the churchyard as see that match.
‘Weel, weel; but I dare say, Geordie, ye need na mair waste your bir
about it,’ exclaimed the Leddy; ‘for, frae something I hae heard
the lad himsel say, this very day, it’s no a marriage that ever noo
is likely to happen in this warld;’ and she winked significantly to
the bridegroom’s father.--‘But, Geordie,’ she continued, ‘there is a
because that I would like to understand. How is’t that ye’re sae doure
against Walky Milrookit? I’m sure he’s a very personable lad--come o’ a
gude family--sib to us a’; and, failing you and yours, heir o’ entail
to the Kittlestonheugh. Howsever, no to fash you wi’ the like o’ that,
as I see ye’re kindling, I would, just by way o’ diversion, be blithe
to learn how it would gang wi’ you, if Beenie, after a’ this straemash,
was to loup the window under cloud o’ night wi’ some gaberlunzie o’
a crookit and blin’ soldier-officer, or, wha kens, maybe a drunken
drammatical divor frae the play-house, wi’ ill-colour’t darnt silk
stockings; his coat out at the elbows, and his hat on ajee? How would
you like that, Geordie?--Sic misfortunes are no uncos noo-a-days.’
Her son, notwithstanding the chagrin he suffered, was obliged to smile,
saying, ‘I have really a better opinion, both of Beenie’s taste and her
sense, than to suppose any such adventure possible.’
‘So hae I,’ replied the Leddy. ‘But ye ken, if her character were to
get sic a claut by a fox paw, ye would be obligated to tak her hame,
and mak a genteel settlement befitting your only dochter.’
‘I think,’ said George, ‘in such a case as you suppose, a genteel
settlement would be a little more than could in reason be expected.’
‘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.