not rising.'

'I trust it will, sir, soon.'

'Mrs. Margaret,' said another person, mingling in the conversation, 'had
some India bonds. I know that, for I drew the interest for her; it would
be desirable now for the trustees and legatees to have the Colonel's
advice about the time and mode of converting them into money. For my part
I think--but there's Mr. Mortcloke to tell us they are gaun to lift.'

Mr. Mortcloke the undertaker did accordingly, with a visage of
professional length and most grievous solemnity, distribute among the
pall-bearers little cards, assigning their respective situations in
attendance upon the coffin. As this precedence is supposed to be
regulated by propinquity to the defunct, the undertaker, however skilful
a master of these lugubrious ceremonies, did not escape giving some
offence. To be related to Mrs. Bertram was to be of kin to the lands of
Singleside, and was a propinquity of which each relative present at that
moment was particularly jealous. Some murmurs there were on the occasion,
and our friend Dinmont gave more open offence, being unable either to
repress his discontent or to utter it in the key properly modulated to
the solemnity. 'I think ye might hae at least gi'en me a leg o' her to
carry,' he exclaimed, in a voice considerably louder than propriety
admitted. 'God! an it hadna been for the rigs o' land, I would hae gotten
her a' to carry mysell, for as mony gentles as are here.'

A score of frowning and reproving brows were bent upon the unappalled
yeoman, who, having given vent to his displeasure, stalked sturdily
downstairs with the rest of the company, totally disregarding the
censures of those whom his remarks had scandalised.

And then the funeral pomp set forth; saulies with their batons and
gumphions of tarnished white crape, in honour of the well-preserved
maiden fame of Mrs. Margaret Bertram. Six starved horses, themselves the
very emblems of mortality, well cloaked and plumed, lugging along the
hearse with its dismal emblazonry, crept in slow state towards the place
of interment, preceded by Jamie Duff, an idiot, who, with weepers and
cravat made of white paper, attended on every funeral, and followed by
six mourning coaches, filled with the company. Many of these now gave
more free loose to their tongues, and discussed with unrestrained
earnestness the amount of the succession, and the probability of its
destination. The principal expectants, however, kept a pruden