whose honest sun-burnt countenances corroborated her expressions of pleasure, that the English gentleman should honour their poor cabin by taking a meal in it. Whatever the honour was to them I could not divine: the benefit to me of their hospitality was real and substantial.

While sitting at the table, my attention was directed to a venerable old man, who appeared to have recently risen from his bed, and who was sitting by the side of the fire-place. My companion had greeted the patriarch with a familiar expression of esteem as he entered, and as soon as we were fairly seated, I got into conversation with him; and from him and his pastor (for such was the relation my friend sustained towards him), I learned the few particulars of his history. With these I shall conclude the chapter; breathing a hope and a prayer, that the instances may be multiplied a thousand fold, in which the usefulness of the Religious Tract Society shall be as satisfactorily evident.

Thomas Murray-that was the old man's name was born near Belfast, and wrought as a farm-labourer from his boyhood. At the age of forty-two he came to reside in the cabin where I found him, which he had not left for above a day for forty years. His dwelling was half a mile from any other; and the intercourse which he and the members of his family held with any others, was infrequent and short, except at times when mutual aid was given and required in the harvest seasons. His farm consisted of forty Irish acres " a power of acres," he called them; for he regarded himself, and was esteemed so by others, a large landholder, although half was mountain land, and more productive of heather than anything else. Still here he obtained a subsistence for himself and family, until" auburn locks" gave place to "reverend grey." Seventy-five years had passed over him, and left their traces in many a furrow on his bronze brow; and yet, although so near the close of his career, he was "without God in the world." No thoughts of a future eternity appear to have stirred the depths, or even to have ruffled the surface of his mind. He seemed to be "let alone:" "But God, who is rich in mercy," remembered him. At the age of seventy-five he was laid aside from

his accustomed duties by an affliction which confined him to the house; and he who had always led an active life, and to whom the healthful breezes of the mountain were as necessary as food, felt the irksomeness of his detention at home; and having nothing wherewith to wile away the tedium of the lagging hours, he became exceedingly irritable and impatient. The tidings of his sickness were communicated to the inmates of the next cabin, in which dwelt a little girl, who was a scholar in the Sunday School at Strade. For her attention in the class she had received a reward from her minister of one of the publications of the Tract Society. When she heard that old Murray was ill and fretful, because he knew not how to spend his time, she thought that the absence of books might be one cause of the time passing heavily; and under the promptings of a kind and benevolent heart, she resolved go over to the old man's cabin, and offer the loan of her treasure for him to read. Murray, more with the design of gratifying the child, and glad to have something that might help to relieve the weary days of sickness, accepted her book, and promised to peruse it. He did so. As he read, he became conscious of unusual emotion. It was neither old age nor feebleness from his affliction that made his hand tremble so, as he turned over the pages; neither was it a natural dimness that at times hid the words from him-tears were swelling up from his heart; deep convictions were struggling in his soul; and, like Felix, he trembled as he read of righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come. That was a memorable day to him. Mightily did the Spirit of God strive with him; the negleets, the transgressions of a long life were brought home to his conscience; the terror of the law flashed upon his guilty spirit, and everlasting ruin seemed inevitable. He wept, and read, and prayed; he prayed, and read, and wept again. He regarded his sickness with alarm-it might be unto death, and he felt unprepared; and the prayer of his trembling heart was, 66 Oh, spare me, that I may recover strength before I go hence, and be no more." Eagerly now did he thirst for instruction, and again and again was the book perused which had at first awakened him. It was intended more for direction than

conviction; yet as it had produced the latter, so also did it give the former. Light broke in upon the old man's soul, and a Bible was now prized that had been before disregarded. The child, when she heard that Murray had recovered his health, called for her book. He had learned very highly to value it, and was therefore unwilling to part with it. Misunderstanding his refusal, she repaired, with tears in her eyes, to her minister, and told him her tale. He, quickly discerning how matters stood, cheered her with the promise of another volume, and immediately repaired to the mountain cabin. It proved as he had anticipated. Thomas Murray had become a new man, and was bending over the pages of the precious volume the child had lent him. Mr. B. took it up; it was "James's Anxious Inquirer" that had found its way into the old man's hand, and its truths had penetrated his heart. From that day he grew in divine knowledge, with a rapidity as delightful and satisfactory, as it was surprising. When I saw him he spoke as one who had caught glimpses of "the land that is very far off," and of "the King in his beauty." Our intercourse was refreshing to my soul; and I parted from him with a reverence for his piety as well as for his grey hairs.

A few weeks ago, I received from his pastor the intelligence of his death. His last illness was short, and his departure sudden. The day prior to his death he visited his neighbours, and gave each member of the family a tract with a suitable admonition. "He sent for me in the evening," says Mr. B.," and in my presence requested his family with his dying words to turn from that refuge of lies (they were Arians,) and come to the Lord Jesus Christ; and early in the morning be breathed his last. Such was the death of poor old Thomas!" evening time it shall be light." me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his !"-Monthly Visitor for June.

"At

"Let

REV. JOHN WESLEY, A.M., ON
POPERY.

Those who acknowledge the spiritual power of the Pope can give no security of their allegiance to any government : but all Roman Catholics acknowledge this: therefore, they can give no security for their allegiance.

INIQUITIES AND BARBARITIES
PRACTISED AT ROME IN THE
NINETEENTH CENTURY.

BY RAFFAELE CIOCCL
(Continued from p. 187.)

I had now been receiving instruction from the Jesuits for nearly four years; and I most severely felt the prohibition to read the poets, books which have so many charms for youth, and which I elsewhere saw in the hands of every one. Friends at length secretly provided me with the works of Metastasio, Goldoni, Tasso, Pignotti, and others. I found indescribable pleasure in perusing these authors, and soon made myself acquainted with their respective styles. This was not my only transgression of the Jesuitical rules; for, when walking in the streets, my eyes were often raised to the countenances of others, as I considered that it was not necessary to be discour teous in order to be modest. From these various causes, I felt a growing aversion to the yoke of the Jesuits, and was resolved, if possible, to break a chain that daily became more galling.

I therefore addressed a letter to my mother, in which, with all filial affection, I disclosed to her my firm resolution of no longer remaining in this college, and my ardent wish to return to the bosom of my family. I represented to her that the gratification of this desire would prove no obstacle to the pursuit of my studies, as I could continue them in the schools of the Sapienza, which is the principal college in Rome. My mother, from the determined tenor of my letter, deemed it prudent to comply with my request, and I was, a month afterwards, restored to liberty. I now began to frequent the schools of La Sapienza, and in a short time, contracted an intimacy with many of my fellow-students. We attended school five days in the week; Sundays and Thursdays were holidays. The ideas we had acquired, from the study of our national history, of the great ness of the Roman people, and of their military exploits, had aroused in us a desire to render ourselves skilful in arms, We were further stimulated to these proceedings from perusing the Wars of Napoleon, the History of America, and other warlike treatises. Can you believe it, oh reader, that an innocent and healthy amusement, invented by youths

first was, as they told me, destined for the reception of visitors, the second for study, and the third for sleeping. Imagine my surprise and dismay at being compelled, after three days, to quit these spacious apartments, where my heart, oppressed with anguish at the loss of liberty, found a little satisfaction in the comforts which surrounded me.

During these three days of less severe imprisonment, I was permitted to roam at will over the monastery and garden. Perhaps this shadow of liberty was allowed me, in order that I might, by degrees, become accustomed to more rigorous confinement.

About ten o'clock on the third day, I was conducted to the sumptuous apartment of the general, who invited me to join him in taking chocolate. While

we were partaking of this refreshment, he began, with a serious tone and manner, to extol the blessed life of those who, having bid adieu to a deceitful world, consecrate themselves to God in the tranquil recesses of a cloister.

"When will my scholastic duties commence?" said I.

He answered me drily, "the rules shall be given to you when you have oined the other excellent young men of this institution." He rang the bell; at the sound of which, the master of the novices made his appearance, and the general, embracing me, consigned me to his care. His kiss, like that of the traitor Judas, was a kiss of betrayal; it was the prelude to six years of rigorous imprisonment-six years of prolonged suffering. The monk conducted me along a corridor, at the end of which was a massive door, through which we passed. As he was in the act of closing it, I inquired whether I should be permitted to pass in and out at pleasure?

He smiled, and replied"Lasciate ogni speranza, o voi che entrate." "All hope abandon, you who enter here." DANTE, Canto iii. 3. "What, Father?" I added, in aları, "is this the gate of hell?"

"On the contrary," said he, "it is the door of your eternal salvation." He locked the door and rang a bell, when suddenly I found myself in the presence of ten young men, from fifteen to sixteen years of age, two of them warmly em. braced me. The master left me with these youths, and went to give notice,

1

perhaps to his brother monks, that the bird was in the cage.

My companions led me into a room, but avoided replying to my numerous inquiries respecting the mode of living, the usages, and the restrictions of this institution. Strict silence, on these points, had been enjoined, and they were menaced with severe punishment in the event of disobeying. In truth reply was needless; for their pallid countenances, sunken eyes, and attenuated forms, conveyed an answer far more eloquent than words. I had known several of them at their homes, vigorous in health, ruddy, joyous, and my eyes were filled with tears at seeing them so strangely altered. "The same change will shortly take place in thee; thou also wilt be pale and emaciated like them," whispered a voice within. But, quickly chasing the unwelcome thought, "No," said I; "It cannot be. Their case bears no parallel with mine, the monkish habit which they wear, justifies, in some degree, the austerity of their lives, and hence the change that has taken place. But it is not my intention to assume the tunicmy object in coming here is to study; with that understanding only did I consent to enter this enclosure."

One by one the young men quitted the apartment, and I was left with Apol loni. Finding himself alone with me, and remembering the close friendship which had ever existed between us, be threw aside all caution, and anxiously inquired

"Is it long since you saw my mother and sisters? Are they well? What

are they doing ?"

"How is this?" I answered, with astonishment, I your mother writes to you weekly, and is satisfied with the assur ance that you are happy in your vocation. It appears to me that the case is far otherwise; and these tears bear strong evidence that all is not well."

"My friend! my friend !" he exclaimed, giving full vent to his feelings, "to what a place art thou come! I never receive letters from my family; and what you have just told me convinces me that my letters are kept back by these monsters."

"Oh, no, you are mistaken. I know to a certainity that your mother receives them punctually."

"Yes, those written by the monks in my name, but not my own," was his reply.

"Impossible!" I exclaimed, amazed at such a declaration, "It is impossible that they can have arrived at such a depth of wickedness."

It is, alas! but too true; and I am grieved that you should have placed yourself in their terrible talons."

"If it be indeed so, I will force the door, or jump from the window: nothing shall detain me here." The blood rose in my veins, and I should have rushed towards the door, to attempt an impossible flight, had not the poor fellow held me back, and with a supplicating voice, cried, "O for mercy's sake, have pity upon an unfortunate youth! Sacredly restrain your feelings-disclose not a word of what has passed between us; otherwise a heavy punishment will assuredly fall upon me, and, God knows, a few drops of the water of Tofania may be in store for both of us!"

"For both of us? My object in coming here is study, and you say that they will dare to give me the water of Tofania? No, no, it cannot be; this is but a phantom of your heated imagination."

"I repeat that what I have uttered is true; I conjure you to submit, as I have done, or in a few days you may cease to exist."

"How? Die! Die in the hands of these cruel men! O unhappy me, where am I?"

He took my hand affectionately, and said, "calm yourself, since weeping will do nothing for you, and you will have time enough to weep. Perhaps God may aid you: and let me entreat of you, as you desire peace, as you value your own life, as you value mine, never allow the conversation that has passed between us to escape your lips; and be careful to yield a prompt obedience to the commands of the monks. Adieu." Having thus spoken, he hastily quitted the apartment, and I was left alone.

Being greatly agitated, I paced my room for some time without heeding anything; but at length, becoming more calm, I stood quietly and began to examine the objects by which I was surrounded. It seemed as though earth had conspired against me; but looking upwards and taking courage, I thought within myself, "Thou only, O Lord, hast not abandoned me." Three hours

passed away in painful solitude, peopled only with bitter remembrances. Sighing and weeping, the name of my mother rose to my lips. She, ignorant of the abyss into which I had been precipitated, perhaps at that very moment though me happy.

No sooner was I clothed with the tunic than I received the welcome announcement that at the expiration of three days the studies would commence. But here, alas! another vexatious disappointment awaited me. I strove to soften the bitterness of separation by frequently writing letters to my parents, who were the only persons we were allowed to address, and replies were always returned to me with scrupulous exactness. Were these really my mother's answers, or were they those of the barbarous monks? I leave that to your divination, my dear readers, reserving the elucidation of the doubt to a later period. The letters addressed to me by my acquaintance were, by monkish policy, invariably withheld.

The year was now drawing to its close without my having been allowed a single interview with any member of my family. It sometimes happened that I met one or other of my relations or friends in the streets, but then the rule was not to raise the eyes of their countenances; giving them merely a slight token of recognition by raising the hat from the head. I must confess that I never observed this discourteous regulation, but always returned the salutation of those who saluted me; and my eyes, which revealed the secrets of my soul, were fixed upon them as though they would say, Come to the aid of a prisoner. And yet, in comparison with those that followed, this first twelvemonth was rather a year of freedom than imprisonment.

(To be continued).

MAXIMS.