When the funeral cortège did start, as already indicated, curious though quite consequent sequels were far from uncommon. Solemnity and deep drinking only too frequently ended in unaffected hilarity or even dissension. MacTaggart, in his _Gallovidian Encyclopædia_, has caught and well recorded the boisterous spirit of this grim funeral festivity, as the following graphic description amply shows:-- "At last the Laird o' the Bowertree Buss gaed his last pawt, was straughted, dressed, coffined and a'; and I was bidden to his burial the Tuesday after. There I gaed, and there were met a wheen fine boys. Tam o' Todholes, and Wull o' the Slack war there; Neil Wulson, the fisher, and Wull Rain, the gunner, too. The first service that came roun' was strong farintosh, famous peat reek. There was nae grief amang us. The Laird had plenty, had neither wife nor a wean, sae wha cud greet? We drew close to ither, and began the cracks ding-dang, while every minute roun' came anither reamin' service. I faun' the bees i' my head bizzin' strong i' a wee time. The inside o' the burial house was like the inside o' a Kelton-hill tent; a banter came frae the tae side of the room, and was sent back wi' a jibe frae the ither. Lifting at last began to be talked about, and at last lift we did. 'Whaever wished for a pouchfu' o' drink might tak' it.' This was the order; sae mony a douce black coat hang side wi' a heavy bottle. On we gaed wi' the Laird, his weight we faun' na. Wull Weer we left ahin drunk on the spot. Rob Fisher took a sheer as we came down the green brae, and landed himself in a rossen o' breers. Whaup-nebbed Samuel fell aff the drift too. I saw him as we came across Howmcraig; the drink was gaen frae him like couters. Whan we came to the Taffdyke that rins cross Barrend there we laid the Laird down till we took a rest awee. The inside o' pouches war than turned out, bottle after bottle was touted owre; we rowed about, and some warsled. At last a game at the quoits was proposed; we played, but how we played I kenna. Whan we got tae the kirkyard the sun was jist plumpin' down; we pat the coffin twice in the grave wrang, and as often had to draw't out again. We got it to fit at last, and in wi' the moulds on't. The grave-digger we made a beast o'." A notable exception to the practice of the period was the funeral of William Burnes, father of the National Bard, who was borne from Lochlea to Alloway Kirkyard, a distance of twelve miles, not a drop of anything excepting a draught of water from a roadside stream being tasted. The funeral festivities, however, did not end with the lowering of the dead into the grave. There yet remained the final entertainment at the house of the bereaved. If within reasonable distance at all the funeral party returned from the churchyard to partake of the entertainment known as the "draigie,"[39] or "dredgy." Again the drinking was long and deep, with results that can only too readily be imagined.