Chapter 31

CONCLUSION.

Here closes the history of Sarah J. Richardson, as related by herself. The remaining particulars have been obtained from her employers in Worcester.

She arrived in this city August, 1854, and, as she has already stated, at once commenced seeking for employment. She called at many houses before she found any one who wished for help; and her first question at each place was, "Are you a Catholic?" If the answer was in the affirmative, she passed on, but if the family were Protestants, she inquired for some kind of employment. She did not care what it was; she would cook, wash, sew, or do chamber-work--anything to earn her bread. A Mr. Handy was the first person who took her in, and gave her a home. In his family she worked for her board a few weeks, going out to wash occasionally as she had opportunity. She then went to Holden Mass., but for some reason remained only one week, and again returned to Worcester.

Mr. Ezra Goddard then took her into his own family, and found her capable, industrious, and trustworthy. Had anything been wanting to prove her truthfulness and sincerity, the deep gratitude of her fervent "I thank you," when told that she had found a permanent home, would have done it effectually. But though her whole appearance indicated contentment and earnestness of purpose, though her various duties were faithfully and zealously performed, yet the deep sadness of her countenance, and the evident anxiety of her mind at first awakened a suspicion of mental derangement. She seemed restless, suspicious, and morbidly apprehensive of approaching danger. The appearance of a stranger, or a sudden ringing of the bell, would cause her to start, tremble, and exhibit the greatest perturbation of spirit. In fact, she seemed so constantly on the qui vive, the lady of the house one day said to her, "Sarah, what is the matter with you? what do you fear?" "The Roman Catholic priests," she replied. "I have been a nun. I ran away from the Grey Nunnery at Montreal, and twice I have been caught, carried back, and punished in the most cruel manner. O, if you knew what I have suffered, you would not wonder that I live in constant fear lest they again seek out my retreat; and I will die before I go back again."

Further questioning drew from her the foregoing narrative, which she repeated once and again to various persons, and at different times, without the least alteration or contradiction. She resided in the family of Mr. Goddard some weeks, when she was taken into the employ of Mr. Amos L. Black.

This gentleman informs us that he found her a faithful, industrious, honest servant, and he has not the least doubt of the truthfulness of her statements respecting her former life in the Convent.

A few weeks after this, she was married to Frederick S. Richardson with whom she became acquainted soon after her arrival in the city of Worcester. The marriage ceremony was performed by Charles Chaffin, Esq., of Holden, Mass. After their marriage, her husband hired a room in the house occupied by Mr. Handy with whom she had formerly resided. After a few weeks, however, they removed to a place called the Drury farm. It is owned by the heirs, but left in the care of Mr. Ezra Goddard.

Previous to her marriage, Mrs. Richardson had often been advised to allow her history to be placed before the public. But she always replied, "For my life I would not do it. Not because I do not wish the world to know it, for I would gladly proclaim it wherever a Romanist is known, but it would be impossible for me to escape their hands should I make myself so public. They would most assuredly take my life." After her marriage, however, her principal objection was removed. She thought they would not wish to take her back into the nunnery, and her husband would protect her from violence. She therefore related the story of her life while in the convent, which, in accordance with her own request, was written down from her lips as she related it. This was done by Mrs. Lucy Ann Hood, wife of Edward P. Hood, and daughter of Ezra Goddard. It is now given to the public without addition or alteration, and with but a slight abridgment. A strange and startling story it certainly is. Perhaps the reader will cast it aside at once as a worthless fiction,--the idle vagary of an excited brain. The compiler, of course, cannot vouch for its truth, but would respectfully invite the attention of the reader to the following testimonials presented by those who have known the narrator. The first is from Edward P. Hood, with whom Mrs. Richardson resided when her narrative was written.

(TESTIMONY OF EDWARD P. HOOD.)

To all whom it may concern. I hereby certify that I was personally acquainted with Sarah J. Richards, now Sarah J. Richardson, at the time she resided in Worcester, Mass. I first saw her at the house of Mr. Ezra Goddard, where she came seeking employment. She appeared anxious to get some kind of work, was willing to do anything to earn an honest living. She had the appearance of a person who had seen much suffering and hardship. She worked for Mr. Goddard a short time, when she obtained another place. She then left, but called very often; and during her stay in Worcester, she worked there several times. So far as I was able to judge of her character, I do not hesitate to say that she was a woman of truth and honesty. I heard her relate the account of her life and sufferings in the Grey Nunnery, and her final escape. I knew when the story was written, and can testify to its being done according to her own dictation. I have examined the manuscript, and can say that it a written out truly and faithfully as related by the nun herself.

EDWARD P. HOOD.

Worcester, May 5, 1856.

(TESTIMONY OF EZRA GODDARD.)

I first became acquainted with Sarah J. Richardson in August 1854. She came to my house to work for my wife. She was at my house a great many times after that until March 1855, when she left Worcester. At one time she was there four or five weeks in succession. She was industrious, willing to do anything to get an honest living. She was kind in her disposition, and honest in her dealings. I have no hesitation in saying that I think her statements can be relied upon.

EZRA GODDARD.

Worcester, Jan. 21, 1856.

(TESTIMONY OF LUCY GODDARD.)

I am acquainted with the above named Sarah J. Richardson, and can fully testify to the truth of the above statements as to her kindness and industrious habits, honesty and truthfulness.

LUCY GODDARD.

Worcester, Jan. 21, 1856.

(TESTIMONY OF JOSIAH GODDARD.)

To whom it may concern: This is to testify that I am acquainted with Sarah J. Richardson, formerly Sarah J. Richards. I became acquainted with her in the fall of 1854. She worked at my father's at the time. I heard her tell her story, and from what I saw of her while she was in Worcester, I have no hesitation in saying that she was a woman of truth and honesty.

JOSIAH GODDARD.

Worcester, March 1, 1856.

(TESTIMONY OF EBEN JEWETT.)

I became acquainted with Sarah J. Richardson last winter, at the house of Mr. Ezra Goddard; saw her a number of times after that, at the place where I boarded. She did some work for my wife, and I heard her speak of being at the Grey Nunnery. I also heard her story, from Mr. Goddard's family. I have no doubt of her being honest and truthful, and I believe she is so considered by all who became acquainted with her.

EBEN JEWETT.

Worcester, Feb., 1856.

(TESTIMONY OF CHARLES CHAFFIN.)

Worcester, ss.--Holden, Nov. 11, 1854.

This certifies that I this day united in marriage, Frederick S. Richardson and Sarah J. Richards, both of Worcester.

CHARLES CHAFFIN, Justice of the Peace.

(AFFIDAVIT.)

I, Sarah J. Richardson, wife of Frederick S. Richardson, of the city of Worcester, County of Worcester, and Commonwealth of Massachusetts, formerly Sarah J. Richards before marriage, do solemnly swear, declare and say, that the foregoing pages contain a true and faithful history of my life before my marriage to the said Frederick S. Richardson, and that every statement made herein by me is true. In witness whereof, I do hereunto set my hand and seal, this 13th day of March, A.D. 1855.

SARAH J. RICHARDSON (X her mark.)

In presence of WM. GREENLEAF.

Sworn to before me, the 13th day of March, AD. 1855.

WM. GREENLEAF, Justice of the Peace.

(TESTIMONY OF Z. K. PANGBORN.)

When it was known that the Narrative of Sarah J. Richardson was about to be published, Mr. Z. K. Pangborn, at that time editor of the Worcester Daily Transcript, voluntarily offered the following testimony which we copy from one of his editorials.

"We have no doubt that the nun here spoken of as one who escaped from the Grey Nunnery at Montreal, is the same person who spent some weeks in our family in the fall of 1853, after her first escape from the Nunnery. She came in search of employment to our house in St. Albans, Vt., stating that she had traveled on foot from Montreal, and her appearance indicated that she was poor, and had seen hardship. She obtained work at sewing, her health not being sufficient for more arduous task. She appeared to be suffering under some severe mental trial, and though industrious and lady-like in her deportment, still appeared absent minded, and occasionally singular in her manner. After awhile she revealed the fact to the lady of the house, that she had escaped from the Grey Nunnery at Montreal, but begged her not to inform any one of the fact, as she feared, if it should be known, that she would be retaken, and carried back. A few days after making this disclosure, she suddenly disappeared. Having gone out one evening, and failing to return, much inquiry was made, but no trace of her was obtained for some months. Last spring a gentleman from Worcester, Mass. called on us to make inquiries in regard to this same person and gave us the following account of her as given by herself. She states that on the evening when she so mysteriously disappeared from our house, she called upon an Irish family whose acquaintance she had formed, and when she was coming away, was suddenly seized, gagged, and thrust into a close carriage, or box, as she thought, and on the evening of the next day found herself once more consigned to the tender mercies of the Grey Nunnery in Montreal. Her capture was effected by a priest who tracked her to St. Albans, and watched his opportunity to seize her. She was subjected to the most rigorous and cruel treatment, to punish her for running away, and kept in close confinement till she feigned penitence and submission, when she was treated less cruelly, and allowed more liberty.

"But the difficulties in the way of an escape, only stimulated her the more to make the attempt, and she finally succeeded a second time in getting out of that place which she described as a den of cruelty and misery. She was successful also in eluding her pursuers, and in reaching this city, (Worcester,) where she remained some time, seeking to avoid notoriety, as she feared she might be again betrayed and captured. She is now, however, in a position where she does not fear the priests, and proposes to give to the world a history of her life in the Nunnery. The disclosures she makes are of the most startling character, but of her veracity and good character we have the most satisfactory evidence."

This statement was confirmed by Mrs. Pangborn, a sister of the late Mrs Branard, the lady with whom Sarah J. Richardson stopped in St. Albans, and by whom she was employed as a seamstress. Being an inmate of the family at the time, Mrs Pangborn states that she had every opportunity to become acquainted with the girl and learn her true character. The family, she says, were all interested in her, although they knew nothing of her secret, until a few days before she left. She speaks of her as being "quiet and thoughtful, diligent, faithful and anxious to please, but manifesting an eager desire for learning, that she might be able to acquaint herself more perfectly with the Holy Scriptures. She could, at that time, read a little, and her mind was well stored with select passages from the sacred volume, which she seemed to take great delight in repeating. She was able to converse intelligently upon almost any subject, and never seemed at a loss for language to express her thoughts. No one could doubt that nature had given her a mind capable of a high degree of religious and intellectual culture, and that, with the opportunity for improvement, she would become a useful member of society. Of book knowledge she was certainly quite ignorant, but she had evidently studied human nature to some good purpose." Mrs Pangborn also corroborates many of the statements in her narrative. She often visited the Grey Nunnery, and says that the description given of the building, the Academy, the Orphan's Home, and young ladies school, are all correct. The young Smalley mentioned in the narrative was well known to her, and also his sister "little Sissy Smalley," as they used to call her. Inquiries have been made of those acquainted with the route along which the fugitive passed in her hasty flight, and we are told that the description is in general correct; that even the mistakes serve to prove the truthfulness of the narrator, being such as a person would be likely to make when describing from memory scenes and places they had seen but once; whereas, if they were getting up a fiction which they designed to represent as truth, such mistakes would be carefully avoided.

APPENDIX I.

ABSURDITIES OF ROMANISTS.

It may perchance be thought by some persons that the foregoing narrative contains many things too absurd and childish for belief. "What rational man," it may be said, "would ever think of dressing up a figure to represent the devil, for the purpose of frightening young girls into obedience? And those absurd threats! Surely no sane man, and certainly no Christian teacher, would ever stoop to such senseless mummery!"

Incredible it may seem--foolish, false, inconsistent with reason, or the plain dictates of common sense, it certainly is--but we have before us well-authenticated accounts of transactions in which the Romish priests claimed powers quite as extraordinary, and palmed off upon a credulous, superstitious people stories quite as silly and ridiculous as anything recorded in these pages. Indeed, so barefaced and shameless were their pretensions in some instances, that even their better-informed brethren were ashamed of their folly, and their own archbishop publicly rebuked their dishonesty, cupidity and chicanery. In proof of this we place before our readers the following facts which we find in a letter from Professor Similien, of the college of Angers, addressed to the Union de l'Ouest:

"Some years ago a pretended miracle was reported as having occurred upon a mountain called La Salette, in the southeastern part of France, where the Virgin Mary appeared in a very miraculous manner to two young shepherds. The story, however, was soon proved to be a despicable trick of the priest, and as such was publicly exposed. But the Bishop of Lucon, within whose diocese the sacred mountain stands, appears to have been unwilling to relinquish the advantage which he expected to result from a wide-spread belief in this infamous fable. Accordingly, in July, 1852, it was again reported that no less than three miracles were wrought there by the Holy Virgin. The details were as follows:

"A young pupil at the religious establishment of the visitation of Valence, who had been for three months completely blind from an attack of gutta-serena, arrived at La Salette on the first of July, in company with some sisters of the community. The extreme fatigue which she had undergone in order to reach the summit of the mountain, at the place of the apparition, caused some anxiety to be felt that she could not remain fasting until the conclusion of the mass, which had not yet commenced, and the Abbe Sibilla, one of the missionaries of La Salette, was requested to administer the sacrament to her before the service began. She had scarcely received the sacred wafer, when, impelled by a sudden inspiration, she raised her head and exclaimed, 'ma bonne mere, je vous vois.' She had, in fact, her eyes fixed on the statue of the Virgin, which she saw as clearly as any one present For more than an hour she remained plunged in an ecstasy of gratitude and love, and afterward retired from the place without requiring the assistance of those who accompanied her. At the same moment a woman from Gap, nearly sixty years of age, who for the last nineteen years had not had the use of her right arm, in consequence of a dislocation, suddenly felt it restored to its original state, and swinging round the once paralyzed limb, she exclaimed, in a transport of joy and gratitude, 'And I also am cured!' A third cure, although not instantaneous, is not the less striking. Another woman, known in the country for years as being paralytic, could not ascend the mountain but with the greatest difficulty, and with the aid of crutches. On the first day of the neuvane, that of her arrival, she felt a sensation as if life was coming into her legs, which had been for so long time dead. This feeling went on increasing, and the last day of the neuvane, after having received the communion, she went, without any assistance, to the cross of the assumption, where she hung up her crutches. She also was cured.

"Bishop Lucon must have known that this was mere imposition; yet, so far from exposing a fraud so base, he not only permits his people to believe it, but he lends his whole influence to support and circulate the falsehood. And why? Ah! a church was to be erected; and it was necessary to get up a little enthusiasm among the people in order to induce them to fill his exhausted coffers, and build the church. In proof of this, we have only to quote a few extracts from the 'Pastoral' which he issued on this occasion.

"'And now," he says, "Mary has deigned to appear on the summit of a lofty mountain to two young shepherds, revealing to them the secrets of heaven. But who attests the truth of the narrative of these Alpine pastors? No other than the men themselves, and they are believed. They declare what they have seen, they repeat what they have heard, they retain what they have received commandment to keep secret.

"A few words of the incomparable Mother of God have transformed them into new men. Incapable of concerting aught between themselves, or of imagining anything similar to what they relate, each is the witness to a vision which has not found him unbelieving; each is its historian. These two shepherds, dull as they were, have at once understood and received the lesson which was vouchsafed to them, and it is ineffaceably engraven on their hearts. They add nothing to it, they take nothing from it, they modify it in nowise, they deliver the oracle of Heaven just as they have received it.

"An admirable constancy enabled them to guard the secret, a singular sagacity made them discern all the snares laid for them, a rare prudence suggested to them a thousand responses, not one of which betrayed their secret; and when at length the time came when it was their duty to make it known to the common Father of the Faithful, they wrote correctly, as if reading a book placed under their eyes. Their recital drew to this blessed mountain thousands of pilgrims.

"They proclaimed that 'on Saturday, the 19th of September, 1846, Mary manifested herself to them; and the anniversary of this glorious day is henceforth and forever dear to Christian piety. Will not every pilgrim who repairs to this holy mountain add his testimony to the truthfulness of these young shepherds? Mary halted near a fountain; she communicated to it a celestial virtue, a divine efficacy. From being intermittent, this spring, today so celebrated, became perennial.

"'Every where is recounted the prodigies which she works. When the afflicted are in despair, the infirm without remedy, they resort to the waters of La Salette, and cures are wrought by this remedy, whose power makes itself felt against every evil. Our diocess, so devoted to Mary, has been no stranger to the bounty of this tender Mother. We are about to celebrate shortly the sixth anniversary of this miraculous apparition. NOW THAT A SANCTUARY IS TO BE RAISED on this holy mountain to the glory of God, we have thought it right to inform you thereof.

"'We cannot doubt that many of you have been heard by our Lady of La Salette; you desire to witness your gratitude to this mother of compassion; you would gladly BRING YOUR STONE to the beautiful edifice that is to be constructed. WE DESIRE TO FURTHER YOUR FILIAL TENDERNESS WITH THE MEANS OF TRANSMITTING THE ALMS OF FAITH AND PIETY. For these reasons, invoking the holy name of God, we have ordained and do ordain as follows, viz.:

"'First, we permit the appearance of our Lady of La Salette to be preached throughout our diocess; secondly, on Sunday, the 19th of September next ensuing, the litanies of the Holy Virgin shall be chanted in all the chapels and churches of the diocess, and be followed by the benediction of the Holy Sacrament. Thirdly, THE FAITHFUL WHO MAY DESIRE TO CONTRIBUTE TO THE ERECTION OF THE NEW SANCTUARY, MAY DEPOSIT THEIR OFFERINGS IN THE HANDS OF THE CURE, WHO WILL TRANSMIT THEM TO US FOR THE BISHOP OF GRENOBLE.

"'Our present pastoral letter shall be read and published after mass in every parish on the Sunday after its reception.

"'Given at Lucon, in our Episcopal palace, under our sign-manual and the seal of our arms, and the official counter-signature of our secretary, the 30th of June, of the year of Grace, 1852.

"'X Jac-Mar Jos, "'Bishop of Lucon.'"

"It is not a little remarkable," says the editor of the American Christian Union, "that whilst the Bishop of Lucon was engaged in extolling the miracles of La Salette, the Cardinal Archbishop of Lyons, Dr. Bonald, 'Primate of all the Gauls,' addressed a circular to all the priests in his diocese, in which he cautions them against apocryphal miracles! There is indubitable evidence that his grace refers to the scandalous delusions of La Salette. His language is severe, very severe. He attributes the miracles in question to pecuniary speculation, which now-a-days, he says, mingles with everything, seizes upon imaginary facts, and profits by it at the expense of the credulous! He charges the authors of these things with being GREEDY MEN, who aim at procuring for themselves DISHONEST GAINS by this traffic in superstitious objects! And he forbids the publishing from the pulpit, without leave, of any account of a miracle, even though its authenticity should be attested by another Bishop! This is good. His grace deserves credit for setting his face against this miserable business, of palming off false miracles upon the people."

[Footnote: Since the above was written, we have met with the following explanation of this modern miracle:

"A few years ago there was a great stir among 'the simple faithful' in France, occasioned by a well-credited apparition of the Holy Virgin at La Salette. She required the erection of a chapel in her honor at that place, and made such promises of special indulgences to all who paid their devotions there, that it became 'all the rage' as a place of pilgrimage. The consequence was, that other shops for the same sort of wares in that region lost most of their customers, and the good priests who tended the tills were sorely impoverished. In self-defence, they, WELL KNOWING HOW SUCH THINGS WERE GOT UP, exposed the trick. A prelate publicly denounced the imposture, and an Abbe Deleon, priest in the diocess of Grenoble, printed a work called 'La Salette a Valley of Lies.' In this publication it was maintained, with proofs, that the hoax was gotten up by a Mademoiselle de Lamerliere, a sort of half-crazy nun, who impersonated the character of the Virgin. For the injury done to her character by this book she sued the priest for damages to the tone of twenty thousand francs, demanding also the infliction of the utmost penalty of the law. The court, after a long and careful investigation, for two days, as we learn by the Catholic Herald, disposed of the case by declaring the miracle-working damsel non-suited, and condemning her to pay the expenses of the prosecution."--American and Foreign Christian Union.]

Another of Rome's marvellous stories we copy from the New York Daily Times of July 3d, 1854. It is from the pen of a correspondent at Rome, who, after giving an account of the ceremony performed in the church of St. Peters at the canonization of a NEW SAINT, under the name of Germana, relates the following particulars of her history. He says, "I take the facts as they are related in a pamphlet account of her 'life, virtues, and miracles,' published by authority at Rome:

"Germana Consin was born near the village of Pibrac, in the diocess of Toulouse, in France. Maimed in one hand, and of a scrofulous constitution, she excited the hatred of her step-mother, in whose power her father's second marriage placed her while yet a child. This cruel woman gave the little Germana no other bed than some vine twigs, lying under a flight of stairs, which galled her limbs, wearied with the day's labor. She also persuaded her husband to send the little girl to tend sheep in the plains, exposed to all extremes of weather. Injuries and abuse were her only welcome when she returned from her day's task to her home. To these injuries she submitted with Christian meekness and patience, and she derived her happiness and consolation from religious faith. She went every day to church to hear mass, disregarding the distance, the difficulty of the journey, and the danger in which she left her flock. The neighboring forest was full of wolves, who devoured great numbers from other flocks, but never touched a sheep in that of Germana. To go to the church she was obliged to cross a little river, which was often flooded, but she passed with dry feet; the waters flowing away from her on either side: howbeit no one else dared to attempt the passage. Whenever the signal sounded for the Ave Marie, wherever she might be in conducting her sheep, even if in a ditch, or in mud or mire, she kneeled down and offered her devotions to the Queen of Heaven, nor were her garments wet or soiled. The little children whom she met in the fields she instructed in the truths of religion. For the poor she felt the tenderest charity, and robbed herself of her scanty pittance of bread to feed them. One day her step-mother, suspecting that she was carrying away from the house morsels of bread to be thus distributed, incited her husband to look in her apron; he did so, BUT FOUND IT FULL OF FLOWERS, BEAUTIFUL BUT OUT OF SEASON, INSTEAD OF BREAD. This miraculous conversion of bread into flowers formed the subject of one of the paintings exhibited in St. Peter's at the Beatification. Industrious, charitable, patient and forgiving, Germana lived a memorable example of piety till she passed from earth in the twenty second year of her age. The night of her death two holy monks were passing, on a journey, in the neighborhood of her house. Late at night they saw two celestial virgins robed in white on the road that led to her habitation; a few minutes afterwards they returned leading between them another virgin clad in pure white, and with a crown of flowers on her head.

"Wonders did not cease with her death. Forty years after this event her body was uncovered, in digging a grave for another person, and found entirely uncorrupted--nay, the blood flowed from a wound accidentally made in her face. Great crowds assembled to see the body so miraculously preserved, and it was carefully re-interred within the church. There it lay in place until the French Revolution, when it was pulled up and cast into a ditch and covered with quick lime and water. But even this failed to injure the body of the blessed saint. It was found two years afterward entirely unhurt, and even the grave clothes which surrounded it were entire, as on the day of sepulture, two hundred years before.

"And now in the middle of the nineteenth century, these facts are published for the edification of believers, and his Holiness has set his seal to their authenticity. Four miracles performed by this saint after her death are attested by the bull of beatification, and also by Latin inscriptions in great letters displayed at St. Peter's on the day of this great celebration. The monks of the monastery at Bourges, in France, prayed her to intercede on one occasion, that their store of bread might be multiplied; on another their store of meal; on both occasions THEIR PRAYER WAS GRANTED. The other two miracles were cures of desperate maladies, the diseased persons having been brought to pray over her tomb.

"On the splendid scarlet hangings, bearing the arms of Pius IX. and suspended at the corners of the nave and transept, were two Latin inscriptions, of similar purport, of one of which I give a translation: 'O Germana, raised to-day to celestial honors by Pius IX. Pontifex Maximus, since thou knowest that Pius has wept over thy nation wandering from God, and has exultingly rejoiced at its reconciling itself with God little by little, he prays thee intimately united with God, do thou, for thou canst do it, make known his wishes to God, and strengthen them, for thou art able, with the virtue of thy prayers.'

"I have been thus minute in my account of this Beatification, deeming the facts I state of no little importance and interest, as casting light upon the character of the Catholicism of the present day, and showing with what matters the Spiritual and Temporal ruler of Rome is busying himself in this year of our Lord eighteen hundred and fifty-four."

Many other examples similar to the above might be given from the history of Catholicism as it exists at the present time in the old world. But let us turn to our own country. We need not look to France or Rome for examples of priestly intrigue of the basest kind; and absurdities that almost surpass belief. The following account which we copy from The American and Foreign Christian Union of August, 1852, will serve to show that the priests in these United States are quite as willing to impose upon the ignorant and credulous as, their brethren in other countries. The article is from the pen of an Irish Missionary in the employ of The American and Foreign Christian Union and is entitled,

"A LYING WONDER."

"It would seem almost incredible," says the editor of this valuable Magazine, "that any men could be found in this country who are capable of practising such wretched deceptions. But the account given in the subjoined statement is too well authenticated to permit us to reject the story as untrue, however improbable it may, at first sight, seem to be. Here it is:--?

"Mr. Editor,--I give you, herein, some information respecting a lying wonder wrought in Troy, New York, last winter, and respecting the female who was the 'MEDIUM' of it. I have come to the conclusion that this female is a Jesuit, after as good an examination as I have been able to give the matter. I have been fed with these lying wonders in early life, and in Ireland as well as in this country there are many who, for want of knowing any better, will feed upon them in their hearts by faith and thanksgiving. About the time this lying wonder of which I am about to write happened, I had been talking of it in the office of Mr. Luther, of Albany, (coal merchant), where were a number of Irish waiting for a job. One of these men declared, with many curses on his soul if what he told was not true, that he had seen a devil cast out of a woman in his own parish, in Ireland, by the priest. I told him it would be better for his character's sake for him to say he heard of it, than to say he SAW it.

Mr. J. W. Lockwood, a respectable merchant in Troy, New York, and son of the late mayor, kept two or three young women as 'helps' for his lady, last winter. The name of one is Eliza Mead, and the name of another is Catharine Dillon, a native of the county of Limerick, Ireland. Eliza was an upper servant, who took care of her mistress and her children. Catharine was and is now the cook. Eliza appeared to her mistress to be a very well educated, and a very intellectual woman of 35, though she would try to make believe she could not write, and that she was subject to fits of insanity. There was then presumptive evidence that she wrote a good deal, and there is now positive evidence that she could write. She used often, in the presence of Mrs. L., to take the Bible and other books and read them, and would often say she thought the Protestants had a better religion than the Catholics, and were a better people. Afterwards she told Mrs. L. that she had doubts about the Catholic religion, and was inclined toward the Protestant: but now she is sure, quite sure, that the Catholic alone is the right one, FOR IT WAS REVEALED TO HER.

On the evening of the 23d of December, 1851, Eliza and Catharine were missing;--but I will give you Catharine's affidavit about their business from home.

"City of Troy, S. W.

"I, Catharine Dillon, say, that on Tuesday, 23d December inst, about five o'clock in the afternoon, I went with Eliza Mead to see the priest, Mr. McDonnel, who was at home. Eliza remained there till about six o'clock P. M. At that time I returned home, leaving her at the priest's. At half past eight o'clock the same evening I returned to the priest's house for Eliza, and waited there for her till about ten o'clock of the same evening, expecting that Eliza's conference with the priest would be ended, and that she would come home with me.

"During the evening there had been another besides Mr. McDonnel there. About ten o'clock this other priest retired, as I understood. Soon after this Mr. McDonnel called me, with others, into the room where Eliza was, when he said that she (Eliza) was POSSESSED OF THE DEVIL Mr. McDonnel then commenced interrogating the devil, asking the devil if he possessed her. The answer was, "Yes." The priest then asked, "How long?" and the answer was, "Six months and nine days." The priest then asked, "Who sent you into her?" The answer was, "Mr. Lockwood." The next question was, "When?" "When she was asleep," was the answer. He then asked the devil if Mr. Lockwood had ever tempted Catharine, meaning me, and the reply was, "Yes." Then the question was, "How many times?" And the answer was, "Three times, by offering her drink when she was asleep?"

"I came home about five o'clock in the morning, greatly shocked at what I had seen and heard, and impressed with the belief that Eliza was possessed with the devil. I went again to the priest's on Wednesday to find Eliza, when the priest told me that he, Mr. McDonnel, exorcised the devil at high mass that morning in the church, and drove the devil out of Eliza. That he, the devil, came out of Eliza, and spat at the Holy Cross of Jesus Christ, and departed. He then told me that, as Eliza got the devil from Mr. Lockwood, in the house where I lived, I must leave the house immediately, and made me promise him that I would. During the appalling scenes of Tuesday night, Mr. McDonnel went to the other priest and called him up, but the other priest did not come to his assistance. These answers to the priest when he was asking questions of the devil, were given in a very loud voice and sometimes with a loud scream."

"CATHARINE DILLON."

"Subscribed and sworn to, this 31st day of December, 1851, before me, JOB S. OLIN, Recorder of Troy, New York." [A copy.]

At the interview between Mr. J. W. Lockwood and the Rev. Mr. McDonnel, officiating priest at St. Peter's church, there were present Hon. James M. Warren, T. W. Blatchford, M. D., and C. N. Lockwood, on the part of Mr. Lockwood, and Father Kenny and Mr. Davis on the part of the Rev. Mr. McDonnel, on the evening of the 31st December, 1851.

Mr. McDonnel at first declined answering any questions, questioning Mr. Lockwood's right to ask them: He would only say that Eliza Mead came to his house possessed, as she thought, with an evil spirit; that at first he declined having anything to do with her, first, because he believed her to be crazy; second, because he was at that moment otherwise engaged; and thirdly, because she was not in his parish; but, by her urgent appeals in the name of God to pray over her, he was at last induced to admit her. He became satisfied that she was possessed of the devil, or an evil spirit, by saying the appointed prayers of the church over her; for the spirit manifested uneasiness when this was done; and furthermore, as she was entering the church the following morning, she was thrown into convulsions by Father Kenny's making the sign of the cross behind her back. At high mass in the morning he exorcised the devil, and he left her, spitting at the cross of Christ before taking his final departure.

As to Mr. McDonnel's repeatedly telling Catharine that she must leave Mr. L's house immediately, for if she remained there Mr. L. would put the devil in her, Mr. McDonnel denied saying or doing anything whatever that was detrimental to the character of Mr. L. or any of his family. Mr. McDonnel repeatedly refused to answer the questions put to him by Mr. L. He considered it insulting that Mr. L. should visit his house on such business, as no power on earth but that of the POPE had authority to question him on such matters. But being reminded that slanderous reports had emanated from that very house against Mr. L. he, Mr. McDonnel, said it was all to see what kind of a man he was that brought Mr. L. there, and if reports were exaggerated, it was nothing to him.

Mr. McDonnel said that he cleared the church before casting out the devil, and there was but one person besides himself there. That, every word spoken in the church was in Latin, and nobody in the church understood a word of it. That he had heard threats made by Mr. L., also that Mr. L. had said the pretended answers of the devil ware made through the medium of ventriloquism. Father Kenny, in the progress of the interview, made two or three attempts to speak, but was prevented by Mr. McDonnel.

Thus ends the report written down by Mr. L.'s brother, who was present, immediately after the interview. It was all Latin in the church, we see; but the low Irish will not believe that the devil could understand Latin. However, it was not all Latin at the priest's house, where Catharine Dillon heard what she declared on oath. How slow the priest was to admit her (Eliza Mead) in the beginning, and to believe that she had his sable majesty in her, until it manifested uneasiness under the cannonade of church prayers!

"But you will ask, how could an educated priest, or an intelligent woman, condescend to such diabolical impositions? I think it is something after the way that a man gets to be a drunkard; he may not like the taste thereof at first, but afterwards he will smack his lips and say, 'there is nothing like whiskey,' and as their food becomes part of their bodily substance, so are these 'lying wonders' converted into their spiritual substance. So I think; I am, however, but a very humble philosopher, and therefore I will use the diction of the Holy Spirit on the matter: 'For this cause God shall send them strong delusions, that they should believe a lie,' EVEN OF THEIR OWN MAKING, OR WHAT MAY EASILY BE SEEN TO BE LIES OF OTHER'S GETTING, "that they all might be damned who believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness.'"

"JOHN MURPHEY.

"ALBANY, June 2nd, 1852."

It was said by one "that the first temptation on reading such monstrosities as the above, is to utter a laugh of derision." But it is with no such feeling that we place them before our readers. Rather would we exclaim with the inspired penman, "O that my head were waters and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night" for the deluded followers of these willfully blind leaders! Surely, no pleasure can be found in reading or recording scenes which a pure mind can regard only with pity and disgust. Yet we desire to prove to our readers that the absurd threats and foolish attempts to impose upon the weak and ignorant recorded by Sarah J. Richardson are perfectly consistent with the general character and conduct of the Romish priests. Read for instance, the following ridiculous story translated from Le Semeur Canadien for October 12th, 1855.

A NEW MEANS OF CONVERSION.

In the district of Montreal lived a Canadian widow of French extraction who had become a Protestant. Madam V--, such was the name of this lady, lived with her daughter, the sole fruit of a union too soon dissolved by unsparing death. Their life, full of good works, dispelled prejudices that the inhabitants of the vicinity--all intolerant Catholics--had always entertained against evangelical Christians; they gained their respect, moreover, by presenting them the example of every virtue. Two of the neighbors of the Protestant widow--who had often heard at her house the word of God read and commented upon by one of those ministers who visit the scattered members of their communion--talked lately of embracing the reformed religion. In the mean while, Miss V-- died. The young Christian rested her hope upon the promises of the Saviour who has said, "Believe in Christ and thou shall be saved."

Her spirit flew to its Creator with the confidence of an infant who throws himself into the arms of his father. Her last moments were not tormented by the fear of purgatory, where every Catholic believes he will suffer for a longer or shorter time. This death strengthened the neighbors in the resolution they had taken to leave the Catholic church. The widow buried the remains of her daughter upon her own land, a short distance from her house: the nearest Protestant cemetery was so far off that she was forced to give up burying it there.

Some Catholic fanatics of the vicinity assembled secretly the day after the funeral of Miss V-- to discuss the best means for arresting the progress that the reformed religion was making in the parish. After long deliberation they resolved to hire a poor man to go every evening for a whole week and groan near the grave of Miss V---. Their object was to make the widow and neighbors believe that the young girl was damned; and that God permitted her to show her great unhappiness by lamentations, so that they might avoid her fate by remaining faithful to the belief of their fathers. In any other country than Lower Canada, those who might have employed such means would not perhaps have had an opportunity of seeing their enterprise crowned with success; but in our country districts, where the people believe in ghosts and bugbears, it would almost certainly produce the desired effect. This expedient, instead of being ridiculous, was atrocious. The employment of it could not fail to cause Mrs V-- to suffer the most painful agonies, and her neighbors the torments of doubt.

The credulity of the French-Canadian is the work of the clergy; they invent and relate, in order to excite their piety, the most marvellous things. For example: the priests say that souls in purgatory desiring alleviation come and ask masses of their relatives, either by appearing in the same form they had in life, or by displacing the furniture and making a noise, as long as they have not terminated the expiation of their sins. The Catholic clergy, by supporting these fabulous doctrines and pious lies, lead their flock into the baleful habit of believing things the most absurd and destitute of proof.

The day after Miss V--'s funeral, everybody in the parish was talking of the woeful cries which had been heard the night before near her grave. The inhabitants of the place, imbued with fantastic ideas that their rector had kept alive, were dupes of the artifice employed by some of their own number. They became convinced that there is no safety outside of the church, of which they formed a part. Seized with horror they determined never to pass a night near the grave of the cursed one, as they already called the young Protestant. Mrs. V-- by the instinctive effect of prejudices inculcated when she was a Catholic, was at first a prey to deadly anxiety; but recalling the holy life of her daughter, she no longer doubted of her being among the number of the elect. She guessed at the cause of the noise which was heard near the grave of her child. In order to assure herself of the justness of her suspicions, she besought the two neighbors of whom I have already spoken, to conceal themselves there the following night. These persons were glad of an occasion to test the accuracy of what a curate of their acquaintance had told them; who had asserted that a spirit free from the body could yet manifest itself substantially to the living, as speaking without tongue, touching without hands.

They discovered the man who was paid to play the ghost; they seized him, and in order to punish him, tied him to a tree, at the foot of which Miss V-- was buried. The poor creature the next morning no longer acted the soul in torment, but shouted like a person who very much wanted his breakfast. At noon one of his friends passed by who, hearing him implore assistance, approached and set him free. Overwhelmed with questions and derision, the false ghost confessed he had acted thus only to obtain the reward which had been promised him. You may easily guess that the ridicule and reprobation turned upon those who had made him their instrument.

I will not finish this narrative without telling the reader that the curate of the place appeared much incensed at what his parishioners had done. I am glad to be able to suppose that he condemns rather than encourages such conduct. A Protestant friend of mine who does not entertain the same respect for the Roman clergy that I do, advances the opinion that the displeasure of the curate was not on account of the culpable attempt of some of his flock but on account of its failure. However, I must add, on my reputation as a faithful narrator, that nothing has yet happened to confirm his assertion.

ERASTE D'ORSONNENS.

MONTREAL, September 1855.

APPENDIX II.

CRUELTY OF ROMANISTS.

To show that the Romish priests have in all ages, and do still, inflict upon their victims cruelties quite as severe as anything described in the foregoing pages, and that such cruelties are sanctioned by their code of laws, we have only to turn to the authentic history of the past and present transactions of the high functionaries of Rome.

About the year 1356, Nicholas Eymeric, inquisitor-general of Arragon, collected from the civil and canon laws all that related to the punishment of heretics, and formed the "Directory of Inquisitors," the first and indeed the fundamental code, which has been followed ever since, without any essential variation. "It exhibits the practice and theory of the Inquisition at the time of its sanction by the approbation of Gregory 13th, in 1587, which theory, under some necessary variations of practice, still remains unchanged."

From this "Directory," transcribed by the Rev. Wm. Rule of London, in 1852, we extract a few sentences in relation to torture.

"Torture is inflicted on one who confesses the principal fact, but varies as to circumstances. Also on one who is reputed to be a heretic, but against whom there is only one witness of the fact. In this case common rumor is one indication of guilt, and the direct evidence is another, making altogether but semi-plenar proof. The torture may bring out fall proof. Also, when there is no witness, but vehement suspicion. Also when there is no common report of heresy, but only one witness who has heard or seen something in him contrary to the faith. Any two indications of heresy will justify the use of torture. If you sentence to torture, give him a written notice in the form prescribed; but other means be tried first. Nor is this an infallible means for bringing out the truth. Weak-hearted men, impatient at the first pain, will confess crimes they never committed, and criminate others at the same time. Bold and strong ones will bear the most severe torments. Those who have been on the rack before bear it with more courage, for they know how to adapt their limbs to it, and they resist powerfully. Others, by enchantments, seem to be insensible, and would rather die than confess. These wretches user for incantations, certain passages from the Psalms of David, or other parts of Scripture, which they write on virgin parchment in an extravagant way, mixing them with names of unknown angels, with circles and strange letters, which they wear upon their person. 'I know not,' says Pena, 'how this witchcraft can be remedied, but it will be well to strip the criminals naked, and search them narrowly, before laying them upon the rack.' While the tormentor is getting ready, let the inquisitor and other grave men make fresh attempts to obtain a confession of the truth. Let the tormentors TERRIFY HIM BY ALL MEANS, TO FRIGHTEN HIM INTO CONFESSION. And after he is stripped, let the inquisitor take him aside, and make a last effort. When this has failed, let him be put to the question by torture, beginning with interrogation on lesser points, and advancing to greater. If he stands out, let them show him other instruments of torture, and threaten that he shall suffer them also. If he will not confess; the torture may be continued on the second or third day; but as it is not to be repeated, those successive applications must be called CONTINUATION. And if, after all, he does not confess, he may be set at liberty."

Rules are laid down for the punishment of those who do confess. Innocent IV. commanded the secular judges to put heretics to torture; but that gave occasion to scandalous publicity, and now inquisitors are empowered to do it, and, in case of irregularity (THAT IS, IF THE PERSON DIES IN THEIR HANDS), TO ABSOLVE EACH OTHER. And although nobles were exempt from torture, and in some kingdoms, as Arragon, it was not used in civil tribunals, the inquisitors were nevertheless authorized to torture, without restriction, persons of all classes.

And here we digress from Eymeric and Pena, in order to describe, from additional authority, of what this torture consisted, and probably, still consists, in Italy. Limborch collects this information from Juan de Rojas, inquisitor at Valencia.

"There were five degrees of torment as some counted (Eymeric included), or according to others, three. First, there was terror, including the threatenings of the inquisitor, leading to the place of torture, stripping, and binding; the stripping of their clothing, both men and women, with the substitution of a single tight garment, to cover part of the person--being an outrage of every feeling of decency--and the binding, often as distressing as the torture itself. Secondly came the stretching on the rack, and questions attendant. Thirdly a more severe shock, by the tension and sodden relaxation of the cord, which is sometimes given once, but often twice, thrice, or yet more frequently."

"Isaac Orobio, a Jewish physician, related to Limborch the manner in which he had himself been tortured, when thrown into the inquisition at Seville, on the delation of a Moorish servant, whom he had punished for theft, and of another person similarly offended.

"After having been in the prison of the inquisition for full three years, examined a few times, but constantly refusing to confess the things laid to his charge, he was at length brought out of the cell, and led through tortuous passages to the place of torment. It was near evening. He found himself in a subterranean chamber, rather spacious, arched over, and hung with black cloth. The whole conclave was lighted by candles in sconces on the walls. At one end there was a separate chamber, wherein were an inquisitor and his notary seated at a table. The place, gloomy, intent, and everywhere terrible, seemed to be the very home of death. Hither he was brought, and the inquisitor again exhorted him to tell the truth before the torture should begin. On his answering that he had already told the truth, the inquisitor gravely protested that he was bringing himself to the torture by his own obstinacy; and that if he should suffer loss of blood, or even expire, during the question, the holy office would be blameless. Having thus spoken, the inquisitor left him in the hands of the tormentors, who stripped him, and compressed his body so tightly in a pair of linen drawers, that he could no longer draw breath, and must have died, had they not suddenly relaxed the pressure; but with recovered breathing came pain unutterably exquisite. The anguish being past, they repeated a monition to confess the truth, before the torture, as they said, should begin; and the same was afterwards repeated at each interval.

"As Orobio persisted in denial, they bound his thumbs so tightly with small cords that the blood burst from under the nails, and they were swelled excessively. Then they made him stand against the wall on a small stool, passed cords around various parts of his body, but principally around the arms and legs, and carried them over iron pulleys in the ceiling. The tormentor then pulled the cords with all his strength, applying his feet to the wall, and giving the weight of his body to increase the purchase. With these ligatures his arms and legs, fingers and toes, were so wrung and swollen that he felt as if fire were devouring them. In the midst of this torment the man kicked down the stool which had supported his feet, so that he hung upon the cords with his whole weight, which suddenly increased their tension, and gave indescribable aggravation to his pain. Next followed a new kind of torment. An instrument resembling a small ladder, consisting of two parallel pieces of wood, and five transverse pieces, with the anterior edges sharpened, was placed before him, so that when the tormentor struck it heavily, he received the stroke five times multiplied on each shin bone, producing pain that was absolutely intolerable, and under which he fainted. But no sooner was he revived than they inflicted a new torture. The tormentor tied other cords around his wrists, and having his own shoulders covered with leather, that they might not be chafed, passed round them the rope which was to draw the cords, set his feet against the wall, threw himself back with all his force, and the cords cut through to the bones. This he did thrice, each time changing the position of the cords, leaving a small distance between the successive wounds; but it happened that in pulling the second time they slipped into the first wounds, and caused such a gush of blood that Orobio seemed to be bleeding to death.

"A physician and surgeon, who were in waiting as usual, to give their opinion as to the safety or danger of continuing those operations, that the inquisitors might not commit an irregularity by murdering the patient, were called in. Being friends of the sufferer, they gave their opinion that he had strength enough remaining to bear more. By this means they saved him from a SUSPENSION of the torture, which would have been followed by a repetition, on his recovery, under the pretext of CONTINUATION. The cords were therefore pulled a third time, and this ended the torture. He was dressed in his own clothes, carried back to prison, and, after about seventy days, when the wounds were healed, condemned as one SUSPECTED of Judaism. They could not say CONVICTED, because he had not confessed; but they sentenced him to wear the sambenito [Footnote: This sambenito (Suco bendito or blessed sack,) is a garment (or kind of scapulary according to some writers,) worn by penitents of the least criminal class in the procession of an Auto de Fe, (a solemn ceremony held by the Inquisition for the punishment of heretics,) but sometimes worn as a punishment at other times, that the condemned one might be marked by his neighbors, and ever bear a signal that would affright and scare by the greatness of the punishment and disgrace; a plan, salutary it may be, but very grievous to the offender. It was made of yellow cloth, with a St. Andrew's cross upon it, of red. A rope was sometimes put around the neck as an additional mark of infamy.

"Those who were condemned to be burnt were distinguished by a habit of the same form, called Zamarra, but instead of the red cross were painted flames and devils, and sometimes an ugly portrait of the heretic himself,--a head, with flames under it. Those who had been sentenced to the stake, but indulged with commutation of the penalty, had inverted flames painted on the livery, and this was called fuego revuelto, "inverted fire."

"Upon the head of the condemned was also placed a conical paper cap, about three feet high, slightly resembling a mitre, called corona or crown. This was painted with flames and devils in like manner with the dress.] or penitential habit for two years, and then be banished for life from Seville."

APPENDIX III.

INQUISITION OF GOA--IMPRISONMENT OF M. DELLON, 1673.

"M. Dellon a French traveller, spending some time at Damaun, on the north-western coast of Hindostan, incurred the jealousy of the governor and a black priest, in regard to a lady, as he is pleased to call her, whom they both admired. He had expressed himself rather freely concerning some of the grosser superstitions of Romanism, and thus afforded the priest, who was also secretary of the Inquisition, an occasion of proceeding against him as a heretic. The priest and the governor united in a representation to the chief inquisitor at Goa, which procured an order for his arrest. Like all other persons whom it pleased the inquisitors or their servants to arrest, in any part of the Portuguese dominions beyond the Cape of Good Hope, he was thrown into prison with a promiscuous crowd of delinquents, the place and treatment being of the worst kind, even according to the colonial barbarism of the seventeenth century. To describe his sufferings there, is not to our purpose, inasmuch as all prisoners fared alike, many of them perishing from starvation and disease. Many offenders against the Inquisition were there at the same time,--some accused of Judaism, others, of Paganism--in which sorcery and witchcraft were included--and others of immorality. In a field so wide and so fruitful, the "scrutators" of the faith could not fail to gather abundantly. After an incarceration of at least four months, he and his fellow-sufferers were shipped off for the ecclesiastical metropolis of India, all of them being in irons. The vessel put into Bacaim, and the prisoners were transferred, for some days, to the prison of that town, where a large number of persons were kept in custody, under charge of the commissary of the holy office, until a vessel should arrive to carry them to Goa.

"In due time they were again at sea, and a fair wind wafted their fleet into that port after a voyage of seven days. Until they could be deposited in the cells of the Inquisition with the accustomed formalities, the Archbishop of Goa threw open HIS prison for their reception, which prison, being ecclesiastical, may be deemed worthy of description.

"The most filthy," says Dellon, "the most dark, and the most horrible that I ever saw; and I doubt whether a more shocking and horrible prison can be found anywhere. It is a kind of cave wherein there is no day seen but by a very little hole; the most subtle rays of the sun cannot enter into it, and there is never any true light in it. The stench is extreme. * * *

"On the 16th of January 1674, at eight o'clock in the morning, an officer came with orders to take the prisoners to "the holy house." With considerable difficulty M. Dellon dragged his iron-loaded limbs thither. They helped him to ascend the stairs at the great entrance, and in the hall, smiths were waiting to take off the irons from all the prisoners. One by one, they were summoned to audience. Dellon, who was called the first, crossed the hall, passed through an ante-chamber, and entered a room, called by the Portuguese "board of the holy office," where the grand inquisitor of the Indies sat at one end of a very large table, on an elevated floor in the middle of the chamber. He was a secular priest about forty years of age, in full vigor--a man who could do his work with energy. At one end of the room was a large crucifix, reaching from the floor almost to the ceiling, and near it, sat a notary on a folding stool. At the opposite end, and near the inquisitor, Dellon was placed, and, hoping to soften his judge, fell on his knees before him. But the inquisitor commanded him to rise, asked whether he knew the reason of his arrest, and advised him to declare it at large, as that was the only way to obtain a speedy release. Dellon caught at the hope of release, began to tell his tale, mixed with tears and protestations, again fell at the feet of Don Francisco Delgado Ematos, the inquisitor, and implored his favorable attention. Don Francisco told him, very coolly, that he had other business on hand, and, nothing moved, rang a silver bell. The alcayde entered, led the prisoner out into a gallery, opened, and searched his trunk, stripped him of every valuable, wrote an inventory, assured him that all should be safely kept, and then led him to a cell about ten feet square, and left him there, shut up in utter solitude. In the evening they brought him his first meal, which he ate heartily, and slept a little during the night following. Next morning he learnt that he could have no part of his property, not even a breviary was, in that place, allowed to a priest, for they had no form of religion there, and for that reason he could not have a book. His hair was cropped close; and therefore "he did not need a comb."

"Thus began his acquaintance with the holy house, which he describes as "great and magnificent," on one side of the great space before the church of St Catharine. There were three gates in front; and, it was by the central, or largest, that the prisoners entered, and mounted a stately flight of steps, leading into the great hall. The side gates provided entrance to spacious ranges of apartments, belonging to the inquisitors. Behind the principal building, was another, very spacious, two stories high, and consisting of double rows of cells, opening into galleries that ran from end to end. The cells on the ground-floor were very small, without any aperture from without for light or air. Those of the upper story were vaulted, white-washed, had a small strongly grated window, without glass, and higher than the tallest man could reach. Towards the gallery every cell was shut with two doors, one on the inside, the other one outside of the wall. The inner door folded, was grated at the bottom, opened towards the top for the admission of food and was made fast with very strong bolts. The outer door was not so thick, had no window, but was left open from six o'clock every morning until eleven--a necessary arrangement in that climate, unless it were intended to destroy life by suffocation.

"To each prisoner was given as earthen pot with water wherewith to wash, another full of water to drink, with a cup; a broom, a mat whereon to lie, and a large basin with a cover, changed every fourth day. The prisoners had three meals a day; and their health so far as food could contribute to it in such a place, was cared for in the provision of a wholesome, but spare diet. Physicians were at hand to render all necessary assistance to the sick, as were confessors, ready to wait upon the dying; but they gave no viaticum, performed no unction, said no mass. The place was under an impenetrable interdict. If any died, and that many did die is beyond question, his death was unknown to all without; he was buried within the walls without any sacred ceremony; and if, after death, he was found to have died in heresy, his bones were taken up at the next Auto, to be burned. Unless there happened to be an unusual number of prisoners, each one was alone in his own cell. He might not speak, nor groan, nor sob aloud, nor sigh. [Footnote: Limborch relates that on one occasion, a poor prisoner was heard to cough; the jailer of the Inquisition instantly repaired to him, and warned him to forbear, as the slightest noise was not tolerated in that house. The poor man replied that it was not in his power to forbear; a second time they admonished him to desist; and when again, unable to do otherwise, he repeated the offence, they stripped him naked, and cruelly beat him. This increased his cough, for which they beat him so often, that at last he died through pain and anguish of the stripes he had received.] His breathing might be audible when the guard listened at the grating, but nothing more. Four guards were stationed in each long gallery, open, indeed, at each end, but awfully silent, as if it were the passage of a catacomb. If, however, he wanted anything, he might tap at the inner door, when a jailer would come to hear the request, and would report to the alcayde, but was not permitted to answer. If one of the victims, in despair, or pain, or delirium, attempted to pronounce a prayer, even to God, or dared to utter a cry, the jailers would run to the cell, rush in, and beat him cruelly, for terror to the rest. Once in two months the inquisitor, with a secretary and an interpreter, visited the prisons, and asked each prisoner if he wanted anything, if his meat was regularly brought, and if he had any complaint against the jailers. His want after all lay at the mercy of the merciless. His complaint, if uttered, would bring down vengeance, rather than gain redress. But in this visitation the holy office professed mercy with much formality, and the inquisitorial secretary collected notes which aided in the crimination, or in the murder of their victims.

"The officers of Goa were;--the inquisidor mor or grand inquisitor, who was always a secular priest; the second inquisitor, Dominican friar; several deputies, who came, when called for, to assist the inquisitors at trials, but never entered without such a summons; qualifiers, as usual, to examine books and writings, but never to witness an examination of the living, or be present at any act of the kind; a fiscal; a procurator; advocates, so called, for the accused; notaries and familiars. The authority of this tribunal was absolute in Goa. There does not appear to have been anything peculiar in the manner of examining and torturing at Goa where the practice coincided with that of Portugal and Spain.

"The personal narrative of Dellon affords a distinct exemplification of the sufferings of the prisoners. He had been told that, when he desired an audience, he had only to call a jailer, and ask it, when it would be allowed him. But, notwithstanding many tears and entreaties, he could not obtain one until fifteen days had passed away. Then came the alcayde and one of his guards. This alcayde walked first out of the cell; Dellon uncovered and shorn, and with legs and feet bare, followed him; the guard walked behind. The alcayde just entered the place of audience, made a profound reverence, stepped back and allowed his charge to enter. The door closed, and Dellon remained alone with the inquisitor and secretary. He knelt; but Don Fernando sternly bade him to sit on a bench, placed there for the use of the culprits. Near him, on a table, lay a missal, on which they made him lay his hand, and swear to keep secrecy, and tell them the truth. They asked if he knew the cause of his imprisonment, and whether he was resolved to confess it. He told them all he could recollect of unguarded sayings at Damaun, either in argument or conversation, without ever, that he knew, contradicting, directly or indirectly, any article of faith. He had, at some time dropped an offensive word concerning the Inquisition, but so light a word, that it did not occur to his remembrance. Don Fernando told him he had done well in ACCUSING HIMSELF so willingly, and exhorted him in the name of Jesus Christ, to complete his self accusation fully, to the end that he might experience the goodness and mercy which were used in that tribunal towards those who showed true repentance by a sincere and UNFORCED confession. The secretary read aloud the confession and exhortation, Dellon signed it, Don Fernando rang a silver bell, the alcayde walked in, and, in a few moments, the disappointed victim was again in his dungeon.

"At the end of another fortnight, and without having asked for it, he was again taken to audience. After a repetition of the former questions, he was asked his name, surname, baptism, confirmation, place of abode, in what parish? in what diocess? under what bishop? They made him kneel, and make the sign of the cross, repeat the Pater Noster, Hail Mary, creed, commandments of God, commandments of the church, and Salve Begins. He did it all very cleverly, and even to their satisfaction; but the grand inquisitor exhorted him, by the tender mercies of our Lord Jesus Christ, to confess without delay, and sent him to the cell again. His heart sickened. They required him to do what was impossible--to confess more, after he had acknowledged ALL. In despair, he tried to starve himself to death; 'but they compelled him to take food.' Day and night he wept, and at length betook himself to prayer, imploring pity of the 'blessed Virgin,' whom he imagined to be, of all beings, the most merciful, and the most ready to give him help.

"At the end of a month, he succeeded in obtaining another audience, and added to his former confessions what he had remembered, for the first time, touching the Inquisition. But they told him that that was not what they wanted, and sent him back again. This was intolerable. In a frenzy of despair he determined to commit suicide, if possible. Feigning sickness, be obtained a physician who treated him for a fever, and ordered him to be bled. Never calmed by any treatment of the physician, blood-letting was repeated often, and each time he untied the bandage, when left alone, hoping to die from loss of blood, but death fled from him. A humane Franciscan came to confess him, and, hearing his tale of misery, gave him kind words, asked permission to divulge his attempt at self-destruction to the inquisitor, procured him a mitigation of solitude by the presence of a fellow-prisoner, a negro, accused of magic; but, after five months, the negro was removed, and his mind, broken with suffering, could no longer bear up under the aggravated load. By an effort of desperate ingenuity he almost succeeded in committing suicide, and a jailer found him weltering in his blood and insensible. Having restored him by cordials, and bound up his wounds, they carried him into the presence of the inquisitor once more; where he lay on the floor, being unable to sit, heard bitter reproaches, had his limbs confined in irons, and was thus carried back to a punishment that seemed more terrible than death. In fetters he became so furious, that they found it necessary to take them off, and, from that time, his examinations assumed another character, as he defended his positions with citations from the Council of Trent, and with some passages of scripture, which he explained in the most Romish sense, discovering a depth of ignorance in Don Fernando that was truly surprising. That 'grand Inquisitor,' had never heard the passage which Dellon quoted to prove the doctrine of baptismal regeneration, 'Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.' Neither did he know anything of that famous passage in the twenty-fifth session of the Council of Trent, which declares that images are only to be reverenced on account of the persons whom they represent. He called for a Bible, and for the acts of the council, and was evidently surprised when he found them where Dellon told him they might be seen.

"The time for a general auto drew near. During the months of November and December, 1675, he heard every morning the cries of persons under torture, and afterwards saw many of them, both men and women, lame and distorted by the rack. On Sunday January 11th, 1676, he was surprised by the jailer refusing to receive his linen to be washed--Sunday being washing-day in the 'holy house.' While perplexing himself to think what that could mean, the cathedral bells rang for vespers, and then, contrary to custom, rang again for matins. He could only account for that second novelty by supposing that an auto would be celebrated the next day. They brought him supper, which he refused, and, contrary to their wont at all other times, they did not insist on his taking it, but carried it away. Assured that those were all portents of the horrible catastrophe, and reflecting on often-repeated threats in the audience chamber that he should be burnt, he gave himself up to death, and overwhelmed with sorrow, fell asleep a little before midnight.

"Scarcely had he fallen asleep when the alcayde and guards entered the cell, with great noise, bringing a lamp, for the first time since his imprisonment that they had allowed a lamp to shine there. The alcayde, laying down a suit of clothes, bade him put them on, and be ready to go out when he came again. At two o'clock in the morning they returned, and he issued from the cell, clad in a black vest and trowsers, striped with white, and his feet bare. About two hundred prisoners, of whom he was one, were made to sit on the floor, along the sides of a spacious gallery, all in the same black livery, and just visible by the gleaming of a few lamps. A large company of women were also ranged in a neighboring gallery in like manner. But they were all motionless, and no one knew his doom. Every eye was fixed, and each one seemed benumbed with misery.

"A third company Dellon perceived in a room not far distant, but they were walking about, and some appeared to have long habits. Those were persons condemned to be delivered to the secular arm, and the long habits distinguished confessors busily collecting confessions in order to commute that penalty for some other scarcely less dreadful. At four o'clock, servants of the house came, with guards, and gave bread and figs to those who would accept the refreshment. One of the guards gave Dellon some hope of life by advising him to take what was offered, which he had refused to do. 'Take your bread,' said the man, 'and if you cannot eat it now, put it in your pocket; you will be certainly hungry before you return.' This gave hope, that he should not end the day at the stake, but come back to undergo penance.

"A little before sunrise, the great bell of the cathedral tolled, and its sound soon aroused the city of Goa. The people ran into the streets, lining the chief thoroughfares, and crowding every place whence a view could be had of the procession. Day broke, and Dellon saw the faces of his fellow-prisoners, most of whom were Indians. He could only distinguish, by their complexion, about twelve Europeans. Every countenance exhibited shame, fear, grief, or an appalling blackness of apathy, AS IF DIRE SUFFERING IN THE LIGHTLESS DUNGEONS UNDERNEATH HAD BEREFT THEM OF INTELLECT. The company soon began to move, but slowly, as one by one the alcayde led them towards the door of the great hall, where the grand inquisitor sat, and his secretary called the name of each as he came, and the name of a sponsor, who also presented himself from among a crowd of the bettermost inhabitants of Goa, assembled there for that service. 'The general of the Portuguese ships in the Indies' had the honor of placing himself beside our Frenchman. As soon as the procession was formed, it marched off in the usual order.

"First, the Dominicans, honored with everlasting precedence on all such occasions, led the way. Singing-boys also preceded, chanting a litany. The banner of the Inquisition was intrusted to their hands. After the banner walked the penitents--a penitent and a sponsor, two and two. A cross bearer brought up the train, carrying a crucifix aloft, turned towards them, in token of pity; and, on looking along the line, you might have seen another priest going before the penitents with a crucifix turned backwards, inviting their devotions. They to whom the Inquisition no longer afforded mercy, walked behind the penitents, and could only see an averted crucifix. These were condemned to be burnt alive at the stake! On this occasion there were but two of this class, but sometimes a large number were sentenced to this horrible death, and presented to the spectator a most pitiable spectacle. Many of them bore upon their persons the marks of starvation, torture, terror, and heart-rending grief. Some faces were bathed in tears, while others came forth with a smile of conquest on the countenance and words of triumphant faith bursting from the lips. These, however, were known as dogmatizers, and were generally gagged, the month being filled with a piece of wood kept in by a strong leather band fastened behind the head, and the arms tied together behind the back. Two armed familiars walked or rode beside each of these, and two ecclesiastics, or some other clerks or regulars, also attended. After these, the images of heretics who had escaped were carried aloft, to be thrown into the flames; and porters came last, tagging under the weight of boxes containing the disinterred bodies on which the execution of the church had fallen, and which were also to be burnt.

"Poor Dellon went barefoot, like the rest, through the streets of Goa, rough with little flint stones scattered about, and sorely were his feet wounded during an hour's march up and down the principal streets. Weary, covered with shame and confusion, the long train of culprits entered the church of St. Francis, where preparation was made for the auto, the climate of India not permitting a celebration of that solemnity under the burning sky. They sat with their sponsors, in the galleries prepared, sambenitos, grey zamarras with painted flames and devils, corozas, tapers, and all the other paraphernalia of an auto, made up a woeful spectacle. The inquisitor and other personages having taken their seats of state, the provincial of the Augustinians mounted the pulpit and delivered the sermon. Dellon preserved but one note of it. The preacher compared the Inquisition to Noah's ark, which received all sorts of beasts WILD, but sent them out TAME. The appearance of hundreds who had been inmates of that ark certainly justified the figure.

"After the sermon, two readers went up, one after the other, into the same pulpit, and, between them, they read the processes and pronounced the sentences, the person standing before them, with the alcayde, and holding a lighted taper in his hand. Dellon, in turn, heard the cause of his long-suffering. He had maintained the invalidity of baptismus flaminis, or desire to be baptised, when there is no one to administer the rite of baptism by water. He had said that images ought not to be adored, and that an ivory crucifix was a piece of ivory. He had spoken contemptuously of the Inquisition. And, above all, he had an ill intention. His punishment was to be confiscation of his property, banishment from India, and five years' service in the galleys in Portugal, with penance, as the inquisitors might enjoin. As all the prisoners were excommunicate, the inquisitor, after the sentence had been pronounced, put on his alb and stole, walked into the middle of the church, and absolved them all at once. Dellon's sponsor, who would not even answer him before, when he spoke, now embraced him, called him brother, and gave him a pinch of snuff, in token of reconciliation.

"But there were two persons, a man and a woman, for whom the church had no more that they could do; and these, with four dead bodies, and the effigies of the dead, were taken to be burnt on the Campo Santo Lazaro, on the river side, the place appointed for that purpose, that the viceroy might see justice done on the heretics, as he surveyed the execution from his palace-windows."

The remainder of Dellon's history adds nothing to what we have already heard of the Inquisition. He was taken to Lisbon, and, after working in a gang of convicts for some time, was released on the intercession of some friends in France with the Portuguese government. With regard to his despair, and attempts to commit suicide, when in the holy house, we may observe that, as he states, suicide was very frequent there. The contrast of his disconsolate impatience with the resignation and constancy of Christian confessors in similar circumstances, is obvious. As a striking illustration of the difference between those who suffer without a consciousness of divine favor, and those who rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory, we would refer the reader to that noble band of martyrs who suffered death at the stake, at the Auto held in Seville, on Sunday, September 24, 1559. At that time twenty-one were burnt, followed by one effigy, and eighteen penitents, who were released.

"One of the former was Don Juan Gonzales, Presbyter of Seville, an eminent preacher. With admirable constancy he refused to make any declaration, in spite of the severe torture, saying that he had not followed any erroneous opinions, but that he had drawn his faith from the holy Scriptures; and for this faith he pleaded to his tormentors in the words of inspiration. He maintained that he was not a heretic, but a Christian, and absolutely refused to divulge anything that would bring his brethren into trouble. Two sisters of his were also brought out to this Auto, and displayed equal faith. They would confess Christ, they said, and suffer with their brother, whom they revered as a wise and holy man. They were all tied to stakes on the quemadero, a piece of pavement, without the walls of the city, devoted to the single use of burning human victims. Sometimes this quemadero [Footnote: Llorente, the historian of the Spanish Inquisition, says, "So many persons were to be put to death by fire, the governor of Seville caused a permanent raised platform of masonry to be constructed outside the city, which has lasted to our time (until the French revolution) retaining its name of Quemadero, or burning-place, and at the four corners four large hollow stalutes of limestone, within which they used to place the impenitent alive, that they might die by slow fires."] was a raised platform of stone, adorned with pillows or surrounded with statues, to distinguish and beautify the spot. Just as the fire was lit, the gag, which had hitherto silenced Don Juan, was removed, and as the flames burst from the fagots, he said to his sisters, 'Let us sing, Deus laudem meam ne tacueris.' And they sang together, while burning, 'Hold not thy peace, O God of my praise; for the mouth of the wicked and the mouth of the deceitful are opened against me: they have spoken against me with a lying tongue.' Thus they died in the faith of Christ, and of his holy gospel."

APPENDIX IV.

INQUISITION OF GOA, CONCLUDED.

The Inquisition of Goa continued its Autos for a century after the affair of Dellon. In the summer of 1808, Dr. Claudius Buchanan visited that city, and had been unexpectedly invited by Joseph a Doloribus, second and most active inquisitor, to lodge with him during his visit. Not without some surprise, Dr. Buchanan found himself, heretic, schismatic, and rebel as he was, politely entertained by so dread a personage. Regarding his English visitor merely as a literary man, or professing to do so, Friar Joseph, himself well educated, seemed to enjoy his company, and was unreservedly communicative on every subject not pertaining to his own vocation. When that subject was first introduced by an apparently incidental question, he did not hesitate to return the desired information, telling Dr. Buchanan that the establishment was nearly as extensive as in former times. In the library of the chief inquisitor he saw a register containing the names of all the officers, who still were numerous.

On the second evening after his arrival, the doctor was surprised to see his host come from his apartment, clothed in black robes from head to foot, instead of white, the usual color of his order (Augustinian). He said that he was going to sit on the tribunal of the holy office, and it transpired that, so far from his "august office" not occupying much of his time, he had to sit there three or four days every week. After his return, in the evening, the doctor put Dellon's book into his hand, asking him if he had ever seen it. He had never seen it before, and, after reading aloud and slowly, "Relation de l'Inquisition de Goa," began to peruse it with eagerness.

While Dr. Buchanan employed himself in writing, Friar Joseph devoured page after page; but as the narrative proceeded, betrayed evident symptoms of uneasiness. He then turned to the middle, looked at the end, skimmed over the table of contents, fixed on its principal passages, and at one place exclaimed, in his broad Italian accent, "Mendacium! mendacium.'" The doctor requested him to mark the passages that were untrue, proposed to discuss them afterwards, and said he had other books on the subject. The mention of other books startled him; he looked up anxiously at some books on the table, and then gave himself up to the perusal of Dellon's "Relation," until bedtime. Even then, he asked permission to take it to his chamber.

The doctor had fallen asleep under the roof of the inquisitor's convent, confident, under God, in the protection at that time guaranteed to a British subject, his servants sleeping in the gallery outside the chamber-door. About midnight, he was waked by loud shrieks and expressions of terror from some one in the gallery. In the first moment of surprise, he concluded it must be the alguazils of the holy office seizing his servants to carry them to the Inquisition. But, on going out, he saw the servants standing at the door, and the person who had caused the alarm, a boy of about fourteen, at a little distance, surrounded by some of the priests, who had come out of their cells on hearing the noise. The boy said he had seen a spectre; and it was a considerable time before the agitations of his body and voice subsided. Next morning at breakfast, the inquisitor apologized for the disturbance, and said the boy's alarm proceeded from a phantasma animi,--phantom of the imagination.

It might have been so. Phantoms might well haunt such a place. As to Dellon's book, the inquisitor acknowledged that the descriptions were just; but complained that he had misjudged the motives of the inquisitors, and written uncharitably of Holy Church. Their conversation grew earnest, and the inquisitor was anxious to impress his visitor with the idea that the Inquisition had undergone a change in some respects, and that its terrors were mitigated. At length Dr. Buchanan plainly requested to see the Inquisition, that he might judge for himself as to the humanity shown to the inmates,--according to the inquisitor,--and gave, as a reason why he should be satisfied, his interest in the affairs of India, on which he had written, and his purpose to write on them again, in which case he could scarcely be silent concerning the Inquisition. The countenance of his host fell; but, after some further observations, he reluctantly promised to comply. Next morning, after breakfast, Joseph a Doloribus went to dress for the holy office, and soon returned in his black robes. He said he would go half an hour before the usual time, for the purpose of showing him the Inquisition. The doctor fancied he looked more severe than usual, and that his attendants were not as civil as before. But the truth was, that the midnight scene still haunted him. They had proceeded in their palanquins to the holy house, distant about a quarter of a mile from the convent, and the inquisitor said as they were ascending the steps of the great entrance, that he hoped the doctor would be satisfied with a transient view of the Inquisition, and would retire when he should desire him to do so. The doctor followed with tolerable confidence, towards the great hall aforementioned, where they were met by several well-dressed persons, familiars, as it afterwards appeared, who bowed very low to the inquisitor, and looked with surprise at the stranger. Dr. Buchanan paced the hall slowly, and in thoughtful silence; the inquisitor thoughtful too, silent and embarrassed. A multitude of victims seemed to haunt the place, and the doctor could not refrain from breaking silence. "Would not the Holy Church wish, in her mercy, to have those souls back again, that she might allow them a little further probation?" The inquisitor answered nothing, but beckoned him to go with him to a door at one end of the hall. By that door he conducted him to some small rooms, and thence, to the spacious apartments of the chief inquisitor. Having surveyed those, he brought him back again to the great hall, and seemed anxious that the troublesome visitor should depart; but only the very words of Dr. B. can adequately describe the close of this extraordinary interview."

"Now, father," said I, "lead me to the dungeons below: I want to see the captives." "No," said he, "that cannot be." I now began to suspect that it had been in the mind of the inquisitor, from the beginning, to show me only a certain part of the Inquisition, in the hope of satisfying my inquiries in a general way. I urged him with earnestness; but he steadily resisted, and seemed offended, or, rather, agitated, by my importunity. I intimated to him plainly, that the only way to do justice to his own assertion and arguments regarding the present state of the Inquisition, was to show me the prisons and the captives. I should then describe only what I saw; but now the subject was left in awful obscurity. "Lead me down," said I, "to the inner building, and let me pass through the two hundred dungeons, ten feet square, described by your former captives. Let me count the number of your present captives, and converse with them. I WANT, TO SEE IF THERE BE ANY SUBJECTS OF THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT, TO WHOM WE OWE PROTECTION. I want to ask how long they have been there, how long it is since they have seen the light of the sun, and whether they ever expect to see it again. Show me the chamber of torture, and declare what modes of execution or punishment are now practiced inside the walls of the Inquisition, in lieu of the public Auto de Fe. If, after all that has passed, father, you resist this reasonable request, I should be justified in believing that you are afraid of exposing the real state of the Inquisition in India."

To these observations the inquisitor made no reply; but seemed impatient that I should withdraw. "My good father," said I; "I am about to take my leave of you, and to thank you for your hospitable attentions; and I wish to preserve on my mind a favorable sentiment of your kindness and candor. You cannot, you say, show me the captives and the dungeons; be pleased, then, merely to answer this question, for I shall believe your word: how many prisoners are there now below in the cells of the Inquisition?" He replied, "That is a question which I cannot answer." On his pronouncing these words, I retired hastily towards the door, and wished him farewell. We shook hands with as much cordiality as we could, at the moment, assume; and both of us, I believe, were sorry that our parting took place with a clouded countenance.

After leaving the inquisitor, Dr. Buchanan, feeling as if he could not refrain from endeavoring to get another and perhaps a nearer view, returned to avail himself of the pretext afforded by a promise from the chief inquisitor, of a letter to one of the British residents at Travancore, in answer to one which he had brought him from that officer. The inquisitors he expected to find within, in the "board of the holy office." The door-keepers surveyed him doubtfully, but allowed him to pass. He entered the great hall, went up directly to the lofty crucifix described by Dellon, sat down on a form, wrote some notes, and then desired an attendant to carry in his name to the inquisitor. As he was walking across the hall, he saw a poor woman sitting by the wall. She clasped her hands, and looked at him imploringly. The sight chilled his spirits; and as he was asking the attendants the cause of her apprehension,--for she was awaiting trial,--Joseph a Doloribus came, in answer to his message, and was about to complain of the intrusion, when he parried the complaint by asking for the letter from the chief inquisitor. He promised to send it after him, and conducted him to the door. As they passed the poor woman, the doctor pointed to her, and said with emphasis, "Behold, father, another victim of the Holy Inquisition." The other answered nothing; they bowed, and separated without a word.

When Dr. Buchanan published his "Christian Researches in Asia," in the year 1812, the Inquisition still existed at Goa; but the establishment of constitutional government in Portugal, put an end to it throughout the whole Portuguese dominions.

APPENDIX V.

INQUISITION AT MACERATA, ITALY. NARRATIVE OF MR. BOWER. METH. MAG. THIRD VOL.

I never pretended that it was for the sake of religion alone, that I left Italy, On the contrary, I have often declared, that, had I never belonged to the Inquisition, I should have gone on, as most Roman Catholics do, without ever questioning the truth of the religion I was brought up in, or thinking of any other. But the unheard of cruelties of that hellish tribunal shocked me beyond all expression, and rendered me,--as I was obliged, by my office of Counsellor, to be accessary to them,--one of the most unhappy men upon earth. I therefore began to think of resigning my office; but as I had on several occasions, betrayed some weakness as they termed it, that is, some compassion and humanity, and had upon that account been reprimanded by the Inquisitor, I was well apprized that my resignation would be ascribed by him to my disapproving the proceedings of the holy tribunal. And indeed, to nothing else could it be ascribed, as a place at that board was a sure way to preferment, and attended with great privileges, and a considerable salary. Being, therefore, sensible how dangerous a thing it would be to give the least ground for any suspicions of that nature, and no longer able to bear the sight of the many barbarities practised almost daily within those walls, nor the reproaches of my conscience for being accessary to them, I determined, after many restless nights, and much deliberation, to withdraw at the same time from the Inquisition, and from Italy. In this mind, and in the most unhappy and tormenting situation that can possibly be imagined, I continued near a twelve-month, not able to prevail on myself to execute the resolution I had taken on account of the many dangers which I foresaw would inevitably attend it, and the dreadful consequences of my failing in the attempt. But, being in the mean time ordered by the Inquisitor, to apprehend a person with whom I had lived in the greatest intimacy and friendship, the part I was obliged to act on that occasion, left so deep an impression on my mind as soon prevailed over all my fears, and made me determine to put into execution, at all events, and without delay, the design I had formed. Of that transaction I shall give a particular account, as it will show in a very strong light the nature and proceedings of that horrid court.

The person whom the Inquisitor appointed me to apprehend was Count Vicenzo della Torre, descended from an illustrious family in Germany, and possessed of a very considerable estate in the territory of Macerata. He was one of my very particular friends, and had lately married the daughter of Signior Constantini, of Fermo, a lady no less famous for her good sense than her beauty. With her family too, I had contracted an intimate acquaintance, while Professor of Rhetoric in Fermo, and had often attended the Count during his courtship, from Macerata to Fermo, but fifteen miles distant. I therefore lived with both in the greatest friendship and intimacy; and the Count was the only person that lived with me, after I was made Counsellor of the Inquisition, upon the same free footing as he had done till that time. My other friends had grown shy of me, and gave me plainly to understand that they no longer cared for my company.

As this unhappy young gentleman was one day walking with another, he met two Capuchin friars, and turning to his companion, when they had passed, "what fools," said he, "are these, to think they shall gain heaven by wearing sackcloth and going barefoot! Fools indeed, if they think so, or that there is any merit in tormenting one's self; they might as well live as we do, and they would get to heaven quite as soon." Who informed against him, whether the friars, his companion, or somebody else, I know not; for the inquisitors never tell the names of informers to the Counsellors, nor the names of the witnesses, lest they should except against them. It is to be observed, that all who hear any proposition that appears to them repugnant to, or inconsistent with the doctrines of holy mother church, are bound to reveal it to the Inquisitor, and also to discover the person by whom it was uttered; and, in this affair no regard is to be had to any ties, however sacred. The brother being bound to accuse the brother, the father the son, the son the father, the wife her husband, and the husband his wife; and all bound on pain of eternal damnation, and of being treated as accomplices if they do not denounce in a certain time; and no confessor can absolve a person who has heard anything said in jest or in earnest, against the belief or practice of the church, till that person has informed the Inquisitor of it, and given him all the intelligence he can concerning the person by whom it was spoken.

Whoever it was that informed against my unhappy friend, whether the friars, his companion, or somebody else who might have overheard him, the Inquisitor acquainted the board one night, (for to be less observed, they commonly meet, out of Rome, in the night) that the above mentioned propositions had been advanced, and advanced gravely, at the sight of two poor Capuchins; that the evidence was unexceptionable; and that they were therefore met to determine the quality of the proposition, and proceed against the delinquent.

There are in each Inquisition twelve Counsellors, viz: four Divines, four Canonists, and four Civilians. It is chiefly the province of the divines to determine the quality of the proposition, whether it is heretical, or only savors of heresy; whether it is blasphemous and injurious to God and His saints or only erroneous, rash, schismatical, or offensive to pious ears. The part of the proposition, "Fools! if they think there is any merit in tormenting one's self," was judged and declared heretical, as openly contradicting the doctrine and practice of holy mother church recommending austerities as highly meritorious. The Inquisitor observed, on this occasion, that by the proposition, "Fools indeed" &c., were taxing with folly, not only the holy fathers, who had all to a man practised great austerities, but St. Paul himself as the Inquisitor understood it, adding that the practice of whipping one's self, so much recommended by all the founders of religious orders, was borrowed of the great apostle of the gentiles.

The proposition being declared heretical, it was unanimously agreed by the board that the person who had uttered it should be apprehended, and proceeded against agreeably to the laws of the Inquisition. And now the person was named; for, till it is determined whether the accused person should or should not be apprehended, his name is kept concealed from the counsellors, lest they should be biased, says the directory, in his favor, or against him. For, in many instances, they keep up an appearance of justice and equity, at the same time that, in truth, they act in direct opposition to all the known laws of justice and equity. No words can express the concern and astonishment it gave me to hear, on such an occasion, the name of a friend for whom I had the greatest esteem and regard. The Inquisitor was apprised of it; and to give me an opportunity of practising what he had so often recommended to me, viz. conquering nature with the assistance of grace, he appointed me to apprehend the criminal, as he styled him, and to lodge him safe, before daylight, in the prison of the holy inquisition. I offered to excuse myself, but with the greatest submission, from being in any way concerned in the execution of that order; an order, I said, which I entirely approved of, but only wished it might be put in execution by some other person; for your lordship knows, I said, the connection. But the Inquisitor shocked at the word, said with a stern look and angry tone of voice, "What! talk of connections where the faith is concerned? There is your guard," (pointing to the Sbirri or bailiffs in waiting) "let the criminal be secured in St. Luke's cell," (one of the worst,) "before three in the morning." He then withdrew, and as he passed me said, "Thus, nature is conquered." I had betrayed some weakness or sense of humanity, not long before, in fainting away while I attended the torture of one who was racked with the utmost barbarity, and I had on that occasion been reprimanded by the Inquisitor for suffering nature to get the better of grace; it being an inexcusable weakness, as he observed, to be in any degree affected with the suffering of the body, however great, when afflicted, as they ever are in the Holy Inquisition, for the good of the soul. And it was, I presume, to make trial of the effect of that reprimand, that the execution of this cruel order was committed to me. As I could by no possible means decline it, I summoned all my resolution, after passing an hour by myself, I may say in the agonies of death, and set out a little after two in the morning for my unhappy friend's house, attended by a notary of the Inquisition, and six armed Sbirri. We arrived at the house by different ways and knocking at the door, a maid-servant looked out of the window, and asked who knocked. "The Holy Inquisition," was the answer, and at the same time she was ordered to awake nobody, but to come down directly and open the door, on pain of excommunication. At these words, the servant hastened down, half naked as she was, and having with much ado, in her great fright, opened the door, she conducted us as she was ordered to her master's chamber. She often looked very earnestly at me, as she knew me, and showed a great desire to speak with me; but of her I durst take no kind of notice. I entered the bed-chamber with the notary, followed by the Sbirri, when the lady awakening at the noise, and seeing the bed surrounded by armed men, screamed out aloud and continued screaming as out of her senses, till one of the Sbirri, provoked at the noise gave her a blow on the forehead that made the blood flow, and she swooned away. I rebuked the fellow severely, and ordered him to be whipped as soon as I returned to the Inquisition.

In the mean time, the husband awakening, and seeing me with my attendants, cried out, in the utmost surprise, "MR. BOWER!" He said no more, nor could I for some time utter a single word; and it was with much ado that, in the end I so far mastered my grief as to be able to let my unfortunate friend know that he was a prisoner of the Holy Inquisition. "Of the Holy Inquisition!" he replied. "Alas I what have I done? My dear friend, be my friend now." He said many affecting things; but as I knew it was not in my power to befriend him, I had not the courage to look him in the face, but turning my back to him, withdrew, while he dressed, to a corner of the room, to give vent to my grief. The notary stood by, quite unaffected. Indeed, to be void of all humanity, to be able to behold one's fellow-creatures groaning under the most exquisite torments cruelty can invent, without being in the least affected with their sufferings, is one of the chief qualifications of an inquisitor, and what all who belong to the Inquisition must strive to attain to. It often happens, at that infernal tribunal, that while the unhappy, and probably innocent, person is crying out in their presence on the rack, and begging by all that is sacred for one moment's relief, in a manner one would think no human heart could withstand, it often happens, I say, that the inquisitor and the rest of his infamous crew, quite unaffected with his complaints, and deaf to his groans, to his tears and entreaties, are entertaining one another with the news of the town; nay, sometimes they even insult, with unheard of barbarity, the unhappy wretches in the height of their torment.

To return to my unhappy prisoner. He was no sooner dressed than I ordered the Bargello, or head of the Sbirri, to tie his hands with a cord behind his back, as is practised on such occasions without distinction of persons; no more regard being paid to men of the first rank, when charged with heresy, than to the meanest offender. Heresy dissolves all friendship; so that I durst no longer look upon the man with whom I had lived in the greatest friendship and intimacy as my friend, or show him, on that account, the least regard or indulgence.

As we left the chamber, the countess, who had been conveyed out of the room, met us, and screaming out in the most pitiful manner upon seeing her husband with his hands tied behind his back like a thief or robber, flew to embrace him, and hanging on his neck, begged, with a flood of tears, we would be so merciful as to put an end to her life, that she might have the satisfaction--the only satisfaction she wished for in this world, of dying in the bosom of the man from whom she had vowed never to part. The count, overwhelmed with grief, did not utter a single word. I could not find it in my heart, nor was I in a condition to interpose; and indeed a scene of greater distress was never beheld by human eyes. However, I gave a signal to the notary to part them, which he did accordingly, quite unconcerned; but the countess fell into a swoon, and the count was meantime carried down stairs, and out of the house, amid the loud lamentations and sighs of his servants, on all sides, for he was a man remarkable for the sweetness of his temper, and his kindness to all around him.

Being arrived at the Inquisition, I consigned my prisoner into the hands of a gaoler, a lay brother of St. Dominic, who shut him up in the dungeon above-mentioned, and delivered the key to me. I lay that night at the palace of the Inquisition, where every counsellor has a room, and returned next morning the key to the inquisitor, telling him that his order had been punctually complied with. The inquisitor had been already informed of my conduct by the notary, and therefore, upon my delivering the key to him, he said, "You have acted like one who is at least desirous to overcome, with the assistance of grace, the inclinations of nature;" that is, like one who is desirous, by the assistance of grace, to metamorphose himself from a human creature into a brute or a devil.

In the Inquisition, every prisoner is kept the first week of his imprisonment in a dark narrow dungeon, so low that he cannot stand upright in it, without seeing anybody but the gaoler, who brings him, EVERY OTHER DAY, his portion of bread and water, the only food allowed him. This is done, they say, to tame him, and render him, thus weakened, more sensible of the torture, and less able to endure it. At the end of the week, he is brought in the night before the board to be examined; and on that occasion my poor friend appeared so altered, in a week's time, that, had it not been for his dress, I should not have known him. And indeed no wonder; a change of condition so sudden and unexpected; the unworthy and barbarous treatment he had already met with; the apprehension of what he might and probably should suffer; and perhaps, more than anything else, the distressed and forlorn condition of his once happy wife, whom he tenderly loved, whose company he had enjoyed only six months, could be attended with no other effect.

Being asked, according to custom, whether he had any enemies, and desired to name them, he answered, that he bore enmity to no man, and he hoped no man bore enmity to him. For, as in the Inquisition the person accused is not told of the charge brought against him, nor of the person by whom it is brought, the inquisitor asks him if he has any enemies, and desires him to name them. If he names the informer, all further proceedings are stopped until the informer is examined anew; and if the information is found to proceed from ill-will and no collateral proof can be produced, the prisoner is discharged. Of this piece of justice they frequently boast, at the same time that they admit, both as informers and witnesses, persons of the most infamous characters, and such as are excluded by all other courts. In the next place, the prisoner is ordered to swear that he will declare the truth, and conceal nothing from the holy tribunal, concerning himself or others, that he knows and the holy tribunal desires to know. He is then interrogated for what crime he has been apprehended and imprisoned by the Holy Court of the Inquisition, of all courts the most equitable, the most cautious, the most merciful. To that interrogatory the count answered, with a faint and trembling voice, that he was not conscious to himself of any crime, cognizable by the Holy Court, nor indeed by any other; that he believed and ever had believed whatever holy mother church believed or required him to believe. He had, it seems quite forgotten what he had unthinkingly said at the sight of the two friars. The inquisitor, therefore, finding that he did not remember or would not own his crime, after many deceitful interrogatories, and promises which he never intended to fulfil, ordered him back to his dungeon, and allowing him another week, as is customary in such cases, to recollect himself, told him that if he could not in that time prevail upon himself to declare the truth, agreeably to his oath, means would be found of forcing it from him; and he must expect no mercy.

At the end of the week he was brought again before the infernal tribunal; and being asked the same questions, returned the same answers, adding, that if he had done or said anything amiss, unwittingly or ignorantly, he was ready to own it, provided the least hint of it were given him by any there present, which he entreated them most earnestly to do. He often looked at me, and seemed to expect--which gave me such concern as no words can express--that I should say something in his favor. But I was not allowed to speak on this occasion, nor were any of the counsellors; and had I been allowed to speak, I durst not have said anything in his favor; the advocate appointed by the Inquisition, and commonly styled, "The Devil's Advocate," being the only person that is suffered to speak for the prisoner. The advocate belongs to the Inquisition, receives a salary from the Inquisition, and is bound by an oath to abandon the defence of the prisoner, if he undertakes it, or not to undertake it, if he finds it cannot be defended agreeably to the laws of the Holy Inquisition; go that the whole is mere sham and imposition. I have heard this advocate, on other occasions, allege something in favor of the person accused; but on this occasion he declared that he had nothing to offer in defence of the criminal.

In the Inquisition, the person accused is always supposed guilty, unless he has named the accuser among his enemies. And he is put to the torture if he does not plead guilty, and own the crime that is laid to his charge, without being so much as told what it is; whereas, in all other courts, where tortures are used, the charge is declared to the party accused before he is tortured; nor are they ever inflicted without a credible evidence of his guilt. But in the Inquisition, a man is frequently tortured upon the deposition of a person whose evidence would be admitted in no other court, and in all cases without hearing the charge. As my unfortunate friend continued to maintain his innocence, not recollecting what he had said, he was, agreeably to the laws of the Inquisition, put to the torture. He had scarcely borne it twenty minutes, crying out the whole time, "Jesus Maria!" when his voice failed him at once, and he fainted away. He was then supported, as he hung by his arms, by two of the Sbirri, whose province it is to manage the torture, till he returned to himself. He still continued to declare that he could not recollect his having said or done anything contrary to the Catholic faith, and earnestly begged they would let him know with what he was charged, being ready to own it if it was true.

The Inquisitor was then so gracious as to put him in mind of what he had said on seeing the two Capuchins. The reason why they so long conceal from the party accused the crime he is charged with, is, that if he should be conscious to himself of his having ever said or done anything contrary to the faith, which he is not charged with, he may discover that too, imagining it to be the very crime he is accused of. After a short pause, the poor gentleman owned that he had said something to that purpose; but, as he had said it with no evil intention, he had never more thought of it, from that time to the present. He added, but with a voice so faint, as scarce could be heard, that for his rashness he was willing to undergo what punishment soever the holy tribunal should, think fit to impose on him; and he again fainted away. Being eased for a while of his torment, and returned to himself, he was interrogated by the promoter fiscal (whose business it is to accuse and to prosecute, as neither the informer nor the witnesses, are ever to appear,) concerning his intention. For in the Inquisition, it is not enough for the party accused to confess the fact, he must declare whether his intention was heretical or not; and many, to redeem themselves from the torments they, can no longer endure, own their intention was heretical, though it really was not. My poor friend often told us, he was ready to say whatever he pleased, but as he never directly acknowledged his intention to have been heretical, as is required by the rules of the court, he was kept on the torture still, quite overcome with the violence of the anguish, he was ready to expire. Being taken down, he was carried quite senseless, back to his dungeon, and there, on the third day, death put an end to his sufferings. The Inquisitor wrote a note to his widow, to desire her to pray for the soul of her late husband, and warn her not to complain of the holy Inquisition, as capable of any injustice or cruelty. The estate was confiscated to the Inquisition, and a small jointure allowed out of it to the widow. As they had only been married six months, and some part of the fortune was not yet paid, the inquisitor sent an order to the Constantini family, at Ferno, to pay the holy office, and without delay, what they owed to the late Count Della Torre. The effects of heretics are all ipso facto confiscated to the Inquisition from the very day, not of their conviction, but of their crime, so that all donations made after that time are void; and whatever they may have given, is claimed by the Inquisition, into whatsoever hands it may have passed; even the fortunes they have given to their daughters in marriage, have been declared to belong to, and are claimed by the Inquisition; nor can it be doubted, that the desire of those confiscations is one great cause of the injustice and cruelty of that court.

The death of the unhappy Count Della Torre was soon publicly known; but no man cared to speak of it, not even his nearest relations, nor so much as to mention his name, lest anything should inadvertently escape them that might be construed into a disapprobation of the proceedings of the most holy tribunal; so great is the awe all men live in of that jealous and merciless court.

The deep impression that the death of my unhappy friend, the barbarous and inhuman treatment he had met with, and the part I had been obliged to act in so affecting a tragedy, made on my mind, got at once the better of my fears, so that, forgetting in a manner the dangers I had till then so much apprehended, I resolved, without further delay to put in execution the design I had formed, of quitting the Inquisition, and bidding forever adieu to Italy. To execute that design with some safety, I proposed to beg leave to visit the Virgin of Loretto, but thirteen miles distant, and to pass a week there; but in the mean time, to make the best of my way out of the reach of the Inquisition.

Having, therefore, after many conflicts with myself, asked leave to visit the neighboring sanctuary, and obtained it, I set out on horseback the very next morning, leaving, as I proposed to keep the horse, his full value with the owner. I took the road to Loretto, but turned out of it a short distance from Recanati, after a most violent struggle with myself, the attempt appearing to me at that juncture, quite desperate and impracticable; and the dreadful doom reserved for me should I miscarry, presented itself to my mind in the strongest light. But the reflection that I had it in my power to avoid being taken alive, and a persuasion that a man in my situation might lawfully avoid it, when every other means failed him, at the expense of his life, revived my staggered resolution; and all my fears ceasing at once, I steered my course, leaving Loretto behind me, to Rocca Contrada, to Fossonbrone, to Calvi in the dukedom of Urbino, and from thence through the Romagna into Bolognese, keeping the by-roads, and at a good distance from the cities through which the high road passed.

Thus I advanced very slowly, travelling in very bad roads, and often in places where there was no road at all, to avoid, not only the cities, and towns, but also the villages. In the mean time I seldom had any other support but some coarse provisions, and a very small quantity even, of them, that the poor shepherds, the countrymen or wood cleavers I met in those unfrequented by-places, could spare me. My horse fared not much better than myself; but, in choosing my sleeping-place I consulted his convenience as much as my own, passing the night where I found most shelter for myself, and most grass for him. In Italy there are very few solitary farm-houses or cottages, the country people all living together in villages; and I thought it far safer to lie where I could be in any way sheltered, than to venture into any of them. Thus I spent seventeen days before I got out of the ecclesiastical state; and I very narrowly escaped being taken or murdered, on the very borders of that state; it happened thus.

I had passed two whole days without any kind of subsistence whatever, meeting with no one in the by-roads that could supply me with any, and fearing to come near any house, as I was not far from the borders of the dominions of the Pope. I thought I should be able to hold out till I got into the Modanese, where I believed I should be in less danger than while I remained in the papal dominions. But finding myself, about noon of the third day, extremely weak and ready to faint away, I came into the high road that leads from Bologna to Florence, a few miles distant from the former city, and alighted at a post house, that stood quite by itself. Having asked the woman of the house whether she had any victuals, and being told that she had, I went to open the door of the only room in the house, (that being a place where gentlemen only stop to change horses,) and saw to my great surprise, a placard pasted on it, with a minute description of my whole person, sad a promise of a reward of 900 crowns (about 200 pounds English money) for delivering me up alive to the Inquisition, being a fugitive from that holy tribunal, and of 600 crowns for my head. By the same placard, all persons were forbidden, on pain of the greater excommunication, to receive or harbor, entertain, conceal, or screen me, or to be in any way aiding, or assisting me to make my escape. This greatly alarmed me, as the reader may well imagine; but I was still more frightened, when entering the room, I saw two fellows drinking there, who, fixing their eyes on me as soon as I went in, continued looking at me very steadfastly. I strove, by wiping my face and blowing my nose, and by looking out of the window, to prevent their having a full view of my features. But, one of them saying, "The gentleman seems afraid to be seen," I put up my handkerchief, and turning to the fellow, said boldly, "What do you mean you rascal? Look at me; am I afraid to be seen?" He said nothing, but looking again steadfastly at me, and nodding his head, went out, and his companion immediately followed him. I watched them, and seeing them, with two or three more, in close conference, and no doubt consulting whether they should apprehend me or not, I walked that moment into the stable, mounted my horse unobserved by them, and while they were deliberating in an orchard behind the house, rode off at full speed, and in a few hours got into the Modanese, where I refreshed both with food and rest, as I was there in no immediate danger, my horse and myself. I was indeed surprised to find that those fellows did not pursue me, nor can I in any other way account for it, but by supposing, what is not improbable, that, as they were strangers as well as myself, and had all the appearance of banditti or ruffians flying out of the dominions of the Pope, the woman of the house did not care to trust them with her horses. From the Modanese I continued my journey, more leisurely through the Parmesan, the Milanese, and part of the Venetian territory, to Chiavenna, subject to the Grisons, who abhor the very name of the Inquisition, and are ever ready to receive and protect all who, flying from it, take refuge, as many Italians do, in their dominions. Still I carefully concealed who I was, and whence I came, for, though no Inquisition prevails among the Swiss, yet the Pope's nuncio who resides at Lucerne, (a popish canton through which I was to pass,) might have persuaded the magistrate to stop me as an apostate and deserter from the order.

Having rested a few days at Chiavenna, I resumed my journey quite refreshed, continuing it through the country of the Grisons, and the two small cantons of Ury and Underwald, to the canton of Lucerne. There I missed my way, as I was quite unacquainted with the country, and discovering a city at a distance, was advancing to it, but slowly, as I knew not where I was, when a countryman whom I met, informed me that the city before me was Lucerne. Upon that intelligence, I turned out of the road as soon as the countryman was out of sight, and that night I passed with a good natured shepherd in his cottage, who supplied me with sheep's milk, and my horse with plenty of grass. I set out early next morning, making my way westward, as I knew that Berne lay west of Lucerne. But, after a few miles, the country proved very mountainous, and having travelled the whole day over mountains I was overtaken among them by night. As I was looking out for a place where I might shelter myself during the night, against the snow and rain, (for it both snowed and rained,) I perceived a light at a distance, and making towards it, I got into a kind of foot-path, but so narrow and rugged that I was obliged to lead my horse, and feel my way with one foot, (having no light to direct me,) before I durst move the other. Thus, with much difficulty I reached the place where the light was, a poor little cottage, and knocking at the door, was asked by a man within who I was, and what I wanted? I answered that I was a stranger and had lost my way. "Lost your way!" exclaimed the man, "There is no way here to lose." I then asked him what canton I was in? and upon his answering that I was in the canton of Berne, I cried out transported with joy, "I thank God that I am." The good man answered, "And so do I." I then told him who I was, and that I was going to Berne but had quite lost myself by keeping out of all the high roads, to avoid falling into the hands of those who sought my destruction. He thereupon opened the door, received and entertained me with all the hospitality his poverty would admit of; regaled me with sour crout and some new laid eggs, the only provision he had, and clean straw with a kind of rug for a bed, he having no other for himself and wife. The good woman expressed as much good nature as her husband, and said many kind things in the Swiss language, which her husband interpreted to me in the Italian; for that language he well understood, having learned it in his youth, while servant in a public home on the borders of Italy, where both languages are spoken. I never passed a more comfortable night; and no sooner did I begin to stir in the morning, than the good man and his wife both came to know how I rested; and, wishing they had been able to accommodate me better, obliged me to breakfast on two eggs, which providence, they said, had sent them for that purpose. I took leave of the wife, who seemed most sincerely to wish me a good journey. As for the husband, he would by all means attend me to the high road leading to Berne; which road he said was but two miles distant from that place. But he insisted on my first going back with him, to see the way I had come the night before; the only way, he said, I could have possibly come from the neighboring canton of Lucerne. I saw it, and shuddered at the danger I had escaped; for I found I had walked and led my horse a good way along a very narrow path on the brink of a very dangerous precipice. The man made so many pertinent and pious remarks on the occasion, as both charmed and surprised me. I no less admired his disinterestedness than his piety; for, upon our parting, after he had attended me till I was out of all danger of losing my way, I could by no means prevail upon him to accept of any reward for his trouble. He had the satisfaction, he said, of having relieved me in the greatest distress, which was in itself a sufficient reward, and he wished for no other.

Having at length got safe into French Flanders, I there repaired to the college of the Scotch Jesuits at Douay, and discovering myself to the rector, I acquainted him with the cause of my sudden departure from Italy, and begged him to give notice of my arrival, as well as the motives of my flight to Michael Angelo Tambuvini, general of the order, and my very particular friend.

The rector wrote as I desired him, to the general, and he, taking no notice of my flight, in his answer, (for he could not disapprove, and did not think it safe to approve of it,) ordered me to continue where I was till further notice. I arrived at Douay early in May, and continued there till the beginning of July, when the rector received a second letter from the general, acquainting him that he had been commanded by the congregation of the Inquisition, to order me, wherever I was, back into Italy; to promise me, in their name, full pardon and forgiveness if I obeyed, but if I did not obey, to treat me as an apostate. He added, that the same order had been transmitted, soon after my flight, to the nuncios at the different Roman Catholic courts; and he, therefore, advised me to consult my own safety without further delay.

Upon the receipt of the general's kind letter, the rector was of opinion that I should repair by all means, and without loss of time, to England, not only as the safest asylum I could fly to, in my present situation, but as a place where I should soon recover my native language, and be usefully employed, either there or in Scotland. The place being thus agreed on, and it being at the same time settled between the rector and me, that I should set out the very next morning, I solemnly promised, at his request and desire, to take no kind of notice, after my arrival in England, of his having been in any way privy to my flight, or the general's letter to him. This promise I have faithfully and honorably observed; and should have thought myself guilty of the blackest ingratitude if I had not observed it, being sensible that, had it been known at Rome, that, either the rector or general had been accessary to my flight, THE INQUISITION WOULD HAVE RESENTED IT SEVERELY IN BOTH. For although a Jesuit in France, in Flanders, or in Germany, is out of the reach of the Inquisition, the general is not; and the high tribunal not only have it in their power to punish the general himself, who resides constantly at Rome, but may oblige him to inflict what punishment they please on any of the order obnoxious to them.

The rector went that very night out of town, and in his absence, but not without his privity, I took one of the horses of the college, early next morning, as if I were going for a change of air, being somewhat indisposed, to pass a few days at Lisle; but steering a different course, I reached Aire that night and Calais the next day. I was there in no danger of being stopped and seized at the prosecution of the Inquisition, a tribunal no less abhorred in France than in England. But being informed that the nuncios at the different courts had been ordered, soon after my flight, to cause me to be apprehended in Roman Catholic countries through which I must pass, as an apostate and deserter from the order, I was under no small apprehension of being discovered and apprehended as such even at Calais. No sooner, therefore, did I alight at the Inn, than I went down to the quay, and there as I was very little acquainted with the sea, and thought the passage much shorter than it is, I endeavored to engage some fishermen to carry me that very night, in one of their small vessels, over to England. This alarmed the guards of the harbor, and I should have been certainly apprehended as a person guilty, or suspected of some great crime, fleeing from justice, had not Lord Baltimore, whom I had the good luck to meet in the Inn, informed me of my danger, and pitying my condition, attended me that moment, with all his company, to the port, and conveyed me immediately on board his yacht. There I lay that night, leaving every thing I had but the clothes on my back, in the Inn; and the next day his Lordship set me ashore at Dover, from whence I came in the common stage to London.

In the year 1706, the Inquisition at Arragon was broken up by the French troops, under the command of the Duke of Orleans. The Holy Inquisitors were driven from their beautiful house, and in answer to their indignant remonstrance were told that the king wanted the house to quarter his troops in, and they were therefore compelled to leave it immediately. The doors of the prisons were then thrown open, and among the four hundred prisoners who were set at liberty were sixty young women, very beautiful in person, and clad in the richest attire.

Anthony Gavin, formerly one of the Roman Catholic priests of Saragossa, Spain, relates (in a book published by him after his conversion) that when travelling in France he met one of those women in the inn at Rotchfort; the son of the inn-keeper, formerly an officer in the French army, having married her for her great beauty and superior intelligence. In accordance with his request, she freely related to him the incidents of her prison life, from which we take the following extract:

"Early the next morning, Mary got up, and told me that nobody was up yet in the house; and that she would show me the DRY PAN and the GRADUAL FIRE, on condition that I should keep it a secret for her sake as well as my own. This I promised, and she took me along with her, and showed me a dark room with a thick iron door, and within it an oven and a large brass pan upon it, with a cover of the same and a lock to it. The oven was burning at the time, and I asked Mary for what purpose the pan was there. Without giving me any answer, she took me by the hand and led me to a large room, where she showed me a thick wheel, covered on both sides with thick boards, and opening a little window in the center of it, desired me to look with a candle on the inside of it, and I saw all the circumference of the wheel set with SHARP RAZORS. After that she showed me a PIT FULL OF SERPENTS AND TOADS. Then she said to me, 'Now, my good mistress, I'll tell you the use of these things. The dry pan and gradual fire are for those who oppose the holy father's will, and for heretics. They are put naked and alive into the pan, and the cover of it being locked up, the executioner begins to put in the oven a small fire, and by degrees he augmenteth it, till the body is burned to ashes. The second is designed for those who speak against the Pope and the holy fathers. They are put within the wheel, and the door being locked, the executioner turns the wheel till the person is dead. The third is for those who contemn the images, and refuse to give the due respect and veneration to ecclesiastical persons; for they are thrown alive into the pit, and there they become the food of serpents and toads.' Then Mary said to me that another day she would show me the torments for public sinners and transgressors of the commandments of holy mother church; but I, in deep amazement, desired her to show me no more places; for the very thought of those three which I had seen, was enough to terrify me to the heart. So we went to my room, and she charged me again to be very obedient to all commands, for if I was not, I was sure to undergo the torment of the dry pan."

Llorente, the Spanish historian and secretary-general of the Inquisition, relates the following incident: "A physician, Juan de Salas, was accused of having used a profane expression, twelve months before, in the heat of debate. He denied the accusation, and produced several witnesses to prove his innocence. But Moriz, the inquisitor at Valladolid, where the charge was laid, caused de Salas to be brought into his presence in the torture-chamber, stripped to his shirt, and laid on a LADDER or DONKEY, an instrument resembling a wooden trough, just large enough to receive the body, with no bottom, but having a bar or bars to placed that the body bent, by its own weight, into an exquisitely painful position. His head was lower than his heels, and the breathing, in consequence, became exceedingly difficult. The poor man, so laid, was bound around the arms and legs with hempen cords, each of them encircling the limb eleven times.

"During this part of the operation they admonished him to confess the blasphemy; but he only answered that he had never spoken a sentence of such a kind, and then, resigning himself to suffer, repeated the Athanasian creed, and prayed to God and our Lady many times. Being still bound, they raised his head, covered his face with a piece of fine linen, and, forcing open the mouth, caused water to drip into it from an earthen jar, slightly perforated at the bottom, producing in addition to his sufferings from distension, a horrid sensation of choking. But again, when they removed the jar for a moment, he declared that he had never uttered such a sentence; and this he often repeated. They then pulled the cords on his right leg, cutting into the flesh, replaced the linen on his face, dropped the water as before, and tightened the cords on his right leg the second time; but still he maintained that he had never spoken such a thing; and in answer to the questions of his tormentors, constantly reiterated that he HAD NEVER SPOKEN THOSE WORDS. Moriz then pronounced that the said torture should be regarded as begun, but not finished; and De Salas was released, to live, if he could survive, in the incessant apprehension that if he gave the slightest umbrage to a familiar, he would be carried again into the same chamber, and be RACKED IN EVERY LIMB."

Llorente also relates, from the original records, another case quite as cruel and unjust as the above. "On the 8th day of December, 1528, one Catalina, a woman of BAD CHARACTER, informed the inquisitors that, EIGHTEEN YEARS BEFORE she had lived in the house with a Morisco named Juan, by trade a coppersmith, and a native of Segovia; that she had observed that neither he nor his children ate pork or drank wine, and that, on Saturday nights and Sunday mornings they used to wash their feet, which custom, as well as abstinence from pork and wine, was peculiar to the Moors. The old man was at that time an inhabitant of Benevente, and seventy-one years of age. But the inquisitors at once summoned him into their presence, and questioned him at three several interviews. All that he could tell was, that he received baptism when he was forty-five years of age; that having never eaten pork or drunk wine, he had no taste for them; and that, being coppersmiths, they found it necessary to wash themselves thoroughly once a week. After some other examinations, they sent him back to Benevente, with prohibition to go beyond three leagues' distance from the town. Two years afterwards the inquisitor determined that he should be threatened with torture, IN ORDER TO OBTAIN INFORMATION THAT MIGHT HELP THEM TO CRIMINATE OTHERS. He was accordingly taken to Valladolid, and in a subterranean chamber, called the 'chamber, or dungeon, of torment,' stripped naked, and bound to the 'ladder.' This might well have extorted something like confession from an old man of seventy-one; but he told them that whatever he might say when under torture would be merely extorted by the extreme anguish, and therefore unworthy of belief; that he would not, through fear of pain, confess what had never taken place. They kept him in close prison until the next Auto de Fe, when he walked among the penitents, with a lighted candle in his hand, and, after seeing others burnt to death, paid the holy office a fee of four ducats, and went home, not acquitted, but released. He was not summoned again, as he died soon afterwards."

It sometimes happened that an individual was arrested by mistake, and a person who was entirely innocent was tortured instead of the real or supposed criminal. A case of this kind Mr. Bower found related at length in the "Annals of the Inquisition at Macerata."

"An order was sent from the high tribunal at Rome to all the inquisitors throughout Italy, enjoining them to apprehend a clergyman minutely described in that order. One Answering the description in many particulars being discovered in the diocese of Osimo, at a small distance from Macerata, and subject to that Inquisition, he was there decoyed into the holy office, and by an order from Rome SO RACKED AS TO LOSE HIS SENSES. In the mean time, the true person being apprehended, the unhappy wretch was dismissed, by a second order from Rome, but he never recovered the use of his senses, NOR WAS ANY CARE TAKEN OF HIM BY THE INQUISITION."

It would be easy to fill a volume with such narratives as the above, but we forbear. We are not writing a history of the Inquisition. We simply wish to exhibit the true spirit by which the Romanists are actuated in their dealings with those over whom they have power. We therefore, in closing this chapter of horrors, beg leave to place before our readers one of the FATHERLY BENEDICTIONS with which, His Holiness, the Pope, dismisses his refractory subjects. Does it not show most convincingly what he would do here in America, if he had, among us, the power he formerly possessed in the old world, when the least inadvertent word might perchance seal the doom of the culprit?

A POPISH BULL OK CURSE.

"Pronounced on all who leave the Church of Rome. By the authority of God Almighty, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, and the undefiled Virgin Mary, mother and patroness of our Saviour, and of all celestial virtues, Angels, Archangels, Thrones, Dominions, Powers, Cherubim and Seraphim, and of all the holy Patriarchs, Prophets, and of all the Apostles and Evangelists, of the holy innocents, who in the sight of the holy Lamb are found worthy to sing the new song of the Holy Martyrs and Holy Confessors, and of all the Holy Virgins, and of all the Saints, together with the Holy Elect of God,--MAY HE BE DAMNED. We excommunicate and anathematize him, from the threshold of the holy church of God Almighty. We sequester him, that he may be tormented, disposed, and be delivered over with Datham and Abiram, and with those who say unto the Lord, 'Depart from us, we desire none of thy ways;' as a fire is quenched with water, so let the light of him be put out forevermore, unless it shall repent him, and make satisfaction. Amen.

"May the Father who creates man, curse him. May the Son, who suffered for us, curse him! May the Holy Ghost who is poured out in baptism, curse him! May the Holy Cross, which Christ for our salvation, triumphing over his enemies, ascended, curse him!

"May the Holy Mary, ever Virgin and Mother of God, curse him! May all the Angels, Principalities, and Powers, and all heavenly Armies curse him! May the glorious band of the Patriarchs and Prophets curse him! "May St. John the Precursor, and St John the Baptist, and St. Peter and St Paul, and St. Andrew and all other of Christ's Apostles together curse him and may the rest of the Disciples and Evangelists who by their preaching converted the universe, and the Holy and wonderful company of Martyrs and Confessors, who by their works are found pleasing to God Almighty; may the holy choir of the Holy Virgins, who for the honor of God have despised the things of the world, damn him. May all the Saints from the beginning of the world to everlasting ages, who are found to be beloved of God, damn him!

"May he be damned wherever he be, whether in the house or in the alley, in the woods or in the water, or in the church! May he be cursed in living or dying!

"May he be cursed in eating and drinking, in being hungry, in being thirsty, in fasting and sleeping, in slumbering, and in sitting, in living, in working, in resting, and in blood letting! May he be cursed in all the faculties of his body!

"May he be cursed inwardly and outwardly. May he be cursed in his hair; cursed be he in his brains, and his vertex, in his temples, in his eyebrows, in his cheeks, in his jaw-bones, in his nostrils, in his teeth, and grinders, in his lips, in his shoulders, in his arms, and in his fingers.

"May he be damned in his mouth, in his breast, in his heart, and purtenances, down to the very stomach!

"May he be cursed in his reins and groins, in his thighs and his hips, and in his knees, his legs and his feet, and his toe-nails!

"May he be cursed in all his joints, and articulation of the members; from the crown of the head to the soles of his feet, may there be no soundness!

"May the Son of the living God, with all the glory of his majesty, CURSE HIM! And may Heaven, with all the powers that move therein, rise up against him, and curse and damn him; unless he repent and make satisfaction! Amen! So be it. Be it so. Amen."

Such was the CURSE pronounced on the Rev. Wm. Hogan, (a converted Roman Catholic priest) a few years since, in Philadelphia.

As a further proof of the cruel, persecuting spirit of Catholicism, let us glance at a few extracts from their own publications.

"Children," they say, "are obliged to denounce their parents or relations who are guilty of heresy; ALTHOUGH THEY KNOW THAT THEY WILL BE BURNT. They may refuse them all nourishment, and permit them to die with hunger; or they may KILL THEM as enemies, who violate the rights of humanity.--Escobar, Theolg. Moral, vol. 4, lib. 31, sec. 2, precept 4, prop. 5, p. 239."

"A man condemned by the Pope, may be killed wherever he is found."--La Croix, vol. 1, p. 294.

"Children may kill their parents, if they would turn their children from the Popish faith." "If a judge decide contrary to law, the injured person may defend himself by killing the judge."--Fangundez Precept Decal, vol. 1, lib. 4, chap. 2, p. 501, 655, and vol. 2, lib. 8, chap. 32; p. 390.

"To secretly kill your calumniator, to avoid scandal, is justifiable."--Ayrault, Cens. p. 319.

"You may kill before hand, any person who may put you to death, not EXCEPTING THE JUDGE, AND WITNESSES, because it is self-defence."--Emanuel Sa. Aphor, p. 178.

"A priest may kill those who hinder him from taking possession of any Ecclesiastical office."--Arnicus, Num, 131.

"You may charge your opponent with false crime to take away his credit, as well as kill him."--Guimenius, prop, 8, p. 86.

"Priests may kill the laity to preserve their goods."--Nolina, vol. 3, disput. 16, p. 1786.

"You may kill any man to save a crown."--Taberna, Synop. Theol. Tract, pars. 2, chap. 27, p. 256.

"BY THE COMMAND OF GOD IT IS LAWFUL TO MURDER THE INNOCENT, TO ROB, AND TO COMMIT ALL KIND OF WICKEDNESS, BECAUSE HE IS THE LORD OF LIFE AND DEATH, AND ALL THINGS; AND THUS TO FULFILL HIS MANDATE IS OUR DUTY."--Alagona, Thorn. Aquin, Sum. Theol. Compend, Quest. 94, p. 230.

Again, in the Romish Creed found in the pocket of Priest Murphy, who was killed in the battle of Arklow, 1798, we find the following articles. "We acknowledge that the priests can make vice virtue, and virtue vice, according to their pleasure.

"We are bound to believe that the holy massacre was lawful, and lawfully put into execution, against Protestants, and likewise WE ARE TO CONTINUE THE SAME, PROVIDED WITH SAFETY TO OUR LIVES!

"We are bound not to keep our oaths with heretics, though bound by the most sacred ties. We are bound not to believe their oaths; for their principles are damnation. We are bound to drive heretics with fire, sword, faggot, and confusion, out of the land; as our holy fathers say, if their heresies prevail we will become their slaves. We are bound to absolve without money or price, those who imbrue their hands in the blood of a heretic!" Do not these extracts show very clearly that Romanism can do things as bad as anything in the foregoing narrative?

APPENDIX VI.

ROMANISM OF THE PRESENT DAY.

Whenever we refer to the relentless cruelties of the Romanists, we are told, and that, too, by the influential, the intelligent, those who are well-informed on other subjects, that "these horrid scenes transpired only in the 'dark ages;'" that "the civilization and refinement of the present age has so modified human society, so increased the milk of human kindness, that even Rome would not dare, if indeed she had the heart, to repeat the cruelties of by-gone days."

For the honor of humanity we could hope that this opinion was correct; but facts of recent date compel us to believe that it is as false as it is ruinous to the best interests of our country and the souls of men. A few of these facts, gathered from unquestionable sources, and some of them related by the actors and sufferers themselves, we place before the reader.

In November, 1854, Ubaldus Borzinski, a monk of the Brothers of Mercy, addressed an earnest petition to the Pope, setting forth the shocking immoralities practised in the convents of his order in Bohemia. He specifies nearly forty crimes, mostly perpetrated by priors and subpriors, giving time, place, and other particulars, entreating the Pope to interpose his power, and correct those horrible abuses.

For sending this petition, he was thrown into a madhouse of the Brothers of Mercy, at Prague, where he still languishes in dreary confinement, though the only mark of insanity he ever showed was in imagining that the Pope would interfere with the pleasures of the monks.

This Ubaldus has a brother, like minded with himself, also a member of the same misnamed order of monks, who has recently effected his escape from durance vile.

John Evangelist Borzinski was a physician in the convent of the Brothers of Mercy at Prague. He is a scientific and cultivated man. By the study of the Psalms and Lessons from the New Testament, which make up a considerable part of the Breviary used in cloisters, he was first led into Protestant views. He had been for seventeen years resident in different cloisters of his order, as sick-nurse, alms gatherer, student, and physician, and knew the conventual life out and out. As he testifies: "There was little of the fear of God, so far as I could see, little of true piety; but abundance of hypocrisy, eye-service, deception, abuse of the poor sick people in the hospitals, such love and hatred as are common among the children of this world, and the most shocking vices of every kind."

He now felt disgust for the cloister life, and for the Romish religion, and he sought, by the aid of divine grace, to attain to the new birth through the Word of God. Speaking of his change of views to a Prussian clergyman, he thus describes his conversion: "Look you, it was thus I became a Protestant. I found a treasure in that dustheap, and went away with it." This treasure he prized more and more. He then thought within himself, if these detached passages can give such light, what an illumination he must receive if he could read and understand the whole Bible.

He did not, however, betray his dissatisfaction, but devoted himself to his professional duties with greater diligence. He might still have remained in the Order, his life hid with Christ in God, had not the hierarchy, under pretence of making reforms and restoring the neglected statutes of the Order, brought in such changes for the worse as led him to resolve to leave the order, and the Romish church as well. Following his convictions, and the advice of a faithful but very cautious clergyman, he betook himself to the territories of Prussia, where, on the 17th of January, 1855, he was received into the national church at Petershain, by Dr. Nowotny, himself formerly a Bohemian priest. This was not done till great efforts had been made to induce him to change his purpose, and also to get his person into the power of his adversaries. As he had now left the church of Rome, become an openly acknowledged member of another communion, he thought he might venture to return to his own country. Taking leave of his Prussian friends, to whom he had greatly endeared himself by his modesty and his lively faith, he went back to Bohemia, with a heart full of peace and joy.

He lived for some time amidst many perplexities, secluded in the house of his parents at Prosnitz, till betrayed by some who dwelt in the same habitation. On the 6th of March he was taken out of bed, at eight, by the police, and conveyed first to the cloister in Prosnitz, where he suffered much abuse, and from thence to the cloister in Prague. Here the canon Dittrich, "Apostolical Convisitator of the Order of the Brothers of Mercy," justified all the inhuman treatment he had suffered, and threatened him with worse in case he refused to recant and repent. Dittrich not only deprived him of his medical books, but told him that his going over to Protestantism was a greater crime than if he had plundered the convent of two thousand florins. He was continually dinned with the cry, "Retract, retract!" He was not allowed to see his brother, confined in the same convent, nor other friends, and was so sequestered in his cell as to make him feel that he was forgotten by all the world.

He managed, through some monks who secretly sympathized with him, to get a letter conveyed occasionally to Dr. Nowotny. These letters were filled with painful details of the severities practised upon him. In one of them he says, "My only converse is with God, and the gloomy walls around me." He was transferred to a cell in the most unwholesome spot, and infested with noisome smells not to be described. Close by him were confined some poor maniacs, sunk below the irrational brutes.

Under date of April 23d he writes: "Every hour, in this frightful dungeon seems endless to me. For many weeks have I sat idle in this durance, with no occupation but prayer and communion with God." His appeals to civil authority and to the Primate of Hungary procured him no redress, but only subjected him to additional annoyances and hardships. His aged father, a man of four-score years, wept to see him, though of sound understanding, locked up among madmen; and when urged to make his son recant, would have nothing to do with it, and returned the same day to his sorrowful home. As he had been notified that he was to be imprisoned for life, he prayed most earnestly to the Father of mercies for deliverance; and he was heard, for his prayers and endeavors wrought together. The sinking of his health increased his efforts to escape; for, though he feared not to die, he could not bear the thought of dying imprisoned in a mad-house, where he knew that his enemies would take advantage of his mortal weakness to administer their sacraments to him, and give out that he had returned to the bosom of the church, or at least to shave his head, that he might be considered as an insane person, and his renunciation of Romanism as the effect of derangement of mind. Several plans of escape were projected, all beset with much difficulty and danger. The one he decided upon proved to be successful.

On Saturday, the 13th of October, at half-past nine in the evening, he fastened a cord made of strips of linen to the grate of a window, which grate did not extend to the top. Having climbed over this, he lowered himself into a small court-yard. He had now left that part of the establishment reserved for the insane, and was now in the cloistered part where the brethren dwelt. But here his fortune failed him. He saw at a distance a servant of the insane approaching with a light; and with aching heart and trembling limbs, by a desperate effort, climbed up again. He returned to his cell, concealing his cord, and laid himself down to rest.

On the following Monday, he renewed his efforts to escape. He lowered himself, as before, into the little court-yard; but being weak in health and much shaken in his nervous system by all he had suffered in body and mind, he was seized with palpitation of the heart and trembled all over, so that he could not walk a step. He laid down to rest and recover his breath. He felt as if he could get no further. "But," he says in his affecting narrative, "My dear Saviour to whom I turned in this time of need, helped me wonderfully. I felt now, more than ever in my life, His gracious and comforting presence, and believed, in that dismal moment, with my whole soul, His holy word;" "My grace is sufficient for thee; for my strength is made perfect in weakness."

Borzinski now arose, pulled off his boots, and though every step was made with difficulty, he ascended the stairs leading to the first story. He went along the passage way until he came to a door leading into corridors where the cloister brethren lodged. But the trembling fit came over him again, with indescribable anguish, as he sought to open the door with a key with which he had been furnished. He soon rallied again, and, like a spectre, gliding by the doors of the brethren, who occupied the second and third corridors, many of whom had lights still burning, he came with his boots in one hand, and his bundle in the other, to a fourth passage way, in which was an outside window he was trying to reach. The cord was soon fastened to the window frame, yet still in bitter apprehension; for this window was seldom opened, and opened hard, and with some noise. It was also only two steps distant from the apartment of the cloister physician, where there was a light, and it was most likely that, on the first grating of the window, he would rush out and apprehend the fugitive. However the window was opened without raising any alarm, and now it was necessary to see that no one was passing below; for though the spot is not very much frequented, yet the streets cross there, and people approach it from four different directions. During these critical moments, one person and another kept passing, and poor Borzinski tarried shivering in the window for near a quarter of an hour before he ventured to let himself down. While he was waiting his opportunity he heard the clock strike the third quarter after nine and knew that he had but fifteen minutes to reach the house where he was to conceal himself, which would be closed at ten. When all was still, he called most fervently on the Saviour, and grasping the cord, slid down into the street. He could scarce believe his feet were on the ground. Trembling now with joy and gratitude rather than fear, he ran bareheaded to his place of refuge, where he received a glad welcome. Having changed his garb, and tarried till three o'clock in the morning, he took leave of his friends and passing through the gloomy old capital of Bohemia, he reached the Portzitscher Gate, in order to pass out as early as possible. Just then a police corporal let in a wagon, and Borzinski, passed out unchallenged. It is needless to follow him further in his flight. We have given enough, of his history to prove that conventual establishments are at this moment what they ever have been--dangerous alike to liberty and life. AMERICAN AND FOREIGN CHRISTIAN UNION.

In place of labored arguments we give the following history of personal suffering as strikingly illustrative of the spirit of Romanism at the present day.

APPENDIX VII

NARRATIVE OP SIGNORINA FLORIENCIA D' ROMANI, A NATIVE OF THE CITY OF NAPLES.

I was born in the year 1826, of noble and wealthy parents. Our mansion contained a small chapel, with many images, sacred paintings, and a neatly furnished mass altar. My father was a man of the world. He loved the society of fashionable men. As he lived on the rents and income of his estates, he had little to do, except to amuse himself with his friends. My mother, who was of as mild and sweet disposition, loved my father very dearly, but was very unhappy the most of the time because my father spent so much of his time in drinking with his dissolute companions, card playing, and in balls, parties, theatres, operas, billiards, &c. Father did not intend to be unkind to my mother, for he gave her many servants, and abundance of gold, horses, carriages and grooms, and said frequently in my hearing, that his wife should be as happy as a princess. Such was the state of society in Italy that men thought their wives had no just reason to complain, so long as they were furnished with plenty of food, raiment and shelter.

One of my father's most intimate friends was the very Rev. Father Salvator, a Priest of the order of St. Francis; he wore the habit of the order, his head was about half shaved. The sleeves of his habit were very large at the elbow; in these sleeves he had small pockets, in which he usually carried his snuff box, handkerchief, and purse of gold. This priest was merry, full of fun and frolic; he could dance, sing, play cards, and tell admirably funny stories, such as would make even the devils laugh in their chains.

Such was the influence and power this Franciscan had over my father and mother, that in our house, his word was law. He was our confessor, knew the secrets and sins, and all the weak points of every mind in the whole household. My own dear mother taught me to read before I was seven years of age. As I was the only child, I was much petted and caressed, indeed, such was my mother's affection for me that I was seldom a moment out of her sight. There was a handsome mahogany confessional in our own chapel. When the priest wanted any member of the household to come to him to confession, he wrote the name on a slate that hung outside the chapel door, saying that he would hear confessions at such a time to-morrow. Thus, we would always have time for the full examination of our consciences. Only one at a time was ever admitted into the chapel, for confessional duty, and the priest always took care to lock the door inside and place the key in his sleeve pocket. My mother and myself were obliged to confess once a week; the household servants, generally once a month. My father only once a year, during Lent, when all the inhabitants of seven years, and upwards, are obliged to kneel down to the priests, in the confessional, and receive the wafer God under the severest penalties. Woe to the individual who resists the ecclesiastical mandate.

When I was about fourteen years of age, I was sent to the Ursuline Convent, to receive my education. My dear mother would have preferred a governess or a competent teacher to teach me at home but her will was but a mere straw in the hands of our confessor and priestly tyrant. It was solely at the recommendation of the confessor, that I was imprisoned four years in the Ursuline Convent. As my confessor was also the confessor of the convent, he called himself my guardian and protector, and recommended me to the special care of the Mother Abbess, and her holy nuns, the teachers, who spent much of their time in the school department. As my father paid a high price, quarterly, for my tuition and board, I had a good room to myself, my living was of the best kind, and I always had wine at dinner. The nuns, my teachers, took much more pains to teach me the fear of the Pope, bishops and confessors, than the fear of God, or the love of virtue. In fact, with the exception of a little Latin and embroidery, which I learned in those four years, I came out as ignorant as I was before, unless a little hypocrisy may be called a useful accomplishment. For, of all human beings on earth, none can teach hypocrisy so well as the Romish priests and nuns. In the school department young ladies seldom have much to complain of, unless they are charity scholars; in that case the poor girls have to put up with very poor fare, and much hard work, hard usage and even heavy blows; how my heart has ached for some of those unfortunate girls, who are treated more like brutes, than human beings, because they are orphans, and poor. Yet they in justice are entitled to good treatment, for thousands of scudi (dollars) are sent as donations to the convents for the support of these orphans, every year, by benevolent individuals. So that as poor and unfortunate as these girls are, they are a source of revenue to the convents.

For the first three years of my convent life, I passed the time in the school department, without much anxiety of mind. I was gay and thoughtless, my great trouble was to find something to amuse myself, and kill time in some way. Though I treated all the school-mates with kindness, and true Italian politeness, I became intimate with only one. She was a beautiful girl, from the dukedom of Tuscany. She made me her confidant, and told me all her heart. Her parents were wealthy, and both very strict members of the Romish Church. But she had an aunt in the city of Geneva, who was a follower of John Calvin, or a member of the Christian church of Switzerland. This aunt had been yearly a visitor at her father's house. She being her father's only sister, an affectionate intimacy was formed between the aunt and niece. The aunt, being a very pious, amiable woman, felt it her duty to impress the mind of the niece, with the superiority of the religion of the holy bible over popish traditions; and the truth of the Scriptures soon found its way to the heart of my young friend. But her confessor soon found out that some change was going on in her mind, and told her father. There were only two ways to save her soul from utter ruin; one was to give her absolution and kill her before she got entirely out of the holy mother church; the other, was to send her to the Ursuline convent at Naples, where by the zeal and piety of those celebrated nuns, she might be secured from further heresy.

From this, the best friend of my school days, I learned more about God's word, and virtue, and truth, and the value of the soul, than from all other sources. There was a garden surrounded by a high wall, in which we frequently walked, and whispered to each other, though we trembled all the while for fear our confessor would by some means, find out that we looked upon the Romish church as the Babylon destined to destruction, plainly spoken of by St. John the revelator.

My young friend stood in great fear of the priests; she trembled at the very sight of one.

Her aunt had read to her the history and sufferings of the persecuted Protestants of Europe. She was a frail, and timid girl, yet such was the depth of her piety and the fervor of her religious faith, that she often declared to me that she would prefer death to the abandonment of those heavenly principles she had embraced, which were the source of her joy and hope. Her aunt gave her a pocket New Testament, in the Italian language, which she prized above all the treasures of earth, and carried with her carefully, wherever she went. I borrowed it and read it every opportunity I had. Several chapters I learned by heart. I took much pains to commit to memory all I could of the blessed book, for in case of our separation, I knew not where I could obtain another. My god-father who was a bishop, called to see me on my fifteenth birth day, and presented me with a splendid gold watch and chain richly studded with jewels, made in England, and valued at 200 scudi, saying that he had it imported expressly for my use. I had also several diamond articles of jewelry, presents I had received from my father from time to time. I had also, in my purse, 100 scudi in gold, which I had saved from my pin money. All the above property, I should have cheerfully given for a copy of the Holy Bible, in my own beautiful Italian language. A few months after I received the rich present from the Bishop, he called with my father and my confessor to see me. My heart almost came into my mouth when I saw them alight from my father's carriage, and enter the chapel door of the convent. Very soon the lady porter came to me and said, "Signorina, you are wanted in the parlor."

As my Tuscan friend had taught me to pray, and ask the Lord Jesus for grace and strength, I walked into my room, locked the door, and on my knees, called upon the Lord to save me from becoming a nun--for I knew then it was a determination on the part of the Abbess, bishop and confessor, that I should take the veil. I was the only child, and heiress of an immense fortune, of course, too good a prize to be lost. After a short and fervent prayer to my Lord and Saviour, I walked down to see what was to be my doom. I kissed my father's cheek, and kissed the hands of the Bishop and confessor--yet my very soul revolted from the touch of these whited sepulchres. All received me with great cordiality, yea, even more than usual affection. Soon after our meeting, my father asked permission of the Bishop to speak to me privately and taking me into a small room, said to me, "My dear daughter, you are not aware of the great misfortune that has recently come upon your father. While I was excited with wine at the card-table last evening, betting high and winning vast sums of money, I so far forgot myself and my duty to the laws of the country, that I called for a toast, and induced a number of my inebriated companions to drink the health of Italian liberty, and we all drank and gave three cheers for liberty and a liberal constitution. A Benedictine Friar being present, took all our names to the Commissary General, and offered to be a witness against us in the King's Court. As this is my first and only offence, the holy Bishop your god-father offers on certain conditions, to visit Rome immediately on my behalf, and secure the mediation of the holy Father Pius IX. Your venerable god-father has great influence at Rome, being a special favorite with his holiness, and his holiness can obtain any favor he asks of King Ferdinand. So if you will only consent to take the Black Veil, your father will be saved from the State prison."

This was terrible news to my young and palpitating heart. It was the first heavy blow that I had experienced in this vale of tears. I did not speak for some minutes; I could not. My trembling bosom heaved like the waves of the ocean before the blast. My veins were almost bursting; my hands and feet became as cold as marble, and when I attempted to speak my words seemed ready to choke me to death. I thought my last hour had come. I fell upon my knees and called upon God for mercy and help. My father, thinking I had gone mad, was greatly alarmed. The Bishop and confessor, who were anxiously waiting the result of my father's proposition, hearing my father weep and sob aloud, came in to see what the matter was. In the midst of my prayer, I fainted away, and became entirely unconscious. When I came to myself, I found myself on the bed. As I opened my eyes, it all seemed like a dream. The abbess spoke to me very kindly, and sprinkled my bed with holy water, and at the same time laid a large bronze crucifix on my breast, saying that Satan must be driven from my soul, for had it not been for the devil, I would have leaped for joy, and not fainted when father mentioned the black veil. "No," said the holy mother, "had it not been for the devil you would rejoice to take the holy black veil blessed by the Holy Madonna and the blessed saints Clara and Theresa. It is a holy privilege that very few can enjoy on earth. Yea, my daughter, there can not be a greater sin in the sight of the Madonna and the blessed saints, than to reject a secluded life. Yea," said the crafty old nun, (who was thinking much more about my gold, than my soul,) "I never knew a young lady who had the offer of becoming a nun and rejected it, who ever came to a good end. If they refuse, and marry, they generally die in child-bed with the first child, or they will marry cruel husbands, who beat them and kill them by inches. Therefore, dear daughter, let me most affectionately warn you as you have had the honor of being selected by the holy Bishop and our holy confessor to the high dignity and privilege of a professed nun, of the order of St. Ursula, reject it not at your peril. Be assured, heaven knows how to punish such rebellion."

My head ached so violently at the time, and I was so feverish that I begged the old woman to send for my mother, and to talk to me no more on the subject of the black veil, but to drop it until some future time. In my agony on account of the foul plot against my liberty, my virtue, and my gold, I felt such a passion of rage come upon me, that had I absolute power for the moment I would have cast every Abbess, Pope, Bishop and Priest into the bottomless pit. May the Lord forgive me, but I would have done it at that time with a good will. The greatest comfort I now had was reading my Tuscan friend's New Testament, or hearing it read by her when we had a chance to be by ourselves, which was not very often. In the evening of the same day of my illness, father and mother came to see me, and Satan came also in the shape of the confessor; so that I had not a moment alone with my dear parents. The confessor feared my determined opposition to a convent's life, for he had previous to this, several times in the confessional, dropped hints to me on the great happiness, purity, serenity and joy of all holy nuns. But I always told him I would not be a nun for the world. I should be so good, it would kill me in a short time. "No, no, father," said I, "I WILL NOT BE A NUN."

Father spoke to me again of his great misfortune--told me that his trial would come on in a few days and that he was now at liberty on a very heavy bail; that the Bishop was only waiting my answer to start immediately for the holy city, and throw himself at the feet of the holy Pope to procure father's unconditional pardon from the King. I said "my dear father, how long will you be imprisoned if you do not get a pardon?" "From two to five years," he replied. "My daughter, it is my first offence, and I have witnesses to prove that the priest who appeared against me, urged me to drink wine several times after I had drank a large quantity, and was the direct cause of my saying what I did." Now it all came to me, that the whole of it was a plot, a Jesuitical trick, to get my father in the clutches of the law, and then make a slave of me for life through my sympathy for my dear father.

The vile priests knew that I loved my father most ardently; in fact, my father and mother were the only two beings on earth that I did love. My mother I loved most tenderly, but my affection for my father was of a different kind. I loved him most violently, with all the ardor of my soul. Mother seemed all the home to me; but father was to me all the world beside. My father was all the brother I had. He would frequently come home, and get me to go out into the garden and play with him, just as though he was my brother. There we would swing, run, jump and exercise in several healthy games, common in our climate. He never gave me an unkind word or an unkind reproof. If I did say anything wrong, he would take me to my mother and say, "Clara, here I bring you a prisoner, let her be kept on bread and water till dinner time." Even when mother had displeased him about some trifle, so that he had not a smile for her, he always had a smile for his Flora. Even now, while I write, a chill comes over my frame, while I think of that vile Popish plot. I said to my father, "You shall not be imprisoned if I can prevent it; at the same time I do not see any great gain, comfort or profit in having your only daughter put in prison for life, without the hope of liberty ever more, to save you from two years imprisonment."

At these words, the eyes of the confessor flashed like lurid lightnings; his very frame shook, as though he had the fever and ague. Truth seemed so strange to the priest, that he found it hard of digestion. Father and mother both wept, but made no reply. The idea of putting their only child in a dungeon for life, though it might be done in the sacred name of religion, did not seem to give them much comfort "Father," said I, "I wish to see you at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, without fail--I wish to see you alone; don't bring mother or any one else with you. You shall not go to prison, all will yet be well." On account of this reasonable request, to see my father alone, the confessor arose in a terrible rage and left the apartment As quick as the mad priest left us to ourselves, I told my father my plan, or what I would like to do with his permission. My plan was, for my mother and myself to get into our carriage and drive to the palace of King Ferdinand and make him acquainted with all the truth; for I was aware from what I had heard, that the King had heard only the priest's side of the story. My father stood in such fear of the priests that he only consented to my plan with great reluctance, saying that we ought first to make our plan known to the confessor, lest he should be offended. To this my mother responded, saying, "My daughter, it would be very wrong for us to go to the King, or take any step without the advice of our spiritual guide." Here, I felt it to be my duty to reveal to my deceived parents some of the secrets of the confessional, though I might, in their estimation, be guilty of an unpardonable sin by breaking the seal of iniquity. I revealed to my parents the frequent efforts of the priest to obtain my consent to take the veil, and that I had opposed from first to last, every argument made use of to rob me of the society of my parents, of my liberty, and of everything I held dear on earth. As to the happiness of the nuns so much talked of by the priests, from what I had seen in their daily walk and general deportment, I was fully convinced that there was no reality in it; they were mere slaves to their superiors, and not half so happy as the free slaves on a plantation who have a kind master. My parents saw my determination to resist to the death every plan for my imprisonment in the hateful nunnery. Therefore they promised that I should have the opportunity to see the King on the morrow in company with my mother.

On the following day, at twelve o'clock, we left the convent in our carriage for the palace. We were very politely received by the gentleman usher, who conducted us to seats in the reception-room. After sending our cards to the king, we waited nearly one hour before he made his appearance. His majesty received us with much kindness, raised us immediately from our knees, and demanded our business. I was greatly embarrassed at first, but the frank and cordial manner of the sovereign soon restored me to my equilibrium, and I spoke freely in behalf of my dear father. The king heard me through very patiently, with apparent interest, and said, "Signorina, I am inclined to believe you have spoken the truth; and as your father has always been a good loyal subject, I shall, for your sake, forgive him this offence; but let him beware that henceforth, wine or no wine, he does not trespass against the laws of the kingdom, for a second offence I will not pardon. Go in peace, signoras, you have my royal word."

We thanked his majesty, and returned to our home with the joyful tidings. O, how brief was our joy! My father, who had been waiting the result of our visit to the palace with great impatience, received us with open arms, and pressed us to his heart again and again.

I was so excited that, long before we got to him, I cried out, "All is well, all is well, father. A pardon from the king! Joy, joy!" We drove home, and father went immediately to spread the happy news amongst his friends. All our faithful domestics, including my old affectionate nurse, were so overjoyed at the news that they danced about like maniacs. My father was always a very indulgent and liberal master, furnished his servants with the best of Italian fare, plenty of fresh beef, wine, and macaroni. We had scarcely got rested, when our tormenter, the confessor, came into our room and said, "Signoras, what is the meaning of all this fandango and folly amongst the servants? ARE THE HERETICS ALL KILLED, that there should be such joy, or has the queen been delivered of a son, an heir to the throne?"

My dear mother was now as pale as death, and silent, for she saw that the priest was awfully enraged; for, although he feigned to smile, his smile was similar to that of the hyena when digging his prey out of the grave. The priest's dark and villainous visage had the effect of confirming in my mother's mind all the truth regarding the plot to enslave me for life, and secure all my father's estate to the pockets of the priests. The confessor was now terribly mad, for two obvious reasons: one was because he was not received by us with our usual cordiality and blind affection; the other, because, by the king's pardon, I was not under the necessity to sacrifice my liberty and happiness for life to save my father from prison; and what tormented him the most was, that he believed that I, though young, could understand and thwart his hellish plans. As my mother trembled and was silent, fearing the priest was cursing her and her only daughter in his heart,--for the priests tell such awful stories about the effects of a priest's curse that the great mass of the Italian people fear it more than the plague or any earthly misfortune.

The popish priests declare that St. Peter is the doorkeeper of the great city of God, the heavenly Jerusalem, that he has the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and has received strict orders not to admit any soul, under any circumstances, who has been cursed by a holy priest, unless that curse has been removed by the same priest in the tribunal of penance. I was obliged to speak to his reverence, and I felt so free, so happy in Christ as my only hope, that I opened my mind to the priest very freely, and told him what I thought of him and his plot. "Sir priest," said I, "I shall never return to the convent to stay long. As soon as the time for my education ends, I shall return to liberty and domestic life. I am not made of the proper material to make a nun of. I love the social domestic circle; I love my father and mother, and all our domestics, even the dogs and the cats, pigeons, and canaries, the fish-ponds, play-grounds, gardens, rivers, and landscapes, mountain and ocean,--all the works of God I love. I shall live out of the convent to enjoy these things; therefore, reverend sir, if you value my peace and good-will, never speak to me or my parents on the subject of my becoming a nun in any convent. I shall prefer death to the loss of my personal liberty."

I was so decided, and had received such strength and grace from heaven, that the priest was dumbfounded,--my smooth stone out of the sling had hit him in the right place. After much effort to appear bland and good-natured, he drew near my chair, seized my hand, and said, "My dear daughter, you mistake me. I love you as a daughter, I wish only your happiness. Your god-father, the holy Bishop, does not intend that you shall remain a common nun more than a year. After the first year you shall be raised to the highest dignity in the convent. You shall be the Lady Superior, and all the nuns shall bow at your feet, and implicitly obey your commands.

"The Lady Superior of St. Clara is now very old, and his lordship wishes soon to fill her place. For that purpose he has selected his adopted daughter. Your talents, education, wealth, and high position in society, eminently fit you for one of the highest dignities on earth."

"A thousand thanks for the kindness of my lord Bishop," said I; "but your reverence has not altered my mind in the least. I can never bow down to the feet of any Lady Superior, neither will I ever consent to see a single human being degraded at my feet. The holy Bible says, 'Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.'" "Bible, my daughter!" exclaimed the priest, "Where did you see that dangerous book? Know you not that his holiness the Pope has placed it in the Index Expurgatorius, because it has been the means of the damnation of millions of souls? Not because it is in itself a bad book, but because it is a theological work, prepared only for the priests and ministers of our holy religion. Therefore, it is always a very dangerous book in the hands of women or laymen, who wrest the Scriptures to their own destruction."

"Well, reverend sir," I replied, "you seem determined to differ from the Lord Jesus and his apostles. I read in the New Testament that we should search the Scriptures because they testify of Christ. And one of the apostles, I don't remember which, said, 'all scripture is given by the inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine and for instruction in righteousness.' Now, reverend sir, if the people have souls, as well as the priests, why should they not read the word of God which speaks of Christ and is profitable for instruction?"

"You are almost a heretic!" exclaimed the priest, "and you talk very much like one." His countenance changed to a pale sickly hue, as he said, "My daughter, where did you get that dangerous book? If you have, it in your possession, give it to me, and I will bless you, and pray for you to the blessed Madonna that she may save you from the infernal pit of heresy."

"I do not own the blessed book," said I, "but I wish I did. I would give one hundred scudi in gold for a copy of the New Testament. I borrowed a copy from a friend, and returned it to the owner again. But I understand that there are copies to be had in London, and when I have a good opportunity I shall send for a copy, if I can do it unbeknown to any one."

"Enough, enough!" exclaimed the priest. "I shall be in the tribunal of penance at six o'clock P.M.; there I shall expect to meet you. You need pardon immediately, and spiritual advice. Should you die as you now are without absolution, you would be lost and damned forever. I tremble for you, my dear daughter, seeing that the devil has got such a powerful hold of you. It may even be absolutely necessary to kill the body to save your soul; for should you relapse again into heresy after due penance for this crime has been performed, it would be impossible to renew you again to repentance, seeing you crucify the Lord and the Madonna afresh, and put them to an open shame."

Here my mother fainted and shook like an aspen leaf. But God gave me strength, and I said in a moment that as his reverence thought my sins so great, I would not go to any man, no, not even to the Pope; I would go to God alone, and leave my cause in his hands, life or death. "Therefore, reverend sir, I shall save you from all further trouble in attending the confessional any more on my account. From henceforth no earthly power shall drag me alive and with my consent to the tribunal of penance."

"Woman!" exclaimed the priest furiously, "are you mad? There are ten thousand devils in you, and we must drive them out by some means." After this discharge of priestly venom, the priest left in a rage giving the door a terrible slam, which awoke my mother from her sorrowful trance. During the whole conversation, such was the electrical power of the priest over my mother's weak and nervous system, that if she attempted to say a word in my behalf, the keen, snakish black eye of the priest would at once make her tremble and quail before him, and the half uttered word would remain silent on her lips. The priest went at once in search of my father. He came home boiling over with rage, saying he wished I had never been born. He cursed the day of my birth. The cause of all this paternal fury upon my poor devoted head was the foul misrepresentations of my father confessor, who was now in league with the Bishop, both determined to shut me up in a prison convent, or end my mortal career.

My poor mother remained mute and heart-broken. My sweet mother; never did she utter one word of unkindness to me; her very look to the last was one of gentleness and love. But my father loved honor and reputation amongst men above all other things. The idea of being the father of an accursed heretic, tormented his pride, and he being suspected of heresy himself caused him to be forsaken by many of his proud friends and acquaintances. He was even insulted in the streets by the numerous Lazaroni, with the epithet of Maldito Corrobonari, so that I lost my father's love. And when the confessor told him there was no other way to save me from hell than an entire life of penance in a convent, he heartily and freely gave his consent. Mother, my own sweet mother, my only remaining friend, turned as pale as death, but was enabled to say a word in my behalf.

I saw that my earthly doom was sealed; there was not a single voice in all Naples to save me from imprisonment for life. Not a tongue in four hundred thousand that would dare speak one word in my behalf. Father commanded me to get ready to leave his house forever that very night, saying the carriage and confessor would be on hand to take me away at eight o'clock P.M., by moonlight. I got on my knees and begged my father as a last request that he would allow me to remain three days with my mother, but he refused. Said he, "That is now beyond my power. Not an hour can you remain after eight o'clock."

As I knew not when I should see my Tuscan friend again, I begged the privilege of seeing her for a few moments. I was anxious to ask her prayers and sympathy, and to put her on her guard, for should the priests discover her New Testament, they would punish her as they did me, or as they intended to do to me. But this favor was denied me, and I could not write to her, for all letters of the scholars in the convents, are opened under the pretence to prevent them from receiving love-letters. The Romish church keeps all her dark plans a secret, but never allows any secret to be kept from the priests.

I went into my room to bid farewell to my home forever. I fell on my knees and prayed to God for his dear Son's sake to help me, to give me patience, and to keep me from the sin of suicide. The more I thought of my utterly unprotected situation and of the savage disposition of my foes, the priests, the more I thought of the propriety of taking my own life, rather than live in a dungeon all my days. Such was the power of superstition over our domestics that they looked upon me as one accursed of the church, a Protestant heretic, and not one of them would take my hand or bid me good bye. At tea-time I was not allowed to sit at table with father, mother, and the confessor, as formerly. But I had my supper sent up to my room.

A short time after the bell rang for vespers, the carriage being ready, my father and the confessor with myself and one small trunk got into the best seats inside, and rode off at a rapid rate. I kept my veil over my face, and said not a word neither did I shed a single tear; my sorrow, and indignation was too deep for utterance or even for tears. The priest and my father uttered not a word. Perhaps my father's conscience made him ashamed of such vile work--that of laying violent hands on a defenceless girl of eighteen years of age, for no crime whatever, only the love of liberty and pure Bible religion. But if the priest was silent, his vile countenance indicated a degree of hellish pleasure and satisfaction. Never did piratical captain glory more in seeing a rich prize along side with all hands killed and out of the way, than my reverend confessor; yet a short time before he said he loved me as a daughter. Yes, he did love me, as the wolf loves the lamb, as the cat loves the mouse and as the boa constrictor the beautiful gazelle. To my momentary satisfaction we entered the big gate of St. Ursula, for although I knew I should suffer there perhaps even death, there was some satisfaction in seeing a few faces that I had seen in my gay and happy days, now alas! forever gone by! I was somewhat grieved by the cold reception I received. All seemed to look upon me with horror. But none of these things moved me; I looked to God for strength, for I felt that He alone could nerve me for the conflict. The hardest blow of all was, my dear father left me at the mercy of the priest without one kind look or word. He did not even shake hands with me, nor did he say farewell.

Oh Popery, what a mysterious power is thine! Thou canst in a few hours destroy powerful love which it took long years to cement in loving hearts. When my father had left and I heard the porter lock the heavy iron gate I felt an exquisite wretchedness come over me. I would have given worlds for death at that moment. In a few moments the priest rung a bell, and the old Jezebel the mother Abbess made her appearance. "Take this heretic, Holy Mother, and place her in confinement in the lower regions; GIVE HER BREAD AND WATER ONCE IN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS, THE WATER THAT YOU HAVE WASHED YOUR SACRED FEET IN, NO OTHER; give her straw to sleep on, but no pillow. Take all her clothing away and give her a coarse tunic; one single coarse garment to cover her nakedness, but no shoes. She has grievously sinned against the holy mother church, and now she mercifully imposes upon her years of severe penance, that her body of sin may be destroyed and her soul saved after suffering one million of years in holy purgatory. Our chief duty now, holy mother, in order to save this lost soul from mortal sin will be to examine her carefully every, day to ascertain if possible what she most dislikes, or what is most revolting to her flesh, that whatever it may be, she, must be compelled to perform it whatever it may cost. Let a holy wax candle burn in her cell at night, until further orders. And let the Tuscan heretic be treated in the same way. They are both guilty of the same crimes." At the word "Tuscan heretic," possessing the spirit of Christ that I knew on earth. Yet how true it is that misery loves company; there was even satisfaction in being near my unfortunate friend though our sufferings might be unutterable. Still I was unhappy in the thought that she was suffering on my account. Had I never said a word about borrowing a New Testament, she would never have been suspected as being the direct cause of my conversion to the truth, and of my renunciation of the vile confessional.

I was somewhat puzzled to know what kind of a place was meant by the lower regions; I had never heard of these regions before. But soon two women in black habits with their faces entirely covered excepting two small holes for the eyes to peep through, came to me and without speaking, made signs for me to follow them. I did so without resistance, and soon found myself in an under-ground story of the infernal building. "There is your cell," said the cowled inquisitors, "look all around, see every thing, but speak not; no not for your life. The softest whisper will immediately reach the ears of the Mother Abbess, and then you are loaded with heavy chains until you die, for there must be no talking or whispering in this holy retreat of penance. And," said my jailor further, "take off your clothes, shoes and stockings, and put on this holy coarse garment which will chafe thy flesh but will bless thy soul. Holy St. Francis saved many souls by this holy garment."

As resistance was worse than useless, I complied, and soon found my poor feet aching with the cold on the bare stone floor. I was soon made to feel the blessing of St. Francis with a vengeance. My sufferings were indescribable. It seemed as though ten thousand bees had stung me in every part. I never closed my eyes for several nights. I laid on my coarse straw and groaned and sighed for death to come and relieve me of my anguish. As soon as the holy wax candle was left with me I took it in my hand and went forth to survey my dungeon; but I did not enjoy my ramble. In one of the cells, I found my Tuscan friend--that dear Christian sister--in great agony, having had on the accursed garment for several days. Her body was one entire blister, and very much inflamed. Her bones were racked with pain, as with the most excruciating inflammatory rheumatism. We recognized each other; she pointed to heaven as if to say 'trust in the Lord, my sister, our sufferings will soon be over.' I kissed my hand to her and returned again to my cell. I saw other victims half dead and emaciated that made my heart sick. I refrained from speaking to any one for I feared my condition, wretched as it was, might be rendered even worse, if possible by the fiends who had entire power over me. "O my God!" said I to myself, "why was I born? O give my soul patience to suffer every pain."

On the fourth day of my imprisonment the jailor brought me some water and soap, a towel, brush and comb, and the same clothes I wore when I entered the foul den. They told me to make haste and prepare myself to appear before the holy Bishop. Hope revived in my soul, for I always thought that my god-father had some regard for me, and had now come to release me from the foul den I was in. Cold water seemed to afford much relief to my tortured body. I made my toilet as quick as I could in such a place. My feet were so numb and swollen that it was difficult for me to get my shoes on. At last the Bishop arrived as I supposed, and I was conducted--not into his presence as I expected, but into that of my bitterest enemy, the confessor. At the very sight of the monster, I trembled like a reed shaken by the wind. The priest walked to each of the doors, locked them, put the keys into a small writing desk, locked it, took out the key and placed it carefully in his sleeve pocket. This he did to assure me that we were alone, that not one of the inmates could by any means disturb for the present the holy meditations of the priest. He bade me take a seat on the sofa by him. In kind soft words he said to me, that if I was only docile and obedient, he would cause me to be treated like a princess, and that in a short time I should have my liberty if I preferred to return to the world. At the same time he attempted to put his arm around my waist. In a moment I was on my feet. While he was talking love to me, I was looking at two large alabaster vases full of beautiful wax flowers; one of them was as much as I could lift. Without one thought about consequences, I seized the nearest vase and threw it with all the strength I had at the priest's head. He fell like a log and uttered one or two groans. The vase was broken. It struck the priest on the right temple, close to the ear. For a moment I listened to see if any one were coming. I then looked at the priest, and saw the blood running out of his wound. I quaked with fear lest I had killed the destroyer of my peace. I did not intend to kill him, I only wished to stun him, that I might take the keys, open the door and run, for the back door of the priest's room led right into a back path where the gates were frequently opened daring the day time. This was about twelve o'clock, and a most favorable moment for me to escape. In a moment I had searched the sleeve pocket of the priest, found the key and a heavy purse of gold which I secured in my dress pocket. I opened the little writing desk and took out the key to the back door. I saw that the priest was not dead, and I had not the least doubt from appearances, but that he would soon come to. I trembled for fear he might wake before I could get away. I thought of my dear Tuscan sister in her wretched cell, but I could not get to her without being discovered. There was no time to be lost. I opened the door with the greatest facility and gained the opening into the back path. I locked the door after me, and brought the key with me for a short distance, then placed all the keys tinder a rock. I had no hat but only a black veil. I threw that over my head after the fashion of Italy and gained the outer gate. There were masons at work near the gate which was open and I passed through into the street without being questioned by any one.

As I had not a nun's dress on, no one supposed I belonged to the Institution. I walked down directly to the sea coast. I could speak a few English words which I had learned from some English friends of my father. Before I got to where the boats lay I saw a gentleman whom I took to be an English or American gentleman. He had a pleasant face, looked at me very kindly, saw my pale dejected face and at once felt a deep sympathy for me. As I appeared to be in trouble and needed help, he extended his hand to me and said in tolerable good Italian, "Como va' le' signorina?" that is "How do you do young lady?" I asked him what was his country. "Me," said he, "Americano, Americano, capitano de Bastimento." (American captain of a ship.) "Signor Capitano," said I, "I wish to go on board your ship and see an American ship." "Well," said he, "with a great deal of pleasure; my ship lies at anchor, my men are waiting; you shall dine with me, Signorina."

I praised God in my soul for this merciful providence of meeting a friend, though a stranger, whose face seemed to me so honest and so true. Any condition, even honest slavery, would have been preferred by me at that time to a convent. The American ship was the most beautiful thing I ever saw afloat; splendid and neat in all her cabin arrangements. The mates were polite, and the sailors appeared neat and happy. Even the black cook showed his beautiful white teeth, as though he was glad to see one of the ladies of Italy. Poor fellows! Little did they know at that time what peril I was in should I be found out and taken back to my dungeon again. I informed the captain of my situation, of having just escaped from a convent into which I had been forced against my will. I told him I would pay him my passage to America, if he would hide me somewhere until the ship was well out to sea. He said I had come just in time, for he was only waiting for a fair wind, and hoped to be off that evening. "I have," said he, "a large number of bread-casks on board, and two are empty. I shall have you put into one of these, in which I shall make augur-holes, so that you can have plenty of fresh air. Down in the hold amongst the provisions you will be safe." I thanked my kind friend and requested him to buy me some needles, silk, and cotton thread, and some stuff for a couple of dresses, and one-piece of fine cotton, so that I might make myself comfortable during the voyage.

After I ate my dinner, the men called the captain and said there were several boats full of soldiers coming to the ship, accompanied by the priests. "Lady," exclaimed the captain, "they are after you. There is not a moment to be lost. Follow me," he continued. "And, Mr. Smith, tell the men to be careful and not make known that there is a lady on board."

An awful cold chill ran over me. I followed my friend quickly, and soon found myself coiled in a large cask. The captain coopered the head, which was missing, and made holes for me to get the air; but the perspiration ran off my face in a stream. Lots of things were piled on the cask, so that I had hard work to breathe; but such was my fear of the priests that I would rather have perished in the cask than be returned to die by inches.

The captain had been gone but a short time when I heard steps on deck, and much noise and confusion. As the hatches were open, I could hear very distinctly. After the whole company were on deck, the captain invited the priests and friars, about twenty in number, to walk down to the cabin, and explain the cause of their visit. They talked through an interpreter, and said that "a woman of bad character had robbed one of the churches of a large amount of gold, had attempted to murder one of the holy priests, but they were happy to say that the holy father, though badly wounded, was in a fair way of recovery. This woman is young, but very desperate, has awful raving fits, and has recently escaped from a lunatic institution. When her fits of madness come on they are obliged to put her into a straight jacket, for she is the most dangerous person in Italy. A great reward is offered for her by her father and the government--five thousand scudi. Is not this enough to tempt one to help find her? She was seen coming towards the shipping, and we want the privilege of searching your ship."

"Gentlemen," said the captain, "I do not know that the Italian authorities have any right to search an American ship, under the stars and stripes of the United States, for we do not allow even the greatest naval power on earth to do that thing. But if such a mad and dangerous woman as you have described should by any means have smuggled herself on board my ship, you are quite welcome to take her away as soon as possible, for I should be afraid of my life if I was within one hundred yards of such an unfortunate creature. If you can get her into your lunatic asylum, the quicker the better; and the five thousand scudi will come in good time, for I am thinking of building me a larger ship on my return home. Now, gentlemen, come; I will assist you, for I should like to see the gold in my pocket." The captain opened all his closets and secret places, in the cabin and forecastle and in the hold; everything was searched, all but the identical bread-cask in which I was snugly coiled.

After something like half an hour's search, the soldiers of King Ferdinand and the priests of King Pope left the ship, satisfied that the crazy nun was not on board; for, judging the captain by themselves, they thought he certainly would have given up a mad woman for the sake of five thousand scudi in gold, and for the safety of his own peace and comfort. A few moments after the Pope's friends had left, the excellent benevolent captain came down, and speedily and gently knocking off a few hoops with a hammer, took the head out, and I was free once more to breathe God's free air. I lifted my trembling heart in thanksgiving, while tears of gratitude rolled down my cheeks. Yet, as we were still within the reach of the guns of the papal forts, my heart was by no means at rest. But the good captain assured me repeatedly that all danger was past, for he had twenty-five men on board, all true Protestants, and he declared that all the priests of Naples would walk over their dead bodies before they should reach his vessel a second time. "And besides," said the captain, "there are two American men-of-war in port, who will stand up for the rights of Americans. They have not yet forgotten Captain Ingraham, of the United States ship St. Louis, and his rescue from the Austrian papists of the Hungarian patriot, Martin Kozsta." The captain wisely refused to purchase any needles or thread for me on shore, or any articles of ladies' dress, for fear of the Jesuitical spies, who might surmise something and cause further trouble. But he kindly furnished me with some goods he had purchased for his own wife, and there were needles and silk enough on board, so that I soon cut and made a few articles that made me very comfortable during our voyage of thirty-two days to London.

Early the next morning we sailed out of the beautiful harbor of Naples, with a fair wind. The beautiful ship seemed to fly over the blue sea. I staid on deck gazing at my native city as long as I could. I thought then of my once happy home, of my poor, broken-hearted mother, of my unhappy father. Although he had cast me off through the foul play of Jesuitical intrigue, my love for my dear father remained the same. "Farewell, my dear Italy," I said to myself. "When, my poor native land, wilt thou be happy? Never, never, so long as the Pope lives, and his wicked, murderous priests, to curse thee by their power."

After we got out into the open sea, the motion of the ship made me feel very sick, and I was so starved out before I came on board, that what good provisions I ate on board did not seem to agree with me. My stomach was in a very bad state, for while I was in the lower regions of the convent I ate only a small quantity of very stale hard bread once in twenty-four hours, at the ringing of the vesper bells every evening, and the water given me was that in which the holy Mother Abbess had washed her sacred feet. But I must give the holy mother credit for one good omission--she did not use any soap.

The captain gave me a good state-room which I occupied with an English lady passenger. This good lady was accustomed to the sea, therefore, she did not suffer any inconvenience from sea-sickness; but I was very sick, so that I kept my berth for five days. This good Protestant lady was very kind and attentive during the whole passage, and kindly assisted me in getting my garments made up on board. On our arrival in London, the captain said that he would sail for America in two weeks time, and very kindly offered me a free passage to his happy, native land; and I could not persuade him to take any money for my passage from Naples, nor for the clothing he had given me.

My fellow passenger being wealthy, and well acquainted with people in England, took me to her splendid home, a few miles from London. At her residence I was introduced to a young French gentleman, a member of the Evangelical protestant church in France, and a descendant of the pious persecuted Huguenots. This gentleman speaks good English and Italian, having enjoyed the privilege of a superior education. His fervent prayers at the family altar morning and evening made a very deep impression on my mind. He became deeply interested in my history, and offered to take me to France, after I should become his lawful wife.

Though I did not like the idea of choosing another popish country for my residence, yet as my friend assured me that I should enjoy my protestant religion unmolested, I gave him my hand and my heart. My lady fellow passenger was my bridesmaid. We were married by a good protestant minister. My husband is a wealthy merchant--gives me means and opportunities for doing good. Home is precious in a foreign land. Our home is one of piety and peace and happiness. The blessed Bible is read by us every day. Morning and evening we sing God's praise, and call upon the name of the Lord. Our prayer is that God may deliver beloved France and Italy from the curse of popery.

Another proof of the persecuting spirit of Rome is furnished by the "Narrative of Raffaele Ciocci, formerly a Benedictine Monk, but who now 'comes forth from Inquisitorial search and torture, and tells us what he has seen, heard and felt.'" We can make but a few extracts from this interesting little volume, published by the American and Foreign Christian Union, who,--to use their own language--"send it forth as a voice of instruction and warning to the American people. Let the facts be heard and read. They are not to be set aside by an apology for the dark ages, nor an appeal to the refinement of the nineteenth century. Here is Rome, not as she WAS in the midnight of the world, but as she IS at the present moment. There is the same opposition to private judgment--the same coercive measures--the same cruel persecution--the same efforts to crush the civil and religious liberties of her own subjects, for which she has ever been characterized."

Ciocci, compelled at an early age to enter the Catholic College--forced, notwithstanding his deep disgust and earnest remonstrance, to become a monk--imprisoned--deceived--the victim of priestly artifice and fraud, at length becomes a Christian. He is of course thrown into a deeper dungeon; and more exquisite anguish inflicted upon him that he may be constrained to return to the Romish faith. Of his imprisonment he says, "We traversed long corridors till we arrived at the door of an apartment which they requested me to enter, and they themselves retired. On opening the door I found myself in a close dark room, barely large enough for the little furniture it contained, which consisted of a small hard bed, hard as the conscience of an inquisitor, a little table cut all over, and a dirty ill-used chair. The window which was shut and barred with iron resisted all my efforts to open it My heart sunk within me, and I began to cogitate on the destiny in store for me." The Jesuit Giuliani entering his room, he asked that the window might be opened for the admission of light and air. Before the words were finished he exclaimed in a voice of thunder, "How! wretched youth, thou complainest of the dark, whilst thou art living in the clouds of error? Dost thou desire the light of heaven, while thou rejectest the light of the Catholic faith?"

Ciocci saw that remonstrance was useless, but he reminded his jailer that he had been sent there for three days, to receive instruction, not to be treated as a criminal.

"For three days," he resumed, counterfeiting my tone of voice, "for three days! That would be nothing. The dainty youth will not forsooth, be roughly treated; it remains to be seen whether he desires to be courteously entertained. Be converted, be converted, condemned soul! Fortunate is it for thee that thou art come to this place. THOU WILT NEVER quit it excepting with the real fruits of repentance! Among these silent shades canst thou meditate at thy leisure upon the deplorable state into which thou hast fallen. Woe unto thee, if thou refusest to listen to the voice of God, who conducts souls into solitude that he may speak with them." "So saying," he continues, "he abruptly left me. I remained alone drooping under the weight of a misfortune, which was the more severe, because totally unexpected. I stood, I know not how long, in the same position, but on recovering from this lethargy, my first idea was of flight. But this thought was at once abandoned. There was no possibility of flight. Without giving a minute account of the manner in which I passed my wearisome days and nights in this prison, let it suffice to say that they were spent in listening to sermons preached to me four times a day by the fathers Giuliani and Rossini, and in the most gloomy reflections.

"In the mean time the miseries I endured were aggravated by the heat of the season, the wretchedness of the chamber, scantiness of food, and the rough severity of those by whom I was occasionally visited. Uncertainty as to when this imprisonment would be at an end, almost drove me wild, and the first words I addressed to those who approached me were, 'Have the kindness to tell me when I shall be permitted to leave this place?' One replied, 'My son, think of hell.' I interrogated another; the answer was, 'Think my son, how terrible is the death of the sinner!' I spoke to a third, to a fourth, and one said to me, 'My son, what will be your feeling, if, on the day of judgment you find yourself on the left hand of God?' the other, 'Paradise, my son, Paradise!' No one gave me a direct answer; their object appeared to be to mistify and confound me. After the first few days, I began to feel most severely the want of a change of clothing. Accustomed to cleanliness, I found myself constrained to wear soiled apparel. * * * For the want of a comb, my hair became rough and entangled. After the fourth day my portion of food was diminished; a sign, that they were pressing the siege, that it was their intention to adopt both assault and blockade--to conquer me by arms, or induce me to capitulate through hunger. I had been shut up in this wretched place for thirteen days, when, one day, about noon, the Father Mislei, the author of all my misery, entered my cell.

"At the sight of this man, resentment overcame every other consideration, and I advanced towards him fully prepared to indulge my feelings, when he, with his usual smile, expressed in bland words his deep regret at having been the cause of my long detention in this retreat. 'Never could I have supposed,' said he, 'that my anxiety for the salvation of your soul would have brought you into so much tribulation. But rest assured the fault is not entirely mine. You have yourself, in a great degree, by your useless obstinacy, been the cause of your sufferings. Ah, well, we will yet remedy all.' Not feeling any confidence in his assurance, I burst out into bitter invectives and fierce words. He then renewed his protestations, and clothed them with such a semblance of honesty and truth, that when he ended with this tender conclusion, 'Be assured, my son, that I love you,' my anger vanished. * * * I lost sight of the Jesuit, and thought I was addressing a man, a being capable of sympathising in the distresses of others. 'Ah, well, father,' said I, 'I need some one on whom I can rely, some one towards whom I can feel kindly; I will therefore place confidence in your words.'" After some further conversation, Ciocci was asked if he wished to leave that place. "If I desire it!" he replied, "what a strange question! You might as well ask a condemned soul whether he desires to escape from hell!" At these words the Jesuit started like a goaded animal, and, forgetting his mission of deceiver, with, knit brows and compressed lips, he allowed his ferocious soul for one moment to appear; but, having grown old in deceit, he immediately had the circumspection to give this movement of rage the appearance of religious zeal, and exclaimed, "What comparisons are these? Are you not ashamed to assume the language of the Atheist? By speaking in this way you clearly manifest how little you deserve to leave this place. But since I have told you that I love you, I will give you a proof of it by thinking no more of those irreligious expressions; they shall be forgotten as though they had never been spoken. Well, the Cardinal proposes to you an easy way of returning to your monastery." "What does he propose?" "Here is the way," said he, presenting me with a paper: "copy this with your own hand; nothing more will be required of you." "I took the paper with convulsive eagerness. It was a recantation of my faith, there condemned as erroneous. * * * Upon reading this, I shuddered, and, starting to my feet, in a solemn attitude and with a firm voice, exclaimed, 'Kill me, if you please; my life is in your power; but never will I subscribe to that iniquitous formulary.' The Jesuit, after laboring in vain to persuade me to his wishes, went away in anger. I now momentarily expected to be conducted to the torture. Whenever I was taken from my room to the chapel, I feared lest some trap-door should open beneath my feet, and therefore took great care to tread in the footsteps of the Jesuit who preceded me. No one acquainted with the Inquisition will say that my precaution was needless. My imagination was so filled with the horrors of this place, that even in my short, interrupted, and feverish dreams I beheld daggers and axes glittering around me; I heard the noise of wheels, saw burning piles and heated irons, and woke in convulsive terror, only to give myself up to gloomy reflections, inspired by the reality of my situation, and the impressions left by these nocturnal visions. What tears did I shed in those dreary moments! How innumerable were the bitter wounds that lacerated my heart! My prayers seemed to me unworthy to be received by a God of charity, because, notwithstanding all my efforts to banish from my soul every feeling of resentment towards my persecutors, hatred returned with redoubled power. I often repeated the words of Christ, 'Father, forgive them, they know not what they do;' but immediately a voice would answer, 'This prayer is not intended for the Jesuits; they resemble not the crucifiers, who were blind instruments of the rage of the Jews; while these men are fully conscious of what they are doing; they are the modern Pharisees.' The reading of the Bible would have afforded me great consolation, but this was denied me." * * *

The fourteenth day of his imprisonment he was taken to the council to hear his sentence, when he was again urged to sign the form of recantation. But he refused. The Father Rossini then spoke: "You are decided; let it be, then, as you deserve. Rebellious son of the church, in the fullness of the power which she has received from Christ, you shall feel the holy rigor of her laws. She cannot permit tares to grow with the good seed. She cannot suffer you to remain among her sons and become the stumbling-block for the ruin of many. Abandon, therefore, all hope of leaving this place, and of returning to dwell among the faithful. KNOW, ALL IS FINISHED FOR YOU!"

For the conclusion of this narrative we refer the reader to the volume itself.

If any more evidence were needed to show that the spirit of Romanism is the same to-day that it has ever been, we find it in the account of a legal prosecution against ten Christians at Beldac, in France, for holding and attending a public worship not licensed by the civil authority. They had made repeated, respectful, and earnest applications to the prefect of the department of Hante-Vienne for the authorization required by law, and which, in their case, ought to have been given. It was flatly refused. They persisted in rendering to God that worship which his own command and their consciences required. For this they were arraigned as above stated, on the 10th of August, 1855. On the 26th of January, 1856, the case was decided by the "tribunal," and the three pastors and one lady, a schoolmistress, were condemned to pay a fine of one thousand francs each, and some of the others five-hundred francs each, the whole amount, together with legal expenditures, exceeding the sum of nine thousand francs.

Meantime, the converts continue to hold their worship-meetings in the woods, barns, and secret places, in order not to be surprised by the police commissioner, and to avoid new official reports.

"Thus, you see," says V. De Pressense, in a letter to the 'American and foreign Christian Union,' "that we are brought back to the religious meetings of the desert, when the Protestants of the Cevennes evinced such persevering fidelity. The only difference is, that these Christians belonged only a short time ago to that church which is now instigating persecutions against them."

DESTRUCTION OF THE INQUISITION IN SPAIN.

In 1809, Col. Lehmanowsky was attached to the part of Napoleon's army which was stationed in Madrid. "While in that city," said Col. L., "I used to speak freely among the people what I thought of the Priests and Jesuits, and of the Inquisition. It had been decreed by the Emperor Napoleon that the Inquisition and the Monasteries should be suppressed, but the decree, he said, like some of the laws enacted in this country, was not executed."

Months had passed away, and the prisons of the Inquisition had not been opened. One night, about ten or eleven o'clock, as he was walking one of the streets of Madrid, two armed men sprang upon him from an alley, and made a furious attack. He instantly drew his sword, put himself in a posture of defence, and while struggling with them, he saw at a distance the lights of the patrols,--French soldiers mounted, who carried lanterns, and who rode through the streets of the city at all hours of the night, to preserve order. He called to them in French, and as they hastened to his assistance, the assailants took to their heels and escaped; not, however, before he saw by their dress that they belonged to the guards of the Inquisition.

He went immediately to Marshal Soult, then Governor of Madrid, told him what had taken place, and reminded him of the decree to suppress this institution. Marshal Soult told him that he might go and suppress it The Colonel said that his regiment (the 9th. of the Polish Lancers,) was not sufficient for such a service, but if he would give him two additional regiments, the 117th, and another which he named, he would undertake the work. The 117th regiment was under the command of Col. De Lile, who is now, like Col. L., a minister of the gospel, and pastor of an evangelical church in Marseilles, France. "The troops required were granted, and I proceeded," said Col. L., "to the Inquisition which was situated about five miles from the city. It was surrounded by a wall of great strength, and defended by a company of soldiers. When we arrived at the walls, I addressed one of the sentinels, and summoned the holy fathers to surrender to the Imperial army, and open the gates of the Inquisition. The sentinel who was standing on the wall, appeared to enter into conversation with some one within, at the close of which he presented his musket, and shot one of my men. This was the signal of attack, and I ordered my troops to fire upon those who appeared on the walls."

It was soon obvious that it was an unequal warfare. The soldiers of the holy office were partially protected by a breast-work upon the walls which were covered with soldiers, while our troops were in the open plain, and exposed to a destructive fire. We had no cannon, nor could we scale the walls, and the gates successfully resisted all attempts at forcing them. I could not retire and send for cannon to break through the walls without giving them time to lay a train for blowing us up. I saw that it was necessary to change the mode of attack, and directed some trees to be cut down and trimmed, to be used as battering rams. Two of these were taken up by detachments of men, as numerous as could work to advantage, and brought to bear upon the walls with all the power they could exert, while the troops kept up a fire to protect them from the fire poured upon them from the walls. Presently the walls began to tremble, a breach was made, and the Imperial troops rushed into the Inquisition. Here we met with an incident, which nothing but Jesuitical effrontery is equal to. The Inquisitor General, followed by the father confessors in their priestly robes, all came out of their rooms, as we were making our way into the interior of the Inquisition, and with long faces, and arms crossed over their breasts, their fingers resting on their shoulders, as though they had been deaf to all the noise of the attack and defence, and had just learned what was going on, they addressed themselves in the language of rebuke to their own soldiers, saying, "WHY DO YOU FIGHT OUR FRIENDS, THE FRENCH?"

Their intention, no doubt, was to make us think that this defence was wholly unauthorized by them, hoping, if they could make us believe that they were friendly, they should have a better opportunity, in the confusion of the moment, to escape. Their artifice was too shallow, and did not succeed. I caused them to be placed under guard, and all the soldiers of the Inquisition to be secured as prisoners. We then proceeded to examine all the rooms of the stately edifice. We passed through room after room; found all perfectly in order, richly furnished, with altars and crucifixes, and wax candles in abundance, but we could discover no evidences of iniquity being practiced there, nothing of those peculiar features which we expected to find in an Inquisition. We found splendid paintings, and a rich and extensive library. Here was beauty and splendor, and the most perfect order on which my eyes had ever rested. The architecture, the proportions were perfect. The ceilings and floors of wood were scoured and highly polished. The marble floors were arranged with a strict regard to order. There was everything to please the eye and gratify a cultivated taste; but where were those horrid instruments of torture, of which we had been told, and where those dungeons in which human beings were said to be buried alive? We searched in vain. The holy father assured us that they had been belied; that we had seen all; and I was prepared to give up the search, convinced that this Inquisition was different from others of which I had heard.

But Col. De Idle was not so ready as myself to give up the search, and said to me, "Colonel, you are commander to-day, and as you say, so it must be; but if you will be advised by me, let this marble floor be examined. Let water be brought and poured upon it, and we will watch and see if there is any place through which it passes more freely than others." I replied to him, "Do as you please, Colonel," and ordered water to be brought accordingly. The slabs of marble were large and beautifully polished. When the water had been poured over the floor, much to the dissatisfaction of the inquisitors, a careful examination was made of every seam in the floor, to see if the water passed through. Presently Col. De Lile exclaimed that he had found it. By the side of one of these marble slabs the water passed through fast, as though there was an opening beneath. All hands were now at work for further discovery; the officers with their swords and the soldiers with their bayonets, seeking to clear out the seam, and pry up the slab; others with the butts of their muskets striking the slab with all their might to break it, while the priests remonstrated against our desecrating their holy and beautiful house. While thus engaged, a soldier, who was striking with the butt of his musket, struck a spring, and the marble slab flew up. Then the faces of the inquisitors grew pale as Belshazzar when the hand writing appeared on the wall; they trembled all over; beneath the marble slab, now partly up, there was a stair-case. I stepped to the altar, and took from the candlestick one of the candles four feet in length, which was burning that I might explore the room below. As I was doing this, I was arrested by one of the inquisitors, who laid his hand gently on my arm, and with a very demure and holy look said "My son, you must not take those lights with your bloody hands they are holy." "Well," said I, "I will take a holy thing to shed light on iniquity; I will bear the responsibility." I took the candle, and proceeded down the stair-case. As we reached the foot of the stairs we entered a large room which was called the hall of judgment. In the centre of it was a large block, and a chain fastened to it. On this they were accustomed to place the accused, chained to his seat. On one side of the room was an elevated seat called the Throne of Judgment. This, the Inquisitor General occupied, and on either side were seats less elevated, for the holy fathers when engaged in the solemn business of the Holy Inquisition.

From this room we proceeded to the right, and obtained access to small cells extending the entire length of the edifice; and here such sights were presented as we hoped never to see again. Three cells were places of solitary confinement, where the wretched objects of inquisitorial hate were confined year after year, till death released them from their sufferings, and their bodies were suffered to remain until they were entirely decayed, and the rooms had become fit for others to occupy. To prevent this being offensive to those who occupied the Inquisition, there were flues or tubes extending to the open air, sufficiently capacious to carry off the odor. In these cells we found the remains of some who had paid the debt of nature: some of them had been dead apparently but a short time, while of others nothing remained but their bones, still chained to the floor of their dungeon.

In others we found living sufferers of both sexes and of every age, from three score years and ten down to fourteen or fifteen years--all naked as they were born into the world! And all in chains! Here were old men and aged women, who had been shut up for many years. Here, too, were the middle aged, and the young man and the maiden of fourteen years old. The soldiers immediately went to work to release the captives from their chains, and took from their knapsacks their overcoats and other clothing, which they gave to cover their nakedness. They were exceedingly anxious to bring them out to the light of day; but Col. L., aware of the danger, had food given them, and then brought them gradually to the light, as they were able to bear it.

We then proceeded, said Col. L., to explore another room on the left. Here we found the instruments of torture, of every kind which the ingenuity of men or devils could invent. Col. L., here described four of these horrid instruments. The first was a machine by which the victim was confined, and then, beginning with the fingers, every joint in the hands, arms and body, were broken or drawn one after another, until the victim died. The second was a box, in which the head and neck of the victim were so closely confined by a screw that he could not move in any way. Over the box was a vessel, from which one drop of water a second, fell upon the head of the victim;--every successive drop falling upon precisely the same place on the head, suspended the circulation in a few moments, and put the sufferer in the most excruciating agony. The third was an infernal machine, laid horizontally, to which the victim was bound; the machine then being placed between two beams, in which were scores of knives so fixed that, by turning the machine with a crank, the flesh of the sufferer was torn from his limbs, all in small pieces. The fourth surpassed the others in fiendish ingenuity. Its exterior was a beautiful woman, or large doll, richly dressed, with arms extended, ready, to embrace its victim. Around her feet a semi-circle was drawn. The victim who passed over this fatal mark, touched a spring which caused the diabolical engine to open; its arms clasped him, and a thousand knives cut him into as many pieces in the deadly embrace. Col. L., said that the sight of these engines of infernal cruelty kindled the rage of the soldiers to fury. They declared that every inquisitor and soldier of the inquisition should be put to the torture. Their rage was ungovernable. Col. L., did not oppose them. They might have turned their arms against him if he had attempted to arrest their work. They began with the holy fathers. The first they put to death in the machine for breaking joints. The torture of the inquisitor put to death by the dropping of water on his head was most excruciating. The poor man cried out in agony to be taken from the fatal machine. The inquisitor general was brought before the infernal engine called "The Virgin." He begged to be excused. "No" said they, "you have caused others to kiss her, and now you must do it." They interlocked their bayonets so as to form large forks, and with these pushed him over the deadly circle. The beautiful image instantly prepared for the embrace, clasped him in its arms, and he was cut into innumerable pieces. Col. L. said, he witnessed the torture of four of them--his heart sickened at the awful scene--and he left the soldiers to wreak their vengeance on the last guilty inmate of that prison-house of hell.

In the mean time it was reported through Madrid that the prisons of the Inquisition were broken open, and multitudes hastened to the fatal spot. And, Oh, what a meeting was there! It was like a resurrection! About a hundred who had been buried for many years were now restored to life. There were fathers who had found their long lost daughters; wives were restored to their husbands, sisters to their brothers, parents to their children; and there were some who could recognize no friend among the multitude. The scene was such as no tongue can describe.

When the multitude had retired, Col. L. caused the library, paintings, furniture, etc., to be removed, and having sent to the city for a wagon load of powder, he deposited a large quantity in the vaults beneath the building, and placed a slow match in connection with it. All had withdrawn to a distance, and in a few moments there was a most joyful sight to thousands. The walls and turrets of the massive structure rose majestically towards the heavens, impelled by the tremendous explosion, and fell back to the earth an immense heap of ruins. The Inquisition was no more!

Such is the account given by Col. Lehmanowsky of the destruction of the inquisition in Spain. Was it then finally destroyed, never again to be revived? Listen to the testimony of the Rev. Giacinto Achilli, D. D. Surely, his statements in this respect can be relied upon, for he is himself a convert from Romanism, and was formerly the "Head Professor of Theology, and Vicar of the Master of the Sacred Apostolic Palace."

He certainly had every opportunity to obtain correct information on the subject, and in a book published by him in 1851, entitled "Dealings with the Inquisition," we find, (page 71) the following startling announcement. "We are now in the middle of the nineteenth century, and still the Inquisition is actually and potentially in existence. This disgrace to humanity, whose entire history is a mass of atrocious crimes, committed by the priests of the Church of Rome, in the name of God and of His Christ, whose vicar and representative, the pope, the head of the Inquisition, declares himself to be,--this abominable institution is still in existence in Rome and in the Roman States."

Again, (page 89) he says, "And this most infamous Inquisition, a hundred times destroyed and as often renewed, still exists in Rome as in the barbarous ages; the only difference being that the same iniquities are at present practiced there with a little more secrecy and caution than formerly, and this for the sake of prudence, that the Holy See may not be subjected to the animadversions of the world at large."

On page 82 of the same work we find the following language. "I do not propose to myself to speak of the Inquisition of times past, but of what exists in Rome at the present moment; I shall therefore assert that the laws of this institution being in no respect changed, neither can the institution itself be said to have undergone any alteration. The present race of priests who are now in power are too much afraid of the popular indignation to let loose all their inquisitorial fury, which might even occasion a revolt if they were not to restrain it; the whole world, moreover, would cry out against them, a crusade would be raised against the Inquisition, and, for a little temporary gratification, much power would be endangered. This is the true reason why the severity of its penalties is in some degree relaxed at the present time, but they still remain unaltered in its code."

Again on page 102, he says, "Are the torments which are employed at the present day at the Inquisition all a fiction? It requires the impudence of an inquisitor, or of the Archbishop of Westminister to deny their existence. I have myself heard these evil-minded persons lament and complain that their victims were treated with too much lenity.

"What is it you desire?" I inquired of the inquisitor of Spoleto. "That which St. Thomas Aquinas says," answered he; "DEATH TO ALL THE HERETICS."

"Hand over, then, to one of these people, a person, however respectable; give him up to one of the inquisitors, (he who quoted St. Thomas Aquinas to me was made an Archbishop)--give up, I say, the present Archbishop of Canterbury, an amiable and pious man, to one of these rabid inquisitors; he must either deny his faith or be burned alive. Is my statement false? Am I doting? Is not this the spirit that invariably actuates the inquisitors? and not the inquisitors only, but all those who in any way defile themselves with the inquisition, such as bishops and their vicars, and all those who defend it, as the papists do. There is the renowned Dr. Wiseman, the Archbishop of Westminster according to the pope's creation, the same who has had the assurance to censure me from his pulpit, and to publish an infamous article in the Dublin Review, in which he has raked together, as on a dunghill, every species of filth from the sons of Ignatius Loyola; and there is no lie or calumny that he has not made use of against me. Well, then, suppose I were to be handed over to the tender mercy of Dr. Wiseman, and he had the full power to dispose of me as he chose, without fear of losing his character in the eyes of the nation to which, by parentage more than by merit, he belongs, what do you imagine he would do with me? Should I not have to undergo some death more terrible than ordinary? Would not a council be held with the reverend fathers of the company of Loyola, the same who have suggested the abominable calumnies above alluded to, in order to invent some refined method of putting me out of the world? I feel persuaded that if I were condemned by the Inquisition to be burned alive, my calumniator would have great pleasure in building my funeral pile, and setting fire to it with his own hands; or should strangulation be preferred, that he would, with equal readiness, arrange the cord around my neck; and all for the honor and glory of the Inquisition, of which, according to his oath, he is a true and faithful servant."

This, then, according to Dr. Achilli is the spirit of Romanism! Can we doubt that it would lead to results as frightful as anything described in the foregoing story?

But let us listen to his further remarks on the present state of the Inquisition. On page 75 he says, "What, then, is the Inquisition of the nineteenth century? The same system of intolerance which prevailed in the barbarous ages. That which raised the Crusade and roused all Europe to arms at the voice of a monk [Footnote: Bernard of Chiaravalle.] and of a hermit, [Footnote: Peter the Hermit.] That which--in the name of a God of peace, manifested on earth by Christ, who, through love for sinners, gave himself to be crucified--brought slaughter on the Albigenses and the Waldenses; filled France with desolation, under Domenico di Guzman; raised in Spain the funeral pile and the scaffold, devastating the fair kingdoms of Granada and Castile, through the assistance of those detestable monks, Raimond de Pennefort, Peter Arbues, and Cardinal Forquemorda. That, which, to its eternal infamy, registers in the annals of France the fatal 24th of August, and the 5th of November in those of England."

That same system which at this moment flourishes at Rome, which has never yet been either worn out or modified, and which at this present time, in the jargon of the priests, is called a "the holy, Roman, universal, apostolic Inquisition. Holy, as the place where Christ was crucified is holy; apostolic, because Judas Iscariot was the first inquisitor; Roman and universal, because FROM ROME IT EXTENDS OVER ALL THE WORLD. It is denied by some that the Inquisition which exists in Rome as its centre, is extended throughout the world by means of the missionaries. The Roman Inquisition and the Roman Propaganda are in close connection with each other. Every bishop who is sent in partibus infidelium, is an inquisitor charged to discover, through the means of his missionaries, whatever is said or done by others in reference to Rome, with the obligation to make his report secretly. The Apostolic nuncios are all inquisitors, as are also the Apostolic vicars. Here, then, we see the Roman Inquisition extending to the most remote countries." Again this same writer informs us, (page 112,) that "the principal object of the Inquisition is to possess themselves, by every means in their power, of the secrets of every class of society. Consequently its agents (Jesuits and Missionaries,) enter the domestic circle, observe every motion, listen to every conversation, and would, if possible, become acquainted with the most hidden thoughts. It is in fact, the police, not only of Rome, but of all Italy; INDEED, IT MAY BE SAID OF THE WHOLE WORLD."

The above statements of Dr. Achilli are fully corroborated by the Rev. Wm. H. Rule, of London. In a book published by him in 1852, entitled "The Brand of Dominic," we find the following remarks in relation to the Inquisition of the present time. The Roman Inquisition is, therefore, acknowledged to have an infinite multitude of affairs constantly on hand, which necessitates its assemblage thrice every week. Still there are criminals, and criminal processes. The body of officials are still maintained on established revenues of the holy office. So far from any mitigation of severity or judicial improvement in the spirit of its administration, the criminal has now no choice of an advocate; but one person, and he a servant of the Inquisition, performs an idle ceremony, under the name of advocacy, for the conviction of all. And let the reader mark, that as there are bishops in partibus, so, in like manner, there are inquisitors of the same class appointed in every country, and chiefly, in Great Britain and the colonies, who are sworn to secrecy, and of course communicate intelligence to this sacred congregation of all that can be conceived capable of comprehension within the infinitude of its affairs. We must, therefore, either believe that the court of Rome is not in earnest, and that this apparatus of universal jurisdiction is but a shadow,--an assumption which is contrary to all experience,--or we must understand that the spies and familiars of the Inquisition are listening at our doors, and intruding themselves on our hearths. How they proceed, and what their brethren at Rome are doing, events may tell; BUT WE MAY BE SURE THEY ARE NOT IDLE.

They were not idle in Rome in 1825, when they rebuilt the prisons of the Inquisition. They were not idle in 1842, when they imprisoned Dr. Achilli for heresy, as he assures us; nor was the captain, or some other of the subalterns, who, acting in their name, took his watch from him as he came out. They were not idle in 1843, when they renewed the old edicts against the Jews. And all the world knows that the inquisitors on their stations throughout the pontifical states, and the inquisitorial agents in Italy, Germany, and Eastern Europe, were never more active than during the last four years, and even at this moment, when every political misdemeanor that is deemed offensive to the Pope, is, constructively, a sin against the Inquisition, and visited with punishment accordingly. A deliberative body, holding formal session thrice every week, cannot be idle, and although it may please them to deny that Dr. Achilli saw and examined a black book, containing the praxis now in use, the criminal code of inquisitors in force at this day,--as Archibald Bower had an abstract of such a book given him for his use about one hundred and thirty years ago,--they cannot convince me that I have not seen and handled, and used in the preparation of this volume, the compendium of an unpublished Roman code of inquisitorial regulations, given to the vicars of the inquisitor-general of Modena. They may be pleased to say that the mordacchia, or gag, of which Dr. Achilli speaks, as mentioned in that BLACK BOOK, is no longer used; but that it is mentioned there, and might be used again is more than credible to myself, after having seen that the "sacred congregation" has fixed a rate of fees for the ordering, witnessing, and administration of TORTURE. There was indeed, a talk of abolishing torture at Rome; but we have reason to believe that the congregation will not drop the mordacchia, inasmuch, as, instead of notifying any such reformation to the courts of Europe, this congregation has kept silence. For although a continuation of the bullary has just been published at Rome, containing several decrees of this congregation, there is not one that announces a fulfilment of this illusory promise,--a promise imagined by a correspondent to French newspapers, but never given by the inquisitors themselves. And as there is no proof that they have yet abstained from torture, there is a large amount of circumstantial evidence that they have delighted themselves in death. And why not? When public burnings became inexpedient--as at Goa--did they not make provision for private executions?

For a third time at least the Roman prisons--I am not speaking of those of the provinces--were broken open, in 1849, after the desertion of Pius IX., and two prisoners were found there, an aged bishop and a nun. Many persons in Rome reported the event; but instead of copying what is already before the public, I translate a letter addressed to me by P. Alessandro Gavazzi, late chaplain-general of the Roman army, in reply to a few questions which I had put to him. All who have heard his statements may judge whether his account of facts be not marked with every note of accuracy. They will believe that his power of oratory DOES NOT betray him into random declamation. Under date of March 20th, 1852, he writes thus:

"MY DEAR SIR,--In answering your questions concerning the palace of Inquisition at Rome, I should say that I can give only a few superficial and imperfect notes. So short was the time that it remained open to the public, So great the crowd of persons that pressed to catch a sight of it, and so intense the horror inspired by that accursed place, that I could not obtain a more exact and particular impression.

"I found no instruments of torture, [Footnote: "The gag, the thumb-screw, and many other instruments of severe torture could be easily destroyed and others as easily procured. The non-appearance of instruments is not enough to sustain the current belief that the use of them is discontinued. So long as there is a secret prison, and while all the existing standards of inquisitorial practice make torture an ordinary expedient for extorting information, not even a bull, prohibiting torture, would be sufficient to convince the world that it has been discontinued. The practice of falsehood is enjoined on inquisitors. How, then, could we believe a bull, or decree, if it were put forth to-morrow, to release them from suspicion, or to screen them from obloquy? It would not be entitled to belief."--Rev. Wm. H. Rule.] for they were destroyed at the time of the first French invasion, and because such instruments were not used afterwards by the modern Inquisition. I did, however, find, in one of the prisons of the second court, a furnace, and the remains of a woman's dress. I shall never be able to believe that that furnace was placed there for the use of the living, it not being in such a place, or of such a kind, as to be of service to them. Everything, on the contrary, combines to persuade me that it was made use of for horrible deaths, and to consume the remains of the victims of inquisitorial executions. Another object of horror I found between the great hall of judgment and the luxurious apartment of the chief jailer (primo custode), the Dominican friar who presides over this diabolical establishment. This was a deep trap or shaft opening into the vaults under the Inquisition. As soon as the so-called criminal had confessed his offence; the second keeper, who is always a Dominican friar, sent him to the father commissary to receive a relaxation [Footnote: "In Spain, RELAXATION is delivery to death. In the established style of the Inquisition it has the same meaning. But in the common language of Rome it means RELEASE. In the lips of the inquisitor, therefore, if he used the word, it has one meaning, and another to the ear of the prisoner."--Rev. Wm. H. Rule.] of his punishment. With the hope of pardon, the confessed culprit would go towards the apartment of the holy inquisitor; but in the act of setting foot at its entrance, the trap opened, and the world of the living heard no more of him. I examined some of the earth found in the pit below this trap; it was a compost of common earth, rottenness, ashes, and human hair, fetid to the smell, and horrible to the sight and to the thought of the beholder.

"But where popular fury reached its highest pitch was in the vaults of St. Pius V. I am anxious that you should note well that this pope was canonized by the Roman church especially for his zeal against heretics. I will now describe to you the manner how, and the place where, those vicars of Jesus Christ handled the living members of Jesus Christ, and show you how they proceeded for their healing. You descend into the vaults by very narrow stairs. A narrow corridor leads you to the several cells, which, for smallness and stench, are a hundred times more horrible than the dens of lions and tigers in the Colosseum. Wandering in this labyrinth of most fearful prisons, that may be called 'graves for the living,' I came to a cell full of skeletons without skulls, buried in lime, and the skulls, detached from the bodies, had been collected in a hamper by the first visitors. Whose were those skeletons? and why were they buried in that place and in that manner? I have heard some popish priests trying to defend the Inquisition from the charge of having condemned its victims to a secret death, say that the palace of the Inquisition was built on a burial-ground, belonging anciently to a hospital for pilgrims, and that the skeletons found were none other than those of pilgrims who had died in that hospital. But everything contradicts this papistical defence. Suppose that there had been a cemetery there, it could not have had subterranean galleries and cells, laid out with so great regularity; and even if there had been such--against all probability--the remains of bodies would have been removed on laying the foundation of the palace, to leave the space free for the subterranean part of the Inquisition. Besides, it is contrary to the use of common tombs to bury the dead by carrying them through a door at the side; for the mouth of the sepulchre is always at the top. And again, it has never been the custom in Italy to bury the dead singly in quick lime; but, in time of plague, the dead bodies have been usually laid in a grave until it was sufficiently full, and then quick lime has been laid over them, to prevent pestilential exhalations, by hastening the decomposition of the infected corpses. This custom was continued, some years ago, in the cemeteries of Naples, and especially in the daily burial of the poor. Therefore, the skeletons found in the Inquisition of Rome could not belong to persons who had died a natural death in a hospital; nor could any one, under such a supposition, explain the mystery of all the bodies being buried in lime except the head. It remains, then, beyond a doubt, that that subterranean vault contained the victims of one of the many secret martyrdoms of the butcherly tribunal. The following is the most probable opinion, if it be not rather the history of a fact:

"The condemned were immersed in a bath of slaked lime, gradually filled up to their necks. The lime by little and little enclosed the sufferers, or walled them up alive. The torment was extreme but slow. As the lime rose higher and higher, the respiration became more and more painful, because more difficult. So that what with the suffocation of the smoke, and the anguish of the compressed breathing, they died in a manner most horrible and desperate. Some time after their death the heads would naturally separate from the bodies, and roll away into the hollows made by the shrinking of the lime. Any other explanation of the feet that may be attempted will be found improbable and unnatural. You may make what use you please of these notes of mine, since I can warrant their truth. I wish that writers, speaking of this infamous tribunal of the Inquisition, would derive their information from pure history, unmingled with romance; for so great and so many the historical atrocities of the Inquisition, that they would more than suffice to arouse the detestation of a thousand worlds. I know that the popish impostor-priests go about saying that the Inquisition was never an ecclesiastical tribunal, but a laic. But you will have shown the contrary in your work, and may also add, in order quite to unmask these lying preachers, that the palace of the Inquisition at Rome is under the shadow of the palace of the Vatican; that the keepers are to this day, Dominican friars; and that the prefect of the Inquisition at Rome is the Pope in person.

"I have the honor to be your affectionate Servant,

"ALESSANDRA GAVAZZI."

"The Roman parliament decreed the erection of a pillar opposite the palace of the Inquisition, to perpetuate the memory of the destruction of that nest of abominations; but before that or any other monument could be raised, the French army besieged and took the city, restored the Pope, and with him the tribunal of the faith. Not only was Dr. Achilli thrown into one of its old prisons, on the 29th of July 1849, but the violence of the people having made the building less adequate to the purpose of safe keeping, he was transferred to the castle of St. Angelo, which had often been employed for the custody of similar delinquents, and there he lay in close confinement until the 9th of January, 1850, when the French authorities, yielding to influential representations from this country assisted him to escape in disguise as a soldier, thus removing an occasion of scandal, but carefully leaving the authority of the congregation of cardinals undisputed. Indeed they first obtained the verbal sanction of the commissary, who saw it expedient to let his victim go, and hush an outcry.

"Yet some have the hardihood to affirm that there is no longer any Inquisition; and as the Inquisitors were instructed to suppress the truth, to deny their knowledge of cases actually passing through their hands, and to fabricate falsehoods for the sake of preserving the SECRET, because the secret was absolutely necessary to the preservation of their office, so do the Inquisitors in partibus falsify and illude without the least scruple of conscience, in order to put the people of this country off their guard.

"That the Inquisition really exists, is placed beyond a doubt by its daily action as a visible institution at Rome. But if any one should fancy that it was abolished after the release of Dr. Achilli, let him hear a sentence contradictory, from a bull of the Pope himself, Pius IX, a document that was dated at Rome, August 22, 1851, where the pontiff, condemning the works of Professor Nuytz, of Turin, says, "after having taken the advice of the doctors in theology and canon law, AFTER HAVING COLLECTED THE SUFFRAGES OF OUR VENERABLE BROTHERS THE CARDINALS OF THE CONGREGATION OF THE SUPREME AND UNIVERSAL INQUISITION." And so recently as March, 1852, by letters of the Secretariate of State, he appointed four cardinals to be "members of the Sacred Congregation of the Holy Roman and Universal Inquisition;" giving incontrovertible evidence that provision is made for attending to communications of Inquisitors in partibus from all parts of the world. As the old cardinals die off, their vacant seats are filled by others. The 'immortal legion' is punctually recruited.

"After all, have we in Great Britain, Ireland and the colonies, and our brethren of the foreign mission stations, any reason to apprehend harm to, ourselves from the Inquisition as it is? In reply to this question, let it be observed;

"1. That there are Inquisitors in partibus is not to be denied. That letters of these Inquisitors are laid before the Roman Inquisition is equally certain. Even in the time of Leo XII, when the church of Rome was far less active in the British empire than it is now, some particular case was always decided on Thursday, when the Pope, in his character of universal Inquisitor, presided in the congregation. It cannot be thought that now, in the height of its exultation, daring and aggression, this congregation has fewer emissaries, or that they are less active, or less communicative than they were at that time. We also see that the number is constantly replenished. The cardinals Della Genga-Sermattei; De Azevedo; Fornari; and Lucciardi have just been added to it.

"2. Besides a cardinal in England, and a delegate in Ireland, there is both in England and Ireland, a body of bishops, 'natural Inquisitors,' as they are always acknowledged, and have often claimed to be; and these natural Inquisitors are all sworn to keep the secret--the soul of the Inquisition. Since, then, there are Inquisitors in partibus, appointed to supply the lack of an avowed and stationary Inquisition, and since the bishops are the very persons whom the court of Rome can best command, as pledged for such a service, it is reasonable to suppose they act in that capacity.

"3. Some of the proceedings of these bishops confirm the assurance that there is now an Inquisition in activity in England. * * * The vigilance exercised over families, also the intermeddling of priests with education, both in families and schools, and with the innumerable relations of civil society, can only be traced back to the Inquisitors in partibus, whose peculiar duty, whether by help of confessors or familiars, is to worm out every secret of affairs, private or public, and to organize and conduct measures of repression or of punishment. Where the secular arm cannot be borrowed, and where offenders lie beyond the reach of excommunication, irregular methods must be resorted to, not rejecting any as too crafty or too violent. Discontented mobs, or individual zealots are to be found or bought. What part the Inquisitors in partibus play in Irish assassinations, or in the general mass of murderous assaults that is perpetrated in the lower haunts of crime, it is impossible to say. Under cover of confessional and Inquisitorial secrets, spreads a broad field of action--a region of mystery--only visible to the eye of God, and to those 'most reverend and most eminent' guardians of the papacy, who sit thrice every week, in the Minerva and Vatican, and there manage the hidden springs of Inquisition on the heretics, schismatics, and rebels, no less than on 'the faithful' of realms. Who can calculate the extent of their power over those 'religious houses,' where so many of the inmates are but neophytes, unfitted by British education for the intellectual and moral abnegation, the surrender of mind and conscience, which monastic discipline exacts? Yet they must be coerced into submission, and kept under penal discipline. Who can tell how many of their own clergy are withdrawn to Rome, and there delated, imprisoned, and left to perish, if not 'relaxed' to death, in punishment of heretical opinions or liberal practices? We have heard of laymen, too, taken to Rome by force, or decoyed thither under false pretences there to be punished by the universal Inquisition; and whatever of incredibility may appear in some tales of Inquisitorial abduction, the general fact that such abductions have taken place, seems to be incontrovertible. And now that the Inquisitors in partibus are distributed over Christendom, and that they provide the Roman Inquisition with daily work from year's end to year's end, is among the things most certain,--even the most careless of Englishmen must acknowledge that we have all reason to apprehend much evil from the Inquisition as it is. And no Christian can be aware of this fact, without feeling himself more than ever bound to uphold the cause of christianity, both at home and abroad, as the only counteractive of so dire a curse, and the only remedy of so vast an evil." Rev. Wm. Rule, London.

The Rev. E. A. Lawrence, writing of "Romanism at Rome," gives us the following vivid description of the present state of the Roman Church.

"Next is seen at Rome the PROPAGANDA, the great missionary heart of the whole masterly system. Noiselessly, by the multiform orders of monks and nuns, as through so many veins and arteries, it sends out and receives back its vital fluid. In its halls, the whole world is distinctly mapped out, and the chief points of influence minutely marked. A kind of telegraphic communication is established with the remotest stations in South Africa and Siberia, and with almost every nook in our own land, to which the myrmidons of Papal power look with the most of fear. It is through means of this moral galvanic battery, set up in the Vatican, that the Church of Rome has gained its power of UBIQUITY--has so well nigh made itself OMNIPOTENT, as well as omnipresent.

"It is no mean or puny antagonist that strides across the path of a free, spiritual and advancing Protestantism. And yet, with a simple shepherd's sling, and the smooth stones gathered from Siloa's brook, God will give it the victory.

"Once more let us look, and we shall find at Rome, still working in its dark, malignant efficiency, the INQUISITION. Men are still made to pass through fires of this Moloch. This is the grand defensive expedient of the Papacy, and is the chief tribunal of the States. Its processes are all as secret as the grave. Its cells are full of dead men's bones. They call it the Asylum for the poor--a retreat for doubting and distressed pilgrims, where they may have experience of the parental kindness of their father the Pope, and their mother the church.

"Dr. Achilli had a trial of this beneficient discipline, when thrown into the deep dungeon of St. Angelo. And how many other poor victims of this diabolical institution are at this moment pining in agony, heaven knows.

"In America, we talk about Rome as having ceased to persecute. IT IS A MISTAKE. She holds to the principle as tenaciously as ever. She cannot dispense with it. Of the evil spirit of Protestantism she says, "This kind goeth not out, but by fire." Her reign, is a reign of terror. Hence she must hold both the principle and the power of persecution, of compelling men to believe, or, if they doubt, of putting them to death for their own good. Take from her this power and she bites the dust."

ROMANISM IN AMERICA.

It may perchance be said that the remarks of the Rev. William Rule, quoted above, refer exclusively to the existing state of things is England, Ireland, and the colonies. But who will dare to say, after a careful investigation of the subject, that they do not apply with equal force to these United States?

Has America nothing to fear from the inquisitors--from the Jesuits? Is it true that the "Inquisition still exists in Rome--that its code is unchanged--that its emissaries are sent over all the world--that every nuncio and bishop is an Inquisitor," and is it improbable that, even now, torture rooms like those described in the foregoing story, may be found in Roman Catholic establishments in this country? Yes, even here, in Protestant, enlightened America! Have WE then nothing to fear from Romanism? But a few days since a gentleman of learning and intelligence when speaking of this subject, exclaimed, "What have we to do with the Jesuits? and what is the Inquisition to us? The idea that we have aught to fear from Romanism, is simply ridiculous!" In reply to this, allow me to quote the language of the Rev. Manuel J. Gonsalves, leader of the Madeira Exiles.

"The time will come when the American people will arise as one man, and not only abolish the confessional, but will follow the example of many of the European nations, who had no peace, or rest, till they banished the Jesuits. These are the men, who bask in the sunbeams of popery, to whom the pope has entrusted the vast interests of the king of Rome, in this great Republic. Nine tenths of the Romish priests, now working hard for their Master the pope, in this country, are full blooded Jesuits. The man of sin who is the head of the mystery of iniquity--through the advice of the popish bishops now in this country, has selected the Jesuitical order of priests, to carry on his great and gigantic operations in the United States of America. Those Jesuits who distinguish themselves the most in the destruction of Protestant Bible religion, and who gain the largest number of protestant scholars for popish schools and seminaries; who win most American converts to their sect are offered great rewards in the shape of high offices in the church. John Hughes, the Jesuit Bishop of the New York Romanists, was rewarded by Pope Pius 9th, with an Archbishop's mitre, for his great, zeal and success, in removing God's Holy Bible from thirty-eight public schools in New York, and for procuring a papal school committee, to examine every book in the hands of American children in the public schools, that every passage of truth, in those books of history unpalatable to the pope might be blotted out." Has America then nothing to do with Romanism?

But another gentleman exclaims, "What if Romanism be on the increase in the United States! Is not their religion as dear to them, as ours is to us?" To this the Rev. M. J. Gonsalves would reply as follows. "The American people have been deceived, in believing THAT POPERY WAS A RELIGION, not a very good one to be sure, but some kind of one. This has been their great mistake. We might as well call the Archbishop of the fallen angels, and his crew, a religious body of intelligent beings, because they believe in an Almighty God, and tremble, as to call the man of sin and his Jesuits, a body of religious saints. The tree is known by its fruit, such as 'love, joy, peace, long suffering, gentleness, goodness, meekness, faith, temperance, brotherly kindness;' and where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty, Christian liberty, giving to God and man their due unasked. Now we ask, what kind of fruit does the tree of Popery bear, in any country, that it should claim homage, and respect, as a good religion?"

Such is the language of one who knew so well what popery was, that he fled from it as from a hell upon earth.

In his further remarks upon the horrors of convent life in the United States, he fully confirms the statements in the foregoing narrative. He says, "It is time that American gentlemen, who are so much occupied in business, should think of the dangers of the confessional, and the miseries endured by innocent, duped, American, imprisoned females in this free country; and remember that these American ladies who have been duped and enticed by Jesuitical intrigue and craft, into their female convents, have no means of deliverance; they cannot write a letter to a friend without the consent and inspection of the Mother Abbess, who is always and invariably a female tyrant, a creature in the pay of the Bishop, and dependent upon the Bishop for her despotic office of power. The poor, unfortunate, imprisoned American female has no means of redress in her power. She cannot communicate her story of wrong and suffering to any living being beyond the walls of her prison. She may have a father, a mother, a dear brother, or a sister, who, if they knew one-sixteenth part of her wrongs and sufferings, would fly at once to see her and sympathize with her in her anguish. But the Jesuit confessor attached to the prison is ever on the alert. Those ladies who appear the most unhappy, and unreconciled to their prison, are compelled to attend the confessional every day; and thus the artful Jesuit, by a thousand cross questions, is made to understand perfectly the state of their minds. The Lady Porter, or door-keeper and jailor, is always a creature of the priest's, and a great favorite with the Mother Abbess. Should any friends call to see an unhappy nun who is utterly unreconciled to her fate, the Lady Porter is instructed to inform those relatives that the dear nun they want to see so much, is so perfectly happy, and given up to heavenly meditations, that she cannot be persuaded to see an earthly relative. At the same time the Mother Abbess dismisses the relatives with a very sorrowful countenance, and regrets very much, in appearance, their disappointment. But the unhappy nun is never informed that her friends or relatives have called to inquire after her welfare. How amazing, that government should allow such prisons in the name of religion!"

CONVENT OF THE CAPUCHINS IN SANTIAGO

In a late number of "The American and Foreign Christian Union," we find the following account of conventual life from a report of a Missionary in Chile, South America.

"Now, my brother, let me give you an account related to me by a most worthy English family, most of the members of which have grown up in the country, confirmed also by common report, of the Convent of Capuchins, in Santiago.

"The number of inmates is limited to thirty-two young ladies. The admittance fee is $2000. When the nun enters she is dressed like a bride, in the most costly material that wealth can command. There, beside the altar of consecration, she devotes herself in the most solemn, manner to a life of celibacy and mortification of the flesh and spirit, with the deluded hope that her works will merit a brighter mansion in the realms above.

"The forms of consecration being completed, she begins to cast off her rich veil, costly vestments, all her splendid diamonds and brilliants--which, in many instances, have cost, perhaps, from ten to fifteen, or even twenty thousand dollars. Then her beautiful locks are submitted to the tonsure; and to signify her deadness forever to the world, she is clothed in a dress of coarse grey cloth, called serge, in which she is to pass the miserable remnant of her days. The dark sombre walls of her prison she can sever pass, and its iron-bound doors are shut forever upon their new, youthful, and sensitive occupant. Rarely, if ever, is she permitted to speak, and NEVER, NEVER, to see her friends or The loved ones of home--to enjoy the embraces of a fond mother, or devoted father, or the smiles of fraternal or sisterly affection. If ever allowed to speak at all, it is through iron bars where she cannot be seen, and in the presence of the abbess, to see that no complaint escapes her lips. However much her bosom may swell with anxiety at the sound of voices which were once music to her soul, and she may long to pour out her cries and tears to those who once soothed every sorrow of her heart; yet not a murmur must be uttered. The soul must suffer its own sorrows solitary and alone, with none to sympathize, or grant relief, and none to listen to its moans but the cold gloomy walls of her tomb. No, no, not even the Gospel of Jesus Christ, that great alleviator of all the sorrows of the heart, is allowed an entrance there.

"Nor is this all. Besides being condemned to a meagre, insufficient and unwholesome diet which they themselves must cook, the nuns are not allowed to speak much with each other, except to say, 'Que morir tenemos, 'we are to die,' or 'we must die,' and to reply, 'Ya los sabemos,' 'we know it,' or 'already we know it'

"They pass most of their time in small lonely cells, where they sleep in a narrow place dug out in the ground, in the shape of a coffin, without bed of any kind, except a piece of coarse serge spread down; and their daily dress is their only covering. SLEEP! Did I say? Alas! 'Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep, no more with his downy pinions lights on his unsullied with a tear:' FOR EVERY HOUR OF THE TWENTY-FOUR they are aroused by the bell to perform their 'Ave Maria's,' count their rosaries, and such other blind devotions as may be imposed. Thus they drag out a miserable existence, and when death calls the spirit to its last account, the other nuns dig the grave with their own hands, within the walls of the convent, and so perform the obsequies of their departed sister.

"Thus, I have briefly given you not fiction! but a faithful narrative of facts in regard to conventual life, and an establishment marked by almost every form of sin, and yet making pretence of 'perfecting the saints,' by the free and gentle influences of the gospel of Christ.

"Query 1st. What is done with all the money?

"2d. What is done with the rich vestments and jewels?

"3d. Where do the priests get all their brilliants to perform high mass and adorn their processions?

"4th. Where does all the hair of the saints come from, which is sold in lockets for high prices as sure preventives of evil?

"5th. Whose grave has been plundered to obtain RELICS to sell to the ignorant.

"6th. Where does the Romish Church obtain her SURPLUS RIGHTEOUSNESS TO SELL TO THE needy, and not give it like our blessed Lord, 'without money and without price?'

"7th. Who is responsible for the FANATICISM that induces a young female to incarcerate herself?

"8th. Where is the authority in reason, in revelation, for such a life?

"9th. What is the average length of life?

"10th. How many die insane?

"A young lady lately cast herself from the tower, and was dashed in pieces, being led to do it, doubtless, in desperation. The convents of this city, of the same order, require the same entrance fee, $2000. Of course, none but the comparatively rich can avail themselves of this perfection of godliness.

"Who will say that this mode of life has not been invented in order to cut short life as rapidly as possible, that the $2000, with all the rich diamonds upon initiation, may be repeated as frequently as possible?

"O! how true it is, that Romanism is the same merciless, cruel, diabolical organisation, wherever it can fully develop itself, in all lands. How truly is it denominated by the pen of inspiration the 'MYSTERY OF INIQUITY,' especially that part of it relating to these secret institutions, and the whole order of the Jesuits."

The editor of the "Christian Union", in his remarks on the above, says, "Already the fair face of our country is disfigured by the existence here and there of conventual establishments. At present they do not show the hideous features which they, at least in some cases, assume in countries where papal influence and authority are supreme. The genius of our government and institutions necessarily exerts a restraining power, which holds them from excesses to which, otherwise, they might run. But they constitute a part of a system which is strongly at variance with the interests of humanity, and merely wait the occurrence of favorable circumstances to visit upon our land all the horrors which they have inflicted elsewhere.

"How many conventual establishments there are now in the nation, few Protestants, it is believed, know. And how many young females, guilty of no crime against society, and condemned by no law of the land, are shut up in their walls and doomed to a life which they did not anticipate when entering them, a life which is more dreadful to them than death, very few of the millions of our citizens conceive. The majority of our people have slept over the whole subject, and the indifference thus manifested has emboldened the priests to posh forward the extension of the system, and the workmen are now busy in various places in the construction of additional establishments. But such facts as are revealed in this article, from the pen of our missionary, in connection with things that are occurring around us, show that no time should be lost in examining this whole subject of convents and monasteries, and in legislating rightly about them."

Again, when speaking of papal convents in the United States, the same talented writer observes, "The time has fully come when Protestants should lay aside their apathy and too long-cherished indifference in respect to the movements of Rome in this land. It is time for them to call to mind the testimony of their fathers, their bitter experiences from the papal See, and to take effective measures to protect the inheritance bequeathed to them, that they may hand it down to their children free from corruption, as pure and as valuable as when they received it. They should remember that Rome claims never to change, that what she was in Europe when in the zenith of her power, she will be here when fairly installed, and has ability to enforce her commands.

"Her numbers now on our soil, her nearly two thousand priests moving about everywhere, her colleges and printing-presses, her schools and convents, and enormous amounts of property held by her bishops, have served as an occasion to draw out something of her spirit, and to show that she is ARROGANT AND ABUSIVE TO THE EXTENT OF HER POWER.

"Scarcely a newspaper issues from her press, but is loaded with abuse of Protestants and of their religion, and at every available point assaults are made upon their institutions and laws; and Rome and her institutions and interests are crowded into notice, and special privileges are loudly clamored for.

"All Protestants, therefore, of every name, and of every religious and political creed, we repeat it, who do not desire to ignore the past, and to renounce all care or concern for the future, as to their children and children's children, should lose no time in informing themselves of the state of things around them in regard to the papacy and its institutions. They should without delay devote their efforts and influence to the protection of the country against those Popish establishments and their usages which have been set up among us without the authority of law, and under whose crushing weight some of the nations of Europe have staggered and reeled for centuries, and have now but little of their former power and glory remaining, and under which Mexico, just upon our borders, has sunk manifestly beyond the power of recovery.

"Let each individual seek to awaken an interest in this matter in the mind of his neighbor. And if there be papal establishments in the neighborhood under the names of 'schools,' 'retreats', 'religions communities,' or any other designation, which are at variance with, or are not conformed to, the laws of the commonwealth in which they are situated, let memorials be prepared and signed by the citizens, and forwarded immediately to the legislature, praying that they may be subjected to examination, and required to conform to the laws by which all Protestant institutions of a public nature are governed.

"Let us exclude from our national territory all irresponsible institutions. Let us seek to maintain a government of law, and insist upon the equality of all classes before it."

In closing these extracts, we beg leave to express ourselves in the words of the Rev. Dr. Sunderland, of Washington city, in a sermon delivered before the American and Foreign Christian Union, at its anniversary in May, 1856.

"But new it is asked, 'Why all this tirade against Roman Catholics?' We repel the implication. It is not against the unhappy millions that are ground down under the iron heel of that enormous despotism. They are of the common humanity, our brethren and kinsmen, according to the flesh. They need the same light instruction and salvation that we need. Like ourselves they need the one God, the one mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus; and from the heart we love and pity them. We would grant them all the privileges which we claim to ourselves. We can have no animosity towards them as men and candidates with ourselves for the coming judgment. But it is the system under which they are born, and live, and die, I repeat, which we denounce, and when we shall cease to oppose it, then let our right hand forget her cunning, and our tongue cleave to the roof of our mouth. What is it but a dark and terrible power on earth before which so many horrible memories start up? Why, sir, look at it! We drag the bones of the grim behemoth out to view, for we would not have the world forget his ugliness nor the terror he has inspired. 'A tirade against Romanism,' is it? O sir, we remember the persecutions of Justinian; we remember the days of the Spanish Inquisition; we remember the reign of 'the Bloody Mary;' we remember the revocation of the Edict of Nantes; we remember St. Bartholomew; we remember the murdered Covenanters, Huguenots, and Piedmontese; we remember the noble martyrs dying for the testimony of the faith along the ancient Rhine; we remember the later wrath which pursued the islanders of Madeira, till some of them sought refuge upon these shores; we remember the Madiai, and we know how the beast ever seeks to propagate his power, by force where he can, by deception where he must. And when we remember these things, we must protest against the further vigor and prosperity of this grand Babylon of all. Take it, then, tirade and all, for so ye must, ye ministers of Rome, sodden with the fumes of that great deep of abominations! The voice of the Protestant shall never be hushed; the spirit of Reformation shall never sleep. O, lands of Farel and of Calvin, of Zwingle and of Luther! O countries where the trumpet first sounded, marshalling the people to this fearful contest! We have heard the blast rolling still louder down the path of three hundred years, and in our solid muster-march we come, the children of the tenth generation. We come a growing phalanx, not with carnal weapons, but with the armor of the gospel, and wielding the sword of truth on the right hand and on the left, we say that ANTICHRIST MUST FALL. Hear it, ye witnesses, and mark the word; by the majesty of the coming kingdom of Jesus, and by the eternal purpose of Jehovah, THIS ANTICHRIST MUST FALL."

END