a clear opinion from
this same ghostly father?"

"As clear as it could be," replied Captain Dalgetty, "considering we had
drunk six flasks of Rhenish, and about two mutchkins of Kirchenwasser.
Father Fatsides informed me, that, as nearly as he could judge for a
heretic like myself, it signified not much whether I went to mass or
not, seeing my eternal perdition was signed and sealed at any rate,
in respect of my impenitent and obdurate perseverance in my damnable
heresy. Being discouraged by this response, I applied to a Dutch pastor
of the reformed church, who told me, he thought I might lawfully go
to mass, in respect that the prophet permitted Naaman, a mighty man of
valour, and an honourable cavalier of Syria, to follow his master into
the house of Rimmon, a false god, or idol, to whom he had vowed service,
and to bow down when the king was leaning upon his hand. But neither
was this answer satisfactory to me, both because there was an unco
difference between an anointed King of Syria and our Spanish colonel,
whom I could have blown away like the peeling of an ingan, and chiefly
because I could not find the thing was required of me by any of the
articles of war; neither was I proffered any consideration, either in
perquisite or pay, for the wrong I might thereby do to my conscience."

"So you again changed your service?" said Lord Menteith.

"In troth did I, my lord; and after trying for a short while two
or three other powers, I even took on for a time with their High
Mightinesses the States of Holland."

"And how did their service jump with your humour?" again demanded his
companion.

"O! my lord," said the soldier, in a sort of enthusiasm, "their
behaviour on pay-day might be a pattern to all Europe--no borrowings, no
lendings, no offsets no arrears--all balanced and paid like a
banker's book. The quarters, too, are excellent, and the allowances
unchallengeable; but then, sir, they are a preceese, scrupulous people,
and will allow nothing for peccadilloes. So that if a boor complains of
a broken head, or a beer-seller of a broken can, or a daft wench does
but squeak loud enough to be heard above her breath, a soldier of honour
shall be dragged, not before his own court-martial, who can best judge
of and punish his demerits, but before a base mechanical burgo-master,
who shall menace him with the rasp-house, the cord, and what not, as if
he were one of their own mean, amphibious, twenty-breeched boors. So
n