‘Do you know that ever since Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, the life o’ man has been growing shorter and shorter? To me--noo sax-and-seventy year auld--the monthly moon’s but as a glaik on the wall--the spring but as a butterflee that taks the wings o’ the morning--and a’ the summer only as the tinkling o’ a cymbal--as for hairst and winter, they’re the shadows o’ death; the whilk is an admonishment, that I should not be overly gair anent the world, but mak mysel and others happy, by taking the san’tified use o’ what I hae--so, Geordie and sirs, ye’ll fill another glass.’ Another glass was filled, and the Leddy resumed, all her guests, save her son, sitting with the solemn aspects of expectation. The countenance of Kittlestonheugh alone was bright with admiration at the extraordinary spirits and garrulity of his mother. ‘Noo, Geordie,’ she resumed, ‘as life is but a vapour, a puff out o’ the stroop o’ the tea-kettle o’ Time--let us a’ consent to mak one another happy--and there being nae likelihood that ever Jamie Walkinshaw will colleague wi’ Beenie, your dochter, I would fain hope ye’ll gie her and Walky there baith your benison and an aliment to mak them happy.’ George pushed back his chair, and looked as fiercely and as proudly as any angry and indignant gentleman could well do; but he said nothing. ‘Na,’ said the Leddy, ‘if that’s the gait o’t, ye shall hae’t as ye will hae’t.--It’s no in your power to mak them unhappy.’ ‘Mother, what do you mean?’ was his exclamation. ‘Just that I hae a because for what I mean; but, unless ye compose yoursel, I’ll no tell you the night--and, in trouth, for that matter, if ye dinna behave wi’ mair reverence to your aged parent, and no bring my grey hairs wi’ sorrow to the grave, I’ll no tell you at a’.’ ‘This is inexplicable,’ cried her son. ‘In the name of goodness, to what do you allude?--of what do you complain?’ ‘Muckle, muckle hae I to complain o’,’ was the pathetic reply. ‘If your worthy father had been to the fore, ye would na daur’t to hae spoken wi’ sic unreverence to me. But what hae I to expek in this world noo?--when the Laird lights the Leddy, so does a’ the kitchen boys; and your behaviour, Geordie, is an unco warrandice to every one to lift the hoof against me in my auld days.’ ‘Good Heavens!’ cried he, ‘what have I done?’ ‘What hae ye no done?’ exclaimed his mother.--‘Was na my heart set on a match atween Beenie and Walky there--my ain grandchilder, and weel worthy o’ ane anither; and hae na ye sworn, for aught I ken, a triple vow that ye would ne’er gie your consent?’ ‘And if I have done so--she is my daughter, and I have my own reasons for doing what I have done,’ was his very dignified reply.