The dishes of meat were, however, of good quality, and well mixed with fat and lean; yet none of them knew exactly what they were, neither would the sullen steward deign to give them the least information on that head. There was even one large shapeless piece, of a savour and consistence so peculiar that no one of them could tell whether it was flesh or fish. Still they continued their perseverance, devouring one dish after another, and drinking off one stoup of wine after another, without any abatement of appetite on the one side or any exhiliration of spirits on the other, the steward always bringing in a supply with the most perfect equanimity. At length our yeomen began to look at one another. Their hands had waxed weary with cutting, and their jaws would scarcely any more perform their office. "What is the meaning of this, my brethren," said the friar: "Surely it is better for us to desist, lest our table prove a snare unto us. Lo, my hands are weary, and my cheek-bones are pained even to their utmost extremities. Verily, it is all vanity, for my body is only filled as with the east wind." "Na, na; ply away. It's good sport. I dinna see how we can be better employed," said the deil's Tam. "I think, my brethren, that we should from eating straight refrain," said the poet; "for eating is but weariness, and drinking is but pain. There is no strength into our bread, nor spirit in our wine: some warlock wight has ta'en the might out of this food of mine." The steward had all this time never spoken word good or bad; but had served them with the utmost obsequiousness; and when they had at length ceased from feeding, he went and gave the Master an account of the repast, which proved a source of great divertisement to him. "I have not," said he, "for these many years, had any desire to trifle with the beings to whose species I once belonged; but this group surpasses all of their kind. I will, therefore, lay aside my profound studies, and be with them as one of themselves. If it were but to torment them, I will indulge in this idle and vain humour. I have almost forgot how human passions work." "I pray of thee, Master," said Gourlay, "that thou wilt suffer me to slay yon grim and snarling dog in the grey frock. I loathe, hate, and abhor him. He is, moreover, a bit of a necromancer himself; and has the insolence to suppose that he can rival you in power."