“So thou wilt not tell me the name of thy steed?” said Ezra; “well, even as thou wilt.”
“Nay,” said the spirit, “I shall not deny so good a man so small a matter. Knowest thou not George Johnstone, the captain of my troop,—as bold a hand as ever bore a sword and used it among fanatics? We lived together in life, and in death we are not divided.”
“In persecution and in punishment, thou mightest have said, thou scoffing spirit,” said the pastor. “But tell me, do men lord it in perdition as they did on earth; is there no retributive justice among the condemned spirits?”
“I have condescended on that already,” said the spirit, “and I will tell thee further: there is thy old acquaintance and mine, George Gordon; punished and condemned though he be, he is the scourge, and the whip, and the rod of fire to all those brave and valiant men who served those equitable and charitable princes, Charles Stewart, and James, his brother.”
“I suspect why those honourable cavaliers are tasting the cup of punishment,” said the pastor; “but what crime has sedate and holy George done that his lot is cast with the wicked?”
“Canst thou not guess it, holy Ezra?” answered the spirit. “His crime was so contemptible and mean that I scorn to name it. Hast thou any further questions?”
“You spoke of Charles Stuart, and James, his brother,” said the pastor; “when sawest thou the princes for whom thou didst deluge thy country with blood, and didst peril thine own soul?”
“Ah! thou cunning querist,” said the spirit, with a laugh; “canst thou not ask a plain question? Thou askest questions plain and pointed enough of the backsliding damsels of thy congregation—why shouldst thou put thy sanctified tricks on me, a plain and straightforward spirit, as ever uttered response to the godly? Nevertheless, I will tell thee; I saw them not an hour ago—Charles saddled me my steed; wot ye who held my stirrup?—even James, his brother. I asked them if they had any message to the devout people of their ancient kingdom of Scotland. The former laughed, and bade me bring him the kirk repentance-stool for a throne. The latter looked grave, and muttered over his fingers like a priest counting his beads; and hell echoed far and wide with laughter at the two princes.”
“Ay, ay!” said the pastor; “so I find you have mirth among you: have you dance and song also?”
“Ay, truly,” answered the spirit; “we have hymns and hallelujahs from the lips of that holy and patriotic band who banished their native princes, and sold their country to an alien; and the alien himself rules and reigns among them; and when they are weary with the work of praise, certain inferior and officious spirits moisten their lips with cupfuls of a curious and cooling liquid, and then hymn and thanksgiving recommence again.”