With the severe Auld¹ Lichts the Sabbath began at six o'clock on Saturday evening. By that time the gleaming shuttle was at rest, Davie Haggart had strolled into the village from his pile of stones in the Whunny road; Hendry Robb, the “dummy,” had sold his last barrowful of “rozetty (resiny) roots” for firewood; and the people, having tranquilly² supped and soused their faces in their water-pails, slowly donned their Sunday clothes. This ceremony was common to all; but here divergence³ set in. The gray Auld Licht, to whom love was not even a name, sat in his high-backed arm-chair by the hearth⁴, Bible or “Pilgrim's Progress” in hand, occasionally lapsing⁵ into slumber⁶. But—though, when they got the chance, they went willingly three times to the kirk—there were young men in the community so flighty that, instead of dozing⁷ at home on Saturday night, they dandered casually⁸ into the square, and, forming into knots at the corners, talked solemnly and mysteriously of women.  
Not even, on the night preceding his wedding was an Auld Licht ever known to stay out after ten o'clock. So weekly conclaves⁹ at street-corners came to an end at a comparatively early hour, one Coelebs after another shuffling¹⁰ silently from the square until it echoed, deserted¹¹, to the town-house clock. The last of the gallants, gradually discovering that he was alone, would look around him musingly¹², and, taking in the situation, slowly wend his way home. On no other night of the week was frivolous¹³ talk about the softer sex indulged in, the Auld Lichts being creatures of habit, who never thought of smiling on a Monday. Long before they reached their teens they were earning their keep as herds¹⁴ in the surrounding glens or filling “pirns” for their parents; but they were generally on the brink¹⁵ of twenty before they thought seriously of matrimony. Up to that time they only trifled with the other sex's affections at a distance—filling a maid's water-pails, perhaps, when no one was looking, or carrying her wob; at the recollection of which they would slap their knees almost jovially¹⁶ on Saturday night. A wife was expected to assist at the loom¹⁷ as well as to be cunning in the making of marmalade and the firing of bannocks, and there was consequently some heartburning among the lads for maids of skill and muscle. The Auld Licht, however, who meant marriage seldom loitered in the streets. By-and-bye there came a time when the clock looked down through its cracked glass upon the hemmed-in square and saw him not. His companions, gazing at each other's boots, felt that something was going on, but made no remark.
 
A month ago, passing through the shabby, familiar square, I brushed against a withered¹⁸ old man tottering¹⁹ down the street under a load of yarn²⁰. It was piled on a wheelbarrow, which his feeble hands could not have raised but for the rope of yarn that supported it from his shoulders; and though Auld Licht was written on his patient eyes, I did not immediately recognize Jamie Whamond. Years ago Jamie was a sturdy weaver²¹ and fervent²² lover, whom I had the right to call my friend. Turn back the century a few decades, and we are together on a moonlight night, taking a short cut through the fields from the farm of Craigiebuckle. Buxom²³ were Craigiebuckle's “dochters,” and Jamie was Janet's accepted suitor. It was a muddy road through damp grass, and we picked our way silently over its ruts and pools. “I'm thinkin',” Jamie said at last, a little wistfully, “that I micht hae been as weel wi' Chirsty.” Chirsty was Janet's sister, and Jamie had first thought of her. Craigiebuckle, however, strongly advised him to take Janet instead, and he consented. Alack! heavy wobs have taken all the grace from Janet's shoulders this many a year, though she and Jamie go bravely down the hill together. Unless they pass the allotted²⁴ span of life, the “poors-house” will never know them. As for bonny Chirsty, she proved a flighty thing, and married a deacon in the Established Church. The Auld Lichts groaned²⁵ over her fall, Craigiebuckle hung his head, and the minister told her sternly to go her way. But a few weeks afterward²⁶ Lang Tammas, the chief elder, was observed talking with her for an hour in Gowrie's close; and the very next Sabbath Chirsty pushed her husband in triumph into her father's pew. The minister, though completely taken by surprise, at once referred to the stranger, in a prayer of great length, as a brand that might yet be plucked from the burning. Changing his text, he preached at him; Lang Tammas, the precentor, and the whole congregation (Chirsty included) sang at him; and before he exactly realized his position he had become an Auld Licht for life. Chirsty's triumph was complete when, next week, in broad daylight, too, the minister's wife called, and (in the presence of Betsy Munn, who vouches²⁷ for the truth of the story) graciously asked her to come up to the manse on Thursday, at 4 P.M., and drink a dish of tea. Chirsty, who knew her position, of course begged modestly to be excused; but a coolness arose over the invitation between her and Janet—who felt slighted—that was only made up at the laying-out of Chirsty's father-in-law, to which Janet was pleasantly invited.
 
When they had red up the house, the Auld Licht lassies sat in the gloaming at their doors on three-legged stools, patiently knitting stockings. To them came stiff-limbed youths who, with a “Blawy nicht, Jeanie” (to which the inevitable²⁸ answer was, “It is so, Cha-rles”), rested their shoulders on the doorpost, and silently followed with their eyes the flashing needles. Thus the courtship began—often to ripen²⁹ promptly³⁰ into marriage, at other times to go no farther. The smooth-haired maids, neat in their simple wrappers, knew they were on their trial, and that it behoved them to be wary³¹. They had not compassed twenty winters without knowing that Marget Todd lost Davie Haggart because she “fittit” a black stocking with brown worsted, and that Finny's grieve turned from Bell Whamond on account of the frivolous flowers in her bonnet³²: and yet Bell's prospects³³, as I happen to know, at one time looked bright and promising³⁴. Sitting over her father's peat-fire one night gossiping with him about fishing-flies and tackle, I noticed the grieve, who had dropped in by appointment with some ducks' eggs on which Bell's clockin' hen was to sit, performing some sleight-of-hand trick with his coat-sleeve. Craftily³⁵ he jerked and twisted it, till his own photograph (a black smudge on white) gradually appeared to view. This he gravely slipped into the hands of the maid of his choice, and then took his departure, apparently³⁶ much relieved. Had not Bell's light-headedness driven him away, the grieve would have soon followed up his gift with an offer of his hand. Some night Bell would have “seen him to the door,” and they would have stared sheepishly at each other before saying good-night. The parting salutation given, the grieve would still have stood his ground, and Bell would have waited with him. At last, “Will ye hae's, Bell?” would have dropped from his half-reluctant lips; and Bell would have mumbled³⁷, “Ay,” with her thumb in her mouth. “Guid nicht to ye, Bell,” would be the next remark—“Guid nicht to ye, Jeames,” the answer; the humble³⁸ door would close softly, and Bell and her lad would have been engaged. But, as it was, their attachment³⁹ never got beyond the silhouette⁴⁰ stage, from which, in the ethics⁴¹ of the Auld Lichts, a man can draw back in certain circumstances without loss of honor. The only really tender thing I ever heard an Auld Licht lover say to his sweetheart was when Gowrie's brother looked softly into Easie Tamson's eyes and whispered, “Do you swite (sweat)?” Even then the effect was produced more by the loving cast in Gowrie's eye than by the tenderness of the words themselves.
 
The courtships were sometimes of long duration, but as soon as the young man realized that he was courting he proposed. Cases were not wanting in which he realized this for himself, but as a rule he had to be told of it.
 
There were a few instances of weddings among the Auld Lichts that did not take place on Friday. Betsy Munn's brother thought to assert his two coal-carts, about which he was sinfully puffed⁴³ up, by getting married early in the week; but he was a pragmatical feckless body, Jamie. The foreigner from York that Finny's grieve after disappointing Jinny Whamond took, sought to sow the seeds of strife⁴⁴ by urging that Friday was an unlucky day; and I remember how the minister, who was always great in a crisis, nipped the bickering⁴⁵ in the bud by adducing the conclusive⁴⁶ fact that he had been married on the sixth day of the week himself. It was a judicious⁴⁷ policy on Mr. Dishart's part to take vigorous action at once and insist on the solemnization of the marriage on a Friday or not at all, for he best kept superstition⁴⁸ out of the congregation by branding it as heresy⁴⁹. Perhaps the Auld Lichts were only ignorant of the grieve's lass' theory because they had not thought of it. Friday's claims, too, were incontrovertible; for the Saturday's being a slack day gave the couple an opportunity to put their but and ben in order, and on Sabbath they had a gay day of it—three times at the kirk. The honeymoon⁵⁰ over, the racket of the loom began again on the Monday.
 
The natural politeness of the Allardice family gave me my invitation to Tibbie's wedding. I was taking tea and cheese early one wintry afternoon with the smith and his wife, when little Joey Todd in his Sabbath clothes peered in at the passage, and then knocked primly⁵¹ at the door. Andra forgot himself, and called out to him to come in by; but Jess frowned him into silence, and, hastily donning her black mutch, received Willie on the threshold. Both halves of the door were open, and the visitor had looked us over carefully before knocking; but he had come with the compliments of Tibbie's mother, requesting the pleasure of Jess and her man that evening to the lassie's marriage with Sam'l Todd, and the knocking at the door was part of the ceremony. Five minutes afterward Joey returned to beg a moment of me in the passage; when I, too, got my invitation. The lad had just received, with an expression of polite surprise, though he knew he could claim it as his right, a slice of crumbling⁵² shortbread, and taken his staid departure, when Jess cleared the tea-things off the table, remarking simply that it was a mercy we had not got beyond the first cup. We then retired⁵³ to dress.
 
About six o'clock, the time announced for the ceremony, I elbowed my way through the expectant throng⁵⁴ of men, women, and children that already besieged⁵⁵ the smith's door. Shrill⁵⁶ demands of “Toss, toss!” rent the air every time Jess' head showed on the window-blind, and Andra hoped, as I pushed open the door, “that I hadna forgotten my bawbees.” Weddings were celebrated⁵⁷ among the Auld Lichts by showers of ha'pence, and the guests on their way to the bride's house had to scatter⁵⁸ to the hungry rabble⁵⁹ like housewives feeding poultry⁶⁰. Willie Todd, the best man, who had never come out so strong in his life before, slipped through the back window, while the crowd, led on by Kitty McQueen, seethed⁶¹ in front, and making a bolt for it to the “'Sosh,” was back in a moment with a handful of small change. “Dinna toss ower lavishly⁶² at first,” the smith whispered me nervously⁶³, as we followed Jess and Willie into the darkening wynd.
 
The guests were packed hot and solemn in Johnny Allardice's “room:” the men anxious to surrender their seats to the ladies who happened to be standing⁶⁴, but too bashful to propose it; the ham and the fish frizzling noisily side by side but the house, and hissing⁶⁵ out every now and then to let all whom it might concern know that Janet Craik was adding more water to the gravy⁶⁶. A better woman never lived; but, oh, the hypocrisy⁶⁷ of the face that beamed greeting to the guests as if it had nothing to do but politely show them in, and gasped⁶⁸ next moment with upraised arms over what was nearly a fall in crockery. When Janet sped to the door her “spleet new” merino dress fell, to the pulling of a string, over her home-made petticoat, like the drop-scene in a theatre, and rose as promptly when she returned to slice the bacon. The murmur⁶⁹ of admiration⁷⁰ that filled the room when she entered with the minister was an involuntary tribute to the spotlessness of her wrapper and a great triumph for Janet. If there is an impression that the dress of the Auld Lichts was on all occasions as sombre as their faces, let it be known that the bride was but one of several in “whites,” and that Mag Munn had only at the last moment been dissuaded⁷¹ from wearing flowers. The minister, the Auld Lichts congratulated themselves, disapproved⁷² of all such decking of the person and bowing of the head to idols⁷³; but on such an occasion he was not expected to observe it. Bell Whamond, however, has reason for knowing that, marriages or no marriages, he drew the line at curls.
 
By-and-bye Sam'l Todd, looking a little dazed, was pushed into the middle of the room to Tibbie's side, and the minister raised his voice in prayer. All eyes closed reverently⁷⁴, except perhaps the bridegroom's, which seemed glazed⁷⁵ and vacant. It was an open question in the community whether Mr. Dishart did not miss his chance at weddings; the men shaking their heads over the comparative brevity of the ceremony, the women worshipping him (though he never hesitated to rebuke⁷⁶ them when they showed it too openly) for the urbanity of his manners. At that time, however, only a minister of such experience as Mr. Dishart's predecessor⁷⁷ could lead up to a marriage in prayer without inadvertently joining the couple; and the catechizing was mercifully brief. Another prayer followed the union; the minister waived⁷⁸ his right to kiss the bride; every one looked at every other one as if he had for the moment forgotten what he was on the point of saying and found it very annoying; and Janet signed frantically⁷⁹ to Willie Todd, who nodded intelligently in reply, but evidently had no idea what she meant. In time Johnny Allardice, our host, who became more and more and doited as the night proceeded, remembered his instructions, and led the way to the kitchen, where the guests, having politely informed their hostess that they were not hungry, partook of a hearty⁸⁰ tea. Mr. Dishart presided, with the bride and bridegroom near him; but though he tried to give an agreeable turn to the conversation by describing the extensions at the cemetery⁸¹, his personality oppressed us, and we only breathed freely when he rose to go. Yet we marvelled⁸² at his versatility⁸³. In shaking hands with the newly married couple the minister reminded them that it was leap-year, and wished them “three hundred and sixty-six happy and God-fearing days.”
 
Sam'l's station being too high for it, Tibbie did not have a penny wedding, which her thrifty⁸⁴ mother bewailed, penny weddings starting a couple in life. I can recall nothing more characteristic of the nation from which the Auld Lichts sprang than the penny wedding, where the only revellers that were not out of pocket by it were the couple who gave the entertainment. The more the guests ate and drank the better, pecuniarily⁸⁵, for their hosts. The charge for admission to the penny wedding (practically to the feast that followed it) varied⁸⁶ in different districts, but with us it was generally a shilling. Perhaps the penny extra to the fiddler accounts for the name penny wedding. The ceremony having been gone through in the bride's house, there was an adjournment⁸⁸ to a barn or other convenient place of meeting, where was held the nuptial⁸⁹ feast; long white boards from Rob Angus' saw-mill, supported on trestles, stood in lieu of tables; and those of the company who could not find a seat waited patiently against the wall for a vacancy⁹⁰. The shilling gave every guest the free run of the groaning⁹¹ board; but though fowls⁹² were plentiful⁹⁴, and even white bread too, little had been spent on them. The farmers of the neighborhood, who looked forward to providing the young people with drills of potatoes for the coming winter, made a bid for their custom by sending them a fowl⁹³ gratis⁹⁵ for the marriage supper. It was popularly understood to be the oldest cock of the farmyard, but for all that it made a brave appearance in a shallow sea of soup. The fowls were always boiled—without exception, so far as my memory carries me; the guid-wife never having the heart to roast them, and so lose the broth⁴². One round of whiskey-and-water was all the drink to which his shilling entitled the guest. If he wanted more he had to pay for it. There was much revelry, with song and dance, that no stranger could have thought those stiff-limbed weavers⁹⁶ capable of; and the more they shouted and whirled through the barn, the more their host smiled and rubbed his hands. He presided at the bar improvised⁹⁷ for the occasion, and if the thing was conducted with spirit his bride flung an apron⁹⁸ over her gown and helped him. I remember one elderly bridegroom who, having married a blind woman, had to do double work at his penny wedding. It was a sight to see him flitting about the torch-lit barn, with a kettle of hot water in one hand and a besom to sweep up crumbs⁹⁹ in the other.
 
Though Sam'l had no penny wedding, however, we made a night of it at his marriage.
 
Wedding-chariots were not in those days, though I know of Auld Lichts being conveyed to marriages nowadays by horses with white ears. The tea over, we formed in couples, and—the best man with the bride, the bridegroom with the best maid, leading the way—marched in slow procession in the moonlight night to Tibbie's new home, between lines of hoarse¹⁰⁰ and eager onlookers¹⁰¹. An attempt was made by an itinerant¹⁰² musician to head the company with his fiddle⁸⁷; but instrumental music, even in the streets, was abhorrent¹⁰³ to sound Auld Lichts, and the minister had spoken privately¹⁰⁴ to Willie Todd on the subject. As a consequence, Peter was driven from the ranks. The last thing I saw that night, as we filed, bareheaded and solemn, into the newly married couple's house, was Kitty McQueen's vigorous arm, in a dishevelled sleeve, pounding a pair of urchins¹⁰⁵ who had got between her and a muddy ha'penny.
 
That night there was revelry and boisterous¹⁰⁶ mirth (or what the Auld Lichts took for such) in Tibbie's kitchen. At eleven o'clock Davit Lunan cracked a joke. Davie Haggart, in reply to Bell Dundas' request, gave a song of distinctly secular¹⁰⁷ tendencies. The bride (who had carefully taken off her wedding-gown on getting home and donned a wrapper) coquettishly let the bridegroom's father hold her hand. In Auld Licht circles, when one of the company was offered whiskey and refused it, the others, as if pained even at the offer, pushed it from them as a thing abhorred¹⁰⁸. But Davie Haggart set another example on this occasion, and no one had the courage to refuse to follow it. We sat late round the dying fire, and it was only Willie Todd's scandalous assertion (he was but a boy) about his being able to dance that induced us to think of moving. In the community, I understand, this marriage is still memorable¹⁰⁹ as the occasion on which Bell Whamond laughed in the minister's face.