"Of course you have not a drop of Scotch blood in your veins," said
I, "otherwise you would never have uttered that last sentence."

"Don't be too sure of that," said the man in black; "you know
little of Popery if you imagine that it cannot extinguish love of
country, even in a Scotchman. A thorough-going Papist--and who
more thorough-going than myself?--cares nothing for his country;
and why should he? he belongs to a system, and not to a country."

"One thing," said I, "connected with you, I cannot understand; you
call yourself a thorough-going Papist, yet are continually saying
the most pungent things against Popery, and turning to unbounded
ridicule those who show any inclination to embrace it."

"Rome is a very sensible old body," said the man in black, "and
little cares what her children say, provided they do her bidding.
She knows several things, and amongst others, that no servants work
so hard and faithfully as those who curse their masters at every
stroke they do. She was not fool enough to be angry with the
Miquelets of Alba, who renounced her, and called her 'puta' all the
time they were cutting the throats of the Netherlanders. Now, if
she allowed her faithful soldiers the latitude of renouncing her,
and calling her 'puta' in the market-place, think not she is so
unreasonable as to object to her faithful priests occasionally
calling her 'puta' in the dingle."

"But," said I, "suppose some one were to tell the world some of the
disorderly things which her priests say in the dingle?"