e, and Papists in the
Lombard plains--Colonel Carpezan! See, here he comes, clad in complete
steel, his hammer of battle over his shoulder, with which he has
battered so many infidel sconces, his flags displayed, his trumpets
blowing. "No rudeness, my men," says Carpezan; "the wine is yours,
and the convent larder and cellar are good: the church plate shall
be melted: any of the garrison who choose to take service with Gaspar
Carpezan are welcome, and shall have good pay. No insult to the
religious ladies! I have promised them a safe-conduct, and he who lays a
finger on them, hangs! Mind that Provost Marshal!" The Provost Marshal,
a huge fellow in a red doublet, nods his head.

"We shall see more of that Provost Marshal, or executioner," Mr. Spencer
explains to his guests.

"A very agreeable acquaintance, I am sure,--shall be delighted to meet
the gentleman again!" says Mr. Johnson, wagging his head over his tea.
"This scene of the mercenaries, the camp followers, and their wild
sports, is novel and stirring, Mr. Warrington, and I make you my
compliments on it. The Colonel has gone into the convent, I think? Now
let us hear what he is going to do there."

The Abbess, and one or two of her oldest ladies, make their appearance
before the conqueror. Conqueror as he is, they heard him in their
sacred halls. They have heard of his violent behaviour in conventual
establishments before. That hammer, which he always carries in action,
has smashed many sacred images in religious houses. Pounds and pounds of
convent plate is he known to have melted, the sacrilegious plunderer! No
wonder the Abbess-Princess of St. Mary's, a lady of violent prejudices,
free language, and noble birth, has a dislike to the lowborn heretic who
lords it in her convent, and tells Carpezan a bit of her mind, as the
phrase is. This scene, in which the lady gets somewhat better of the
Colonel, was liked not a little by Mr. Warrington's audience at the
Temple. Terrible as he might be in war, Carpezan was shaken at first by
the Abbess's brisk opening charge of words; and, conqueror as he was,
seemed at first to be conquered by his actual prisoner. But such an old
soldier was not to be beaten ultimately by any woman. "Pray, madam,"
says he, "how many ladies are there in your convent, for whom my people
shall provide conveyance?" The Abbess, with a look of much trouble and
anger, says that, "besides herself, the noble sisters of Saint Mary's
House are twent