was weary of life, and would rather die. Considering, then, the condition in which he was, and the causes which had led to it, my hesitation in approaching such a case can excite no surprise. As I had promised, I went. I felt more and more acutely as I approached his house. I entered it, I am not ashamed to confess, with fear and trembling. But much as my imagination had been at work, to the moment of my entering the sick room, it had fallen far short of the reality. I have since seen a convict, when the certainty of his fate was announced to him: but, harrowing as it was to see a strong man stricken down like a child by the tidings of death, and weeping, helplessly, like a child, too, at his doom, it was nothing to that which I saw in William Robinson. His restlessness and agitation were such, that every particle of his body seemed absolutely in motion; he was wasted away miserably, and there was a haggard expression in his eye which I can never forget. He breathed hard; and, as I opened the door, the moaning that fell upon my ear had an effect which I cannot describe.

As I entered, a young woman, his sister, rose from the bedside. The moment his eye caught me, he spoke. “I am glad you are come. I have long wished to see you, Sir.—Oh, Sir, I

am so wretched!-What can I do for comfort ?"

I sat down near him; and, as I was silent for a time, he went on to say, that though I might have heard of the life that he had led, I did not know its real depth of wickedness. He spoke in the bitterest words of self-reproach of his conduct to the woman whom he had seduced, and then unfeelingly deserted; and of his hard-hearted indifference at her death and her funeral. "But since that time, Sir," he continued, "I have been able to see nothing but her corpse in the grave. I have it always before me. It was my hand that laid her low. What would I give, that I could raise her up again! Can I ever be forgiven for such sin as mine ?"

Here he became exhausted by the vehemence of his utterance; but, while he had been speaking, there was something so despairing in his manner-such utter broken-heartedness in his tone and voice that I could scarcely master myself so far as to prepare to act in a scene so new. I knelt down, and besought him to strive to join me in prayer. He shook his head doubtingly, but I did not delay any longer. I poured forth, under feelings before strange to me, that beautiful prayer provided by the church "for persons troubled in mind or in conscience." As its scriptural supplications fell, one after another, upon his ear, he became somewhat more composed: the tears rolled down his cheeks; and, when it was finished, he laid quietly looking at me, with evident expectation that I should now speak.

I rose from my knees. I felt a strong hope that a real con

viction of the fearful offence which he had given to God by his sins was felt by the poor sufferer who was stretched before me ; and I asked him if he had been able to join in the prayer which I had just offered up?

He was silent for a time, from the depth of his emotion rather than from terror, he was now softened and chastened.

"Yes, Sir," said he, " I felt every word of that prayer. But I have sinned greatly against God!"—and he looked inquiringly at me, as if to sound for hope.

I then, without saying another word, read to him the 15th chapter of St. Luke, commenting on each parable as I proceeded. I have since found, indeed, in a parish that forms a melancholy contrast, both in numbers and the condition of the poor, to W, that the beautiful parable of the prodigal son is, under God's blessing, one of the most fruitful sources of instruction to the sick. Addressed to those who, despite of early vows, have fallen away into a careless or a sinful life, I know no portion of scripture which so fully sets forth, on the one hand, the joy of a merciful Father in forgiving and blessing a repentant son, and, on the other, demands, previously, those two grand steps-a deep sense of sin, and a hearty resolution to forsake it,—as indispensable on the part of the returning offender. But I go to our sick sufferer again. Having shewn him plainly the scope of the parable of the prodigal son-" But," said I, "glad as the father in the parable was to receive his returning son, and glad as God is to receive every repentant transgressor, mark! I beseech you! mark the conditions required in each case. You may gaze with joy and gratitude on so glorious a display of mercy; but that mercy will be yours only if you feel that you are a sinner, and if you resolve, by God's grace, to forsake your sin, and amend your life. Are you, then, persuaded that you are a sinner?"

"God knows, Sir, that I am."

"But if it please him to restore you to your former health," said I," what would you do?"

"I would live a different life, Sir, by his help. I would pray for his help, and I would endeavour to do his will ;" and his tears shewed that he felt every word he uttered.

I now pressed upon him, as strongly as I could, reflection on the whole scheme of redemption planned by an all-wise and allmerciful God. I bade him, as he repented of his sins, turn to his Father for pardon, and offer, through the mediation of the atoning Son, his prayers at the throne of grace. He heard me with fixed attention; and having once more prayed with him, I took my leave.

I found, in subsequent visits, that the change for the better was going on. In his sister, too, (and how often, in the performance of our ministerial duties, do we observe the unobtrusive action of woman's religious feelings,) he had found one who

calmly, but affectionately, spoke to him of those momentous concerns in which man's eternal welfare is wound up. She read to him the Bible-she talked with him of its promises to the true penitent-she prayed with him, through their common Saviour, to God. He was sinking evidently in body, but he was, I trusted, rising gradually in spirit, so that it might be said of him that, "the more the outward man decayed, so much the more was he strengthened by the Holy Spirit in the inner man."

At last, meek and humble, but with the joy of a faithful penitent, he partook of the communion of his Master's blessed body and blood. By his bedside knelt, besides his sister, the father of her whom he had sent to an early grave. To see that father grasp the dying man's hand, and again and again declare his forgiveness of the past-to see hearts thus knit together in the strong and perfect bond of charity-to see the glow of joy spread over the countenance of the sick man's sister-and his own features, down which tears ran-tears too sacred for aught but the deepest reverence-all this was affecting enough. But to hear him, who felt himself to be speaking under the very gaze of the Almighty, breathing forth confession, and prayer, and thanksgiving, in those tones which only they who have much frequented the dying bed can imagine, was so affecting, that my voice faltered with emotion as I pronounced the final blessing, final, perhaps, on earth, in the fullest sense, to the dying man himself.

He lingered, however, a few days longer, but, for the greater portion of that time, almost in a state of insensibility, and a grateful letter from his sister announced the close of this trying

scene.

Again did I stand in the churchyard, and almost on the same spot, to read the same solemn service. There were almost the same mourners- -there were almost the same bystanders-but how different the feelings of all! For myself, every word of the beautiful service fell from my lips in Christian hope, and I felt deeply grateful to Him who had blessed this my first effort in visiting the sick. I have often looked back to that young man's case with serious but joyful meditation. May every future effort be as well and bountifully blest! F. E. T.

MEMORIALS OF THE INQUISITION.

CHAP. V.

Process of Arrest-Officials employed.

My next business is to give in few words a general account of the processes by which the inquisition was in the habit, first, of attaining to information against supposed criminals, and then manner of dealing with them.

The modes adopted for obtaining cognizance of offences against religion were four :-First, a man was liable to be summoned before the tribunal of the holy office provided public rumour laid to his charge one or other of the crimes enumerated in the foregoing chapter. Secondly, the testimony of witnesses by whom he might be denounced served the purpose equally well. Thirdly, he might be informed against by one or more of the spies whom the holy office had out in all directions. Or, fourthly, a man might accuse himself, either driven to do so by apprehension lest another should accuse him, or incited to the rash act by a hope that his sentence, under such circumstances, would be lenient.

As soon as the inquisitors were made aware, by either of the three first methods, that within the territorial limits of the province a suspected person dwelt, they cited him to appear before them three several times. If he obeyed the citation, the trial went forward; if otherwise, he was excommunicated, and condemned to make atonement for such gross insolence, without, however, prejudicing the still more fearful punishment to which, in the event of his being taken, he stood exposed. In such cases, the wretched being had but a choice of evils submitted to him. Escape, final escape, was next to impossible; and if accomplished, it necessarily implied perpetual exile from home, with the loss of fortune, the endearments of kindred and connexion, and of reputation. Generally speaking, therefore, to obey at once was esteemed the wisest course; for innocence itself, however clearly shewn, did not shield the recusant from the consequences even of delay, while, without such proof, delay seldom failed of proving fatal. For he who hesitated to come when sent for was regarded as one against whom there lay proofs of guilt, of which he was himself conscious; and for which, though difficult of discovery, it was the duty of the holy office to search until they should be brought to light. Neither was any lapse of time sufficient to obliterate the impression which reluctance to appear before the judges of the inquisition necessarily produced. The inquisition forgot nothing; nor was there a period beyond which its influence failed to extend.

Escape from the inquisition in Italy was very difficult; escape from the inquisition in Spain was next to impossible. In the latter country, a society called the Brotherhood, or Holy Brotherhood, had its emissaries in every city, town, and village, who traced out and followed the wretched fugitive with a perseverance which nothing could overcome. The members of that society were the most indefatigable, as well as the most accomplished, of spies. They heard everything, and saw everything; they took notes of everything that occurred, and made their reports regularly and confidentially to the principals whom they served. Their chief business, however, was to discover such criminals as might

have fled from the hands of what was called justice, and to send them back; and to effect that end they spared neither cunning, nor fatigue, nor expense. Let them once obtain the scent of a criminal, and they would follow it up till they reached him; and then, supposing him to be so circumstanced that they could not use force to accomplish his arrest, there was no manner of artifice which they would not employ to entrap him to his fate. For this purpose, they would lay themselves out to gain his acquaintance; they would profess extravagant friendship for him; they would eat at his table, or invite him to eat with them; load him with presents; and, if he stood in need, supply him with money. Was he ill, they prescribed for his malady. Was he in want, they ministered to his necessities. In conversation, they studied his humours, and seemed to fall in with all his opinions. When, by these means, they had acquired his confidence, they would draw him away to some spot, where, with the assistance of agents, whom they invariably had in their pay, they were able to seize him. Nay, nor did their skill or hardihood end here. If the person of whom they were in pursuit should exercise the greatest caution in all other respects, they never failed, sooner or later, to entrap him during some pleasurable excursion. If he went on board ship, or into a barge on a river, or by coach into the country,-in each case the result was the same. The ship's crew, the rowers, the coachman, were all bribed; and the wretched man never quitted the vehicle till he arrived in Spain. In Constantinople, itself, persons obnoxious to the inquisition have thus been recovered.

Besides the holy brotherhood, which, by the way, served the civil courts, as well as that of the inquisition, there flourished in Spain, during the season of popish supremacy, another society, called La Cruciata. It consisted of all the bishops, the archbishops, with many of the grandees of the land, and was instituted expressly for the purpose of watching the behaviour of the people, and hindering them from saying or doing aught contrary to their profession as catholics. This latter body neither pursued fugitives, nor was publicly mixed up with the proceedings of the holy office. But, possessing prodigious wealth, and power not less extensive, it had in pay spies innumerable. These, being members of every family in the kingdom, regularly conveyed intelligence to head-quarters of all that happened to be said or done, as well in seasons of festivity as during their opposites; while with the Cruciata it rested to proceed on such information or not, according as the members of the body might deem most conducive to the church's well being.

It has been said that, generally speaking, the party cited to appear before the tribunal of the holy office obeyed the summons without delay. Unless, indeed, his case were quite desperate, or