The old man cast up his sharp grey eyes with a shrewd smile, as if he understood the jest, but instantly continued, with his former gravity:  “Bridals—­wha wad neglect bridals that had ony regard for plenishing the earth?  To be sure, they suld be celebrated with all manner of good cheer, and meeting of friends, and musical instruments—­harp, sackbut, and psaltery; or gude fiddle and pipes, when these auld-warld instruments of melody are hard to be compassed.”

“The presence of the fiddle, I dare say,” replied Ravenswood, “would atone for the absence of all the others.”

The sexton again looked sharply up at him, as he answered.  “Nae doubt—­nae doubt, if it were weel played; but yonder,” he said, as if to change the discourse, “is Halbert Gray’s lang hame, that ye were speering after, just the third bourock beyond the muckle through-stane that stands on sax legs yonder, abune some ane of the Ravenswoods; for there is mony of their kin and followers here, deil lift them! though it isna just their main burial-place.”

“They are no favourites, then, of yours, these Ravenswoods?” said the Master, no much pleased with the passing benediction which was thus bestowed on his family and name.

“I kenna wha should favour them,” said the grave-digger; “when they had lands and power, they were ill guides of them baith, and now their head’s down, there’s few care how lang they may be of lifting it again.”

“Indeed!” said Ravenswood; “I never heard that this unhappy family deserved ill-will at the hands of their country.  I grant their poverty, if that renders them contemptible.”

“It will gang a far way till’t” said the sexton of Hermitage, “ye may tak my word for that; at least, I ken naething else that suld mak myself contemptible, and folk are far frae respecting me as they wad do if I lived in a twa-lofted sclated house.  But as for the Ravenswoods, I hae seen three generations of them, and deil ane to mend other.”

“I thought they had enjoyed a fair character in the country,” said their descendant.

“Character!  Ou, ye see, sir,” said the sexton, “as for the auld gudesire body of a lord, I lived on his land when I was a swanking young chield, and could hae blawn the trumpet wi’ ony body, for I had wind eneugh then; and touching this trumpeter Marine that I have heard play afore the lords of the circuit, I wad hae made nae mair o’ him than of a bairn and a bawbee whistle.  I defy him to hae played ‘Boot and saddle,’ or ‘Horse and away,’ or ‘Gallants, come trot,’ with me; he hadna the tones.”

“But what is all this to old Lord Ravenswood, my friend?” said the Master, who, with an anxiety not unnatural in his circumstances, was desirous of prosecuting the musician’s first topic—­“what had his memory to do with the degeneracy of the trumpet music?”

“Just this, sir,” answered the sexton, “that I lost my wind in his service.  Ye see I was trumpeter at the castle, and had allowance for blawing at break of day, and at dinner time, and other whiles when there was company about, and it pleased my lord; and when he raised his militia to caper awa’ to Bothwell Brig against the wrang-headed westland Whigs, I behoved, reason or name, to munt a horse and caper awa’ wi’ them.”