the suspicions of this dread tribunal be once excited, no matter how slightly, and they never fell asleep again. The discharged person was beset at all hours, and in all situations, by the familiars or agents of the holy office. These attached themselves to him with a perseverance of which it is scarcely possible to conceive the extent. Wherever he went, they followed. They watched his going out and his coming in; all that he said, all that he did, was observed by them; indeed, to them the solemn language of Scripture may well nigh be applied, for "they were about his bed, and about his path, and spied out all his doings." Nor can we wonder at this when we reflect that the influence exercised over the public mind by this most horrible instrument of cruelty was such that, not only a man's domestics, but his nearest of kin -his very father, or his child-were induced, at times, to bear witness against him, and to become spies upon his proceedings. Who could expect to escape from such a system of espionage? No one; for the first approximation to error, nay the communication to the holy office of doubts and surmises on the part of those whom it had set to watch, sufficed to ensure a second arrest of the devoted victim. Then, indeed, all hope might be laid aside; for though things went on at first somewhat more vigorously perhaps, but still in the same order as previously, all the world knew that the Inquisition never pardoned twice, and the discharge even of him against whom no accusation had been brought was accounted a pardon. The following example of the pertinacity with which the holy office worked out its designs of vengeance I loosely translate from the valuable and elaborate "Histoire Generale des Ceremonies, Mœurs, et Costumes Religieuses des tous les Peuples du Monde," by Bernard Picard.

"Every body knows," says my author, "what happened to Mark Antony de Dominis. He was descended from the most illustrious family of Venice. He was a jesuit, and had been successively Bishop of Legni, Archbishop of Spalatro, and Primate of Dalmatia. All this dignity, great as it was, was not however that which obtained for him his chief consideration in the world and among churchmen. Marc Antony de Dominis. was accounted the most learned man of his age in every department of science, particularly in theology and history, as well profane as sacred; every species of lore, the most popular and the most recondite, were familiar to him, and when consulted upon all varieties of subjects, as he continually was, he replied in each with such precision and accuracy that he appeared to have devoted his undivided attention to it. But the distinguished prelate's learning did not hinder him from adopting the opinions of the Calvinistic reformers. On the contrary, in his celebrated treatise Concerning the Ecclesiastical Republic,' he attacked the pope and the court of Rome with such vigour, that not from the

hands of any other of her bitterest enemies did popery receive treatment so galling."

The publication of this treatise was of course followed by the flight of the author from Italy. He withdrew first into Germany, and afterwards to England, where James the First received him with the greatest kindness, and supported him in a style befitting his station in society. Well would it have been for him had he remembered his own maxim, that he who once draws his sword against the church of Rome may cast away the scabbard. Unfortunately, however, he did not bear this in mind, for when the pope, through a variety of channels, entreated him to return to his diocese, assuring him that no notice would be taken of his past indiscretions, nor any restraint put upon his opinions, he was weak enough to imagine that he might quit his place of shelter. For his personal friends-nay, his nearest relatives-all combined to draw him into the snare; and Don Diego Sormento de Acuna, the Spanish ambassador at St. James's, lent himself to the same unworthy object. Thus worked upon by motives of which perhaps it would not be easy to give an accurate definition, Mark Antony set the warnings of his English patrons at defiance, and repaired to Rome, where the fate immediately overtook him which he had the best reason to anticipate.

It was not the policy of the see of Rome to put such a man immediately to death. The purposes of popery would be better served by forcing him to recant; so he was seized, committed to the keeping of the holy office, and prevailed upon by such arguments as inquisitors knew how to employ to abjure the noxious opinions which he had previously expressed. He was then set at liberty, and, according to all outward appearance, reconciled to the church, but his fate had never for a moment been doubtful. Wheresoever he went the familiars of the inquisition went with him. They watched his correspondence, and, finding that he continued to receive letters from some of those who had protected him in London, they denounced him as a relapsed heretic, and he was again arrested. Neither the prelate nor his friends could now entertain a hope as to the issue of the trial. His death, and probably a death of lingering torture, was certain; so the most pious began to perceive that they could not offer in his case petitions more full of charity to him than those which besought God to remove him ere he fell into the hands of the tormentors. If such prayers were addressed to the Most High, they were answered; for the unhappy man died in prison while waiting for his process to come on, not without a strong suspicion that poison had been administered to him by one or other of his kindred.

I return now to the detail of facts, as these stand recorded in the annals of that fearful tribunal, to fall a second time into the hands of which was to perish irretrievably. The unfortunate

victim of treachery or false accusation having been seized as before, was dragged in the manner described above to his dungeon, where he again underwent the miseries of a solitary confinement, more or less protracted according to the caprice of his persecutors. When led before his judges, however, he was not asked, as had previously been the case, who he was, or whence he came, but the president or advocate stated that the jailor had announced his, the prisoner's, wish of being put upon his trial. To such an address the prisoner would naturally reply that he did desire to know the nature of the crime of which he stood accused, in order that he might vindicate himself if innocent, or confess and be reconverted to the church if guilty. But it did not accord with the practices of the holy office to make any direct charge. "Son, confess thy crime," was the only answer vouchsafed to him; and in the event of his persisting in a denial of guilt, he was remanded. This was done under the expectation that time and reflection might subdue his obstinacy; nor were the cases unfrequent in which sheer despair operated upon the prisoner to make a false confession. If, however, no such result ensued, a new method of dealing with him was adopted. He was required to swear upon the crucifix and the gospels that he would truly answer all such questions as might be put to him; and his refusal to do so, supposing a refusal to be given, was construed into a full and perfect admission of guilt. He was condemned without further delay as one who either possessed no sense of religion, or feared to vindicate himself by the most legitimate process, lest in striving to do so he might commit perjury.

It rarely happened that a prisoner, bowed down by the effects of a tedious and harassing confinement, refused to take the oath; and the use which the inquisitors made of his compliance was this-they summoned him before them, and, avoiding all allusion to his supposed offence, put to him a thousand questions relative to the circumstances of his past life, and to the lives of his ancestors. The object of such interrogatories was, moreover, cruel in the extreme. Whatever errors of faith or practice they discovered to have been committed by the forefathers of their captives, they industriously noted down, drawing from them an inference that the descendants of men so flagitious could not be otherwise than flagitious themselves. Thus was the wretched being held responsible, not for his own faults only, but for those of his fathers; as if men inherited opinions as they do blood, or even property, or were in all cases trained up to think and act as others had thought and acted before them.

All this while the accused was kept in profound ignorance, both of the nature of his supposed offence, and of the names and condition of his accusers. The object of the inquisitors was merely to inveigle him into some unguarded admission, on which

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they might rest the sentence of condemnation; and so skilful were they in their mode of conducting the investigation, that it was not easy for the most innocent always to thwart them. never were men more prompt to detect or to seize opportunities. Did the accused hesitate, did he appear confused or alarmed, did he, in the most minute particular, contradict himself, all these were taken as so many proofs of guilt; and if all failed, another method was tried, to the full as perilous. The rigours of captivity were somewhat relaxed. The prisoner was assured that his judges felt much interested about him; and that their sole object in seeking a confession was that they might be enabled to set him free, and reconcile him to the church. Unhappy he over whose constancy this fiendish deceit prevailed! His confession was indeed taken; but his fate was neither the less rigorous, nor the less sure.

The cases used, however, to be of more frequent occurrence in which the accused, either because he knew himself to be innocent, or because he was willing to take his chances of escape, resisted both the examinations and the blandishments of the inquisitors. When this fell out, they delivered to him a sort of bill of indictment, that is to say, a written document,-in which there were laid to his charge all imaginable offences, some of them of the most outrageous and unnatural kind. The inexperienced prisoner would naturally exclaim aloud when he came to one of these extravagant counts, while such as fell more within the compass of human frailty were examined in silence. Of that circumstance also the inquisitor availed himself. Why deny this charge so stoutly, why make no denial of that?" till, in the end, the poor wretch-brow-beaten, harassed, entrapped, and broken in spirit-would confess to anything and everything that was required of him, and hail death itself as a deliverance from misery. If, however, such effects were not produced, then was the prisoner remanded, in order that his trial might take place with the customary forms.

The same day that he receives his written list of charges, the prisoner is informed that an advocate had been provided for him; from whom, however, he derives no assistance, either in his cell, or at the hall of audience. It is true that the advocate is permitted to converse with his client, one or other of the familiars of the office being present; and that when the accused is brought forward to plead, which takes place on the fourth or fifth day after the charge has been delivered, the advocate attends him. But the advocate is not permitted to utter a syllable in the prisoner's defence, nor indeed to speak at all, unless he be required by the inquisitor to exhort his client to a confession. In like manner, it is to no purpose that the prisoner demands to be put in possession of the names of his accusers, and of the nature of

the testimony which they may have borne against him. To such questions no answer is vouchsafed, and he is left to guess, both at the one and the other, without the slightest intimation being made that his surmises are either well-grounded or the reverse. Meanwhile, he is subjected to a second series of interrogations. If he persist in what is termed his obstinacy, he is remanded to prison, where, sometimes during many years, he continues; the horrible monotony of his existence being disturbed only by occasional repetitions of the scene in the hall of audience.

(To be continued.)

DEVOTIONAL.

FROM THE PARISIAN BREVIARY.

THE OCTAVE OF ALL SAINTS.

DUPLEX-MINUS.

THIS service may be shewn as another instance of the Octave, and the reference which the subject of it has to that of its festival. The Festival of All Saints, which appeared in a former Number, is in a much more exalted strain, and alludes to the heavenly state of the blessed; whereas the Octave has for its subject the reflections which are connected with their earthly remains. The office, indeed, is not an unexceptionable one, as it refers to relics in a manner which savours of Romish superstition; and the hymns have, therefore, been very freely rendered to avoid this; but the whole of it breathes such a catholic spirit of holy respect for the bodies of the dead, that the theme has been chosen as one strikingly at variance with those infidel notions of the day which would do violence to these sacred feelings of our nature. For it is to be observed how much these (now supposed weaknesses) are protected and sanctioned by holy scripture, which would teach us to hold in respect even the poor mortal remains of that which has been once the tabernacle of the good Spirit.

This Octave is termed Duplex-minus, being slightly inferior in degree to that of the Ascension and the Epiphany, which were called Duplex-majus. The Lectios, of which the latter six are from Chrysostom and Jerome, are omitted; but instances are given of the Capitulum, which occurs at all the Vespers, Lauds, and the hours after the Psalms and Antiphones, and is followed at the hours by the short Responsory as here given. It may serve to shew the tone and character of this interesting service.

"Words of heart-felt truth,

Tending to patience when affliction strikes,
To hope and love, to confident repose

In God, and reverence for the dust of man."-The Excursion.