LESSON SIXTY-SIXTH.

INQUISITION IN SPAIN.

The late Admiral Pye, having been on a visit to Southampton, and the gentleman under whose roof he resided having observed an unusual intimacy between him and his secretary, inquired into the degree of their relationship, as he wished to pay him suitable attention. The admiral informed him they were not related, but their intimacy arose from a singular circumstance, which, by his permission, he would relate.

The admiral said, when he was captain, he was cruising in the Mediterranean. While on that station, he received a letter from shore, stating that the unhappy author of the letter was an Englishman-that, having been a voyage to Spain, he was enticed, while there, to become a Papist, and, in process of time, was made a member of the inquisition that there h witnessed the abominable wickedness and barbarity of the inquisitors. His heart recoiled at having embraced a religion so horribly cruel, and so repugnant to the nature of God; and he was stung with remorse to think, if his parents knew what and where he was, their hearts would break with grief-that he was resolved to escape, if he (the captain) would send a boat in such a time and place; but begged secrecy, since, if his intentions were discovered, he would be immediately assassinated.

The captain returned for answer, that he could not, with propriety, send a boat; but, if he could devise any means to come on board, he would receive him as a British subject, and protect him. He did so; but, being missed, there was raised a hue and cry, and he was followed to the ship. A holy inquisitor demanded him, but he was refused. Another, in the "name of his holiness the pope," claimed him; but the captain did not know him, or any other master, but his sovereign, King George.

At length a third holy brother approached. The young man recognised him at a distance, and, in terror, ran to the captain, entreating him not to be deceived by him, for he was the most false, wicked, and cruel of all the inquisitionists. He was introduced, the young man being

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present; and, to obtain his object, began with the bitterest accusations against him; then he turned to the most fulsome flatteries of the captain; and, lastly, offered him a sum of money to resign him. The captain treated him with apparent attention, and said his offers were very handsome, and, if what he affirmed were true, the person in question was unworthy of the English name, or of his protection. The holy brother was elated. He thought his errand was accomplished.

While drawing his purse-strings, the captain inquired what punishment would be inflicted on him. He replied, that was uncertain; but, as his offences were atrocious, it was likely his punishment would be exemplary. The captain asked, if he thought he would be burned in a dry pan. He replied, that must be determined by the holy inquisition; but it was not improbable. The captain then ordered the great copper to be heated, but no water to be put in.

All this while the young man stood trembling, every moment anticipating that he was about to become the unhappy victim of avarice and superstition. The cook soon announced that the order was executed. "Then I command you to take this fellow," pointing to the inquisitor, “and fry him alive in the copper!" This unexpected command thunderstruck the holy father. Alarmed for himself, he rose to be gone. The cook began to bundle him away. "Oh, good captain! good captain!"-"I'll teach him to attempt to bribe a British commander to sacrifice the life of an Englishman to gratify a herd of bloody men."

Down the holy inquisitor fell upon his knees, offering him all his money, and promising never to return, if he would let him be gone. When the captain had sufficiently affrighted him, he dismissed him, warning him never to come again on such an errand. What must be the reverse of feelings in the Englishman to find himself thus happily delivered! He fell upon his knees, in a flood of tears, before the captain, and poured out a thousand blessings upon his brave and noble deliverer.

"This," said the admiral to the gentleman, "is the circumstance that began our acquaintance. I then took him to be my servant; he served me from affection; mutual attachment ensued, and it has invariably subsisted and increased to this day."

LESSON SIXTY-SEVENTH.

THE UNCLOUDED SUN.

The unclouded sun! While I survey
The appointed ruler of the day,
My spirit ardent cries,
Enlighten, Lord, my darken'd mind,
By truth's bright beams I fain would find
Salvation's blessed prize.

The unclouded sun; an emblem bright
Of the approaching world of light,
Without a dark'ning veil!
Knowledge shall shine resplendent there,
Nor clouds nor tempests interfere,
But light and truth prevail.

Their sun shall never more decline,
But with unfading lustre shine
Throughout eternal days!
God is their "light and glory" too;
His presence evermore they view,
And sing his worthy praise.

LESSON SIXTY-EIGHTH.

POWER OF CONSCIENCE.

Dr Fordyce in his Dialogues on education relates the following striking incident, which, he says, occurred in a neighbouring state. A jeweller, a man of good character and considerable wealth, having occasion to leave home on business at some distance, took with him a servant. He had with him some of his best jewels and a large sum of money. This was known to the servant, who, urged by cupidity, murdered his master on the road, rifled him of his jewels and money, and suspending a large stone round his neck, threw him into the nearest canal.

With the booty he had thus gained, the servant set off to a distant part of the country, where he had reason to believe that neither he nor his master were known. There he began to trade; at first in a very humble way, that his obscurity might screen him from observation; and, in the course of many years, seemed, by the natural progress of business, to rise into wealth and consideration; so that his

good fortune appeared at once the effect and reward of industry and virtue. Of these, he counterfeited the appearance so well, that he grew into great credit, married into a good family, and was admitted into a share of the government of the town. He rose from one post to another, till at length he was chosen chief magistrate.

In this office he maintained a fair character, and continued to fill it with no small applause, both as governor and judge, until one day, as he presided on the bench with some of his brethren, a criminal was brought before him, who was accused of murdering his master. The evidence came out fully, the jury brought in their verdict that the prisoner was guilty, and the whole assembly waited the sentence of the president of the court with great suspense.

The president appeared to be in unusual disorder and agitation of mind; his colour changed often. At length he arose from his seat, and, descending from the bench, placed himself close to the unfortunate man at the bar, to the no small astonishment of all present. "You see before you," said he, addressing himself to those who sat on the bench with him, "a striking instance of the just awards of Heaven, which this day, after thirty years' concealment, presents to you a greater criminal than the man just now found guilty." He then made a full confession of his guilt, and of all its aggravations. "Nor can I feel,"

continued he, "any relief from the agonies of an awakened conscience, but by requiring that justice be forthwith done against me in the most public and solemn manner."

We may easily suppose the amazement of all the assembly, and especially of his fellow-judges. However, they proceeded, upon his confession, to pass sentence upon him, and he died with all the symptoms of a penitent mind.

LESSON SIXTY-NINTH.

THE SHEPHERD AND THE PHILOSOPHER

Remote from cities lived a swain,
Unvexed with all the cares of gain.
His head was silver'd o'er with age,
And long experience made him sage;
In summer's heat and winter's cold,
He fed his flock and penn'd the fold;

His hours in cheerful labour flew,
Nor envy nor ambition knew;
His wisdom and his honest fame,
Through all the country raised his name.
A deep philosopher (whose rules
Of moral life were drawn from schools)
The shepherd's homely cottage sought,
And thus explored his reach of thought.
Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil
O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
Hast thou old Greece and Rome survey'd,
And the vast sense of Plato weigh'd?
Hath Socrates thy soul refined ?
And hast thou fathom'd Tully's mind?
Or, like the wise Ulysses thrown,
By various fates, on realms unknown,
Hast thou through many cities stray'd,
Their customs, laws, and manners weigh'd?
The shepherd modestly replied,

I ne'er the paths of learning tried;
Nor have I roam'd in foreign parts,
To read mankind, their laws, and arts;
For man is practised in disguise;
He cheats the most discerning eyes;
Who by that search shall wiser
grow,
When we ourselves can never know.
The little knowledge I have gain'd,
Was all from simple nature drain'd;
Hence my life's maxims took their rise,
Hence grew my settled hate to vice.

The daily labours of the bee
Awake my soul to industry.
Who can observe the careful ant,
And not provide for future want?
My dog (the truest of his kind)
With gratitude inflames my mind:
I mark his true, his faithful way,
And in my service copy Tray.
In constancy and nuptial love
I learn my duty from the dove.
The hen, who from the chilly air,
With pious wing protects her care,