It was a short day in November, and when the funeral party came to the churchyard the shades of night had considerably closed in.
The grave-digger, whose patience had been exhausted in waiting, was not in the least willing to accept of Captain G----'s (the chief mourner) apology for delay.

After looking about him he put the anxious question, "But, Captain, whaur's Miss Ketty ?" The reply was, "In her coffin, to be sure, and get it into the earth as fast as you can." There, however, was no coffin; the procession had sojourned at a country inn by the way--had rested the body on a dyke--started without it--and had to postpone the interment until next day.

My correspondent very justly adds the remark, "What would be thought of indulgence in drinking habits now that could lead to such a result ?" Many scenes of a similar incongruous character are still traditionally connected with such occasions.

Within the last thirty years, a laird of Dundonald, a small estate in Ross-shire, died at Inverness.

There was open house for some days, and great eating and drinking.