Shortly after the news of the peace, an event at which all gave themselves up to joy, a thing happened among us that at the time caused much talk; but although very dreadful, was yet not so serious, some how or other, as such an awsome doing should have been. Poor Jenny Gaffaw happened to take a heavy cold, and soon thereafter died. Meg went about from house to house, begging dead-clothes, and got the body straighted in a wonderful decent manner, with a plate of earth and salt placed upon it—an admonitory type of mortality and eternal life that has ill-advisedly gone out of fashion. When I heard of this, I could not but go to see how a creature that was not thought possessed of a grain of understanding, could have done so much herself. On entering the door, I beheld Meg sitting with two or three of the neighbouring kimmers, and the corpse laid out on a bed. “Come awa’, sir,” said Meg; “this is an altered house. They’re gane that keepit it bein; but, sir, we maun a’ come to this—we maun pay the debt o’ nature—death is a grim creditor, and a doctor but brittle bail when the hour of reckoning’s at han’! What a pity it is, mother, that you’re now dead, for here’s the minister come to see you. Oh, sir! but she would have had a proud heart to see you in her dwelling, for she had a genteel turn, and would not let me, her only daughter, mess or mell wi’ the lathron lasses of the clachan. Ay, ay, she brought me up with care, and edicated me for a lady: nae coarse wark darkened my lily-white hands. But I maun work now; I maun dree the penalty of man.” Having stopped some time, listening to the curious maunnering of Meg, I rose to come away; but she laid her hand on my arm, saying, “No, sir, ye maun taste before ye gang! My mother had aye plenty in her life, nor shall her latter day be needy.” Accordingly, Meg, with all the due formality common on such occasions, produced a bottle of water, and a dram-glass, which she filled and tasted, then presented to me, at the same time offering me a bit of bread on a slate. It was a consternation to everybody how the daft creature had learnt all the ceremonies, which she performed in a manner past the power of pen to describe, making the solemnity of death, by her strange mockery, a kind of merriment, that was more painful than sorrow; but some spirits are gifted with a faculty of observation, that, by the strength of a little fancy, enables them to make a wonderful and truthlike semblance of things and events, which they never saw, and poor Meg seemed to have this gift. The same night, the session having provided a coffin, the body was put in, and removed to Mr. Mutchkin’s brewhouse, where the lads and lassies kept the late-wake.