himself, "the game's
up with him in this world."

"And in the next too, Jack Windsor, if he does na repent," replied the
landlord; and the dragoon put forth his hand, and, taking the glass,
drank off the brandy.

"It's a damned hard service this here in Scotland," said Windsor,
holding the empty glass in his hand.

"'Deed is't, Jack," said the landlord, "and it canna be a pleasant thing
to a warm-hearted lad like you, Jack Windsor, to be ravaging poor
country folk, only because they hae gotten a bee in their bonnets about
prelacy."

"Damn prelacy, says I," exclaimed the dragoon.

"Whisht, whisht, Jack," said the landlord; "but when a man's sae
scomfisht as ye maun be the night after your skirring, a word o'
vexation canna be a great faut. Gudewife, fill Jack's glass again. Ye'll
be a' the better o't, Jack;" and he took the glass from the dragoon's
hand and held it to his wife, who again filled it to the flowing eye.

"I should think," said the dragoon, "that Ecclesfield cannot be far off.
He ought not to have run away till we had tested the strangers."

"Ah! Jack Windsor," replied the landlord, holding out the glass to him,
"that's easy for you, an honest lad wi' a clear conscience, to say, but
think o' what Ecclesfield was art and part in. Ye may thank your stars,
Jack, that ye hae ne'er been guilty o' the foul things that he's wyted
wi'. Are your father and mother living, Jack Windsor?"

"I hope so," said the dragoon; "but the old man was a little so so when
I last heard of 'em."

"Aye, Jack," replied the landlord, "auld folks are failing subjects. Ye
hae some brothers and sisters nae doubt? They maun be weel-looked an
they're ony thing like you, Jack."

"I have but one sister," replied the dragoon, "and there's not a gooder
girl in England, nor a lady in it that has the bloom of Sally Windsor."

"Ye're braw folk, you Englishers, and ye're happy folk, whilk is far
better," said the landlord, presenting the second glass, which Jack
drank off at once, and returned to the mistress, signifying with his
hand that he wanted no more; upon which she retired with the gardivine,
while the landlord continued, "it's weel for you in the south yonder,
Jack, that your prelates do not harass honest folk."

"We have no prelates in England, thank God," said the dragoon; "we
wouldn't have 'em; our parsons are other sort o' things."

"I thought ye had an host o' bishops, Jack," said the landlord.

"True, and good fellows