impenitent. Stripping naked, and the rack, are kinds of punishment which explain themselves; but there is a third, called " Squassation," which we may describe as a specimen of the system. The prisoner who was to be punished in this manner had his hands bound behind his back, and heavy weights tied to his feet. He was then hoisted aloft till his head touched the pulley by which he was suspended, where he was allowed to hang for some time, till by the weights attached to his feet his joints and limbs were slowly stretched to agony. On a sudden, he was let down with a jerk, without being allowed, however, to reach the ground, and the result of such treatment commonly was to disjoint his legs and arms. The sudden shock received by his descent being arrested, produced the most exquisite pain, and generally rendered the sufferer a disfigured and distorted victim of cruelty for the remainder of his days. The author of the "History of the Inquisition at Goa," says, that at certain seasons "he every morning heard the cries and groans of those who were put to the question, which was so very cruel, that he had seen several of both sexes who were ever after lame." And that is the Popish mode of correcting men's errors, and converting them to Christianity! But this does not exhaust the catalogue of their atrocities. Sometimes the prisoner, who was stripped, was thereafter cased so tightly in a garment made for that purpose that he could not breathe; then he was suddenly set free, to be as suddenly compressed again, and the process was repeated till breathing became a source of exquisite pain. If that failed to extort confessions, other instruments of cruelty were at hand. The thumbs were so tightly bound together with small cords, that the blood spurted from under the nails. If this failed, the prisoner was next placed upon a little bench; ropes were put round the body at several places, especially the arms and legs, and drawn so tightly by means of pulleys, that the Jew Orobio, who was thus mangled and maltreated, has stated that, in the hands of the Inquisitor at that stage, he felt as if he had been dissolving in flames. Sometimes this torture was rendered yet more agonizing, by being so applied that the weight of the sufferer's body was made to tighten the cords, and so add to the misery. But Orobio had yet more to endure, because he was suspected of Judaism. An instrument, with five sharp projecting probes, was placed opposite each shin of the sufferer, and violently driven against it, so that, at the same moment, he received ten wounds, accompanied with anguish so intolerable that he fainted away. As soon as he had revived the torture was resumed. It had now reached the extreme point short of death. Ropes were put round Orobio's arms, and drawn so tightly that they cut the flesh, even to the bones; and this torture was thrice 1. On each occasion the cords were placed about two inches from the former wound. The effusion of blood was at length so great that the victim appeared to be dying; and, as the Inquisitors were cautioned not to murder the prisoner by the torture, (else what would become of the pomp of the Auto-de-fe?) the phy sician and surgeon were consulted as to his power to endure all that was implied in his sentence. That sentence bore that he must undergo the whole at one time; and, had he been remitted to his cell, even for a night, the whole process of torture must have been resumed from the commencement! The physician, however, mercifully declared that Orobio could still endure what remained without dying in the hands of those who had already murdered him again and again. (1 John iii. 15.) The torture was accordingly continued. At the close, Orobio was remitted to his cell, and ten weeks had rolled away ere he had recovered from the laceration inflicted on his body, by men who declared that they belonged to the only true Church of Christ—who inflicted these agonies on their fellow-mortal, because he would not welcome a religion which turned men into wild beasts! Do these things exhibit aright the genuine spirit of Popery? Let it be remembered, that all of them were done in accordance with a system sanctioned, patronized, and enforced, by the infallible head of Romanism, and then, if these cases be not enough for that purpose, we might next describe the torture inflicted on what is called the wooden horse, where, again, small cords are bound and twisted so tightly round the limbs, that they cut into the flesh. Or we might speak of the thin cloth thrown over the victim's mouth-of the stream of water, small as a thread, falling from some height into it, and sinking the cloth gradually down his throat, to be at last drawn forth from the half-stifled sufferer, in a way that occasioned excruciating agony. Or we might tell of the chafing-dish, full of burning charcoal, placed below the soles of the victim, which had been previously covered with oil, to render the pain more exquisite. But we sum up this horrid recital by describing the torture, as applied to our countryman, William Lithgow, already alluded to. While travelling in Spain, he was first imprisoned as a spy, and tortured in that character. But as nothing to criminate him could be extorted, he was delivered over to the Inquisition as a heretic, because his journals contained many "blasphemies against the pope and the Virgin Mary." Jesuits at first resorted to him in his cell, to cajole or to scare him into Popery; but, as their efforts were unavailing, he was condemned to endure eleven degrees of torment in one night, and thereafter to be burnt at Granada at midnight, and his ashes scattered to the winds. When under the torture, he was stripped naked, as Orobio had been. His mouth was forced open with an iron instrument, and water poured down his throat. A rope was APOLOGIES FOR TRAVELLING ON THE SABBATH. next tied tightly round his neck, and he was rolled seven times from wall to wall in the place of torture. Then a small cord was bound about each great toe, and he was suspended thereby with his head towards the ground. He remained in that condition till the water that had been poured down his throat was discharged, after which he was stretched on the ground as one dead, and then laid in irons and remitted to his cell. 369 of an act that it is perpetrated with some degree of regret; and yet the presence of such a regret is considered by many as quite a tolerable excuse. One gentleman who was sorry to travel on the Sabbath, added, I recollect, that it was against his principles to make use of the day. I wondered then that he should do it that he should deliberately practise in opposition to his principles. But I was still more surprised that he should think to excuse his practise by alleging its contrariety to his principles. What are principles for, but to regulate practice; and if they have not fixedness and force enough for this, of what use are they? A man's principles may as well be in favour of Sabbath-breaking as his practice; and certainly it constitutes a better apology for a practice that it is in conformity to one's principles, than that it is at variance with them. But we close. Such is a specimen of the practices of the Inquisition devised by Popish priests, presided over by Popish archbishops, patronized and encouraged by Infallible Popes. We have said nothing of the mental agony inflicted on the victims of such persecutions by the contumely and the insults of their oppressors. Munebrega, for instance, archbishop of Another gave pretty much the same reason for his Tarragona, and Vice-Inquisitor-General, while conduct in different words: "It is not my habit,” presiding at the torture, and directing its de- said he, " to travel on the Sabbath." It was only his gree, was accustomed to indulge in impious act. He did not uniformly do it. He only occasionraillery at his victims. "These heretics," he ally did it. A man must be at a loss for reasons who said, "have the commandment, Thou shalt love alleges as an apology for travelling one Sabbath, that thy neighbour as thyself,' so deeply seated in he does not travel other Sabbaths. The habit of their hearts, that it is necessary to tear the flesh obedience forms no excuse for the act of disobedience. from their bones to make them inform against An intelligent lady who was intending to travel on their brethren." Such was the brutality of the the Sabbath, volunteered this exculpation of herself: Inquisitor, and such the agony of the accused-She said she had travelled one Sabbath already since the suspected often the perfectly innocent. Some have felt it difficult to understand what case of atrocity is referred to by the apostle, when he speaks of some who "were sawn asunder." The doings of the Inquisition form a striking commentary on that text.* APOLOGIES FOR TRAVELLING ON THE SABBATH. (From an old Magazine.) SOME of those who do the work of journeying on the Sabbath, do not condescend to make an apology for it. They care neither for the day nor for Him who hallowed it. With these we have nothing to do. Our business is with those who, admitting the general obligation of the Sabbath, and knowing or suspecting Sunday travelling to be a sin, offer apologies which they hope may justify the act in their case, or else go far towards extenuating the criminality of it. I propose to submit to the judgment of my readers some of the excuses for this sin, as I cannot help calling the breach of the fourth commandment, which from time to time I have heard alleged. I would premise, that I know of no sin which men are so sorry for before it is done, and so ready to apologize for afterwards. I cannot tell how many persons, about to travel on the Sabbath, have answered me that they were very sorry to do it; and yet they have immediately gone and done it. They have repented and then sinned-just like Herod, who was sorry to put John the Baptist to death, and then immediately sent an executioner to bring his head. It does not diminish the criminality * M'Crie, Llorente, Chandler. she left home, and she supposed it was no worse to travel on another. I said nothing, but it did occur to me that two sins were worse than one. Another, and she was a lady too, said she could read good books by the way; and you know, said she, that we can have as good thoughts in one place as in another. I assented, but could not help thinking| that the persons employed in conveying her might not find their situation as favourable to devout reading and meditation. This, I suppose, did not occur to her. Another person said that he would never commence a journey on the Sabbath, but when once set out, he could see no harm in proceeding. But I, for my part, could not see the mighty difference between setting out on the Sabbath, and going on on the Sabbath. My perceptions were so obtuse that I could not discern the one to be travelling, and the other to be an equivalent to rest. One person told me that he meant to start very early in the morning, for he wished to occupy as little of the Sabbath in travelling as possible. Another proposed to lie by all the middle of the day, and proceed in the evening, and he was sure there could be no harm in that. Ah! thought I, and has not Sunday a morning and an evening appropriate to itself as well as any other day of the week? Is the morning of Sunday all one with Saturday, and the evening no more sacred than Monday? Did God hallow only the middle of the day? And is the day of rest shorter by several hours than any other day? I never could see how one part of the Sabbath should be entitled to more religious respect than another part. It seems to me a man may as properly travel on the noon of the Sabbath, as in the morning or evening. One person was very particular to tell me what he meant to do after he had travelled a part of the Lord's-day. He expected by about 10 or 11 o'clock to come across a church, and he intended to go in and worship. That, he supposed, would set all right again. Another, a grave-looking personage, was travelling on the Sabbath to reach an ecclesiastical meeting in season. Another, in order to fulfil an appointment he had made to preach. These were ministers. They pleaded the necessity of the case; but I could see no necessity in it. I thought the necessity of keeping God's commandments a much clearer and stronger case of necessity. The business of the meeting could go on without that clergyman, or it might have been deferred a day in waiting for him, or he might have left home a day earlier. The appointment to preach should not have been made, or, if made, should have been broken. There was one apologist who had not heard from home for a good while, and he was anxious to learn about his family. Something in their circumstances might require his presence. I could not sustain even that apology, for I thought the Lord could take care of his family without him as well as with him, and I did not believe they would be likely to suffer by his resting on the Sabbath, out of respect to God's commandment, and spending the day in imploring the divine blessing on them. Another apologist chanced to reach on Saturday night an indifferent public-house. He pleaded, therefore, that it was necessary for him to proceed on the next day, until he should arrive at better accommodation. But I could not help thinking that his being comfortably accommodated, was not on the whole so important as obedience to the decalogue. One person thought he asked an unanswerable question, when he begged to know why it was not as well to be on the road, as to be lying by at a country tavern. It occurred to me, that if his horses had possessed the faculty of Baalam's beast, they could have readily told him the difference, and why the latter part of the alternative was preferable. There was still another person who was sure his excuse would be sustained. He was one of a party, who were determined to proceed on the Sabbath in spite of his reluctance, and he had no choice but to go on with them. Ah! had he no choice? would they have forced him to go on? could he not have separated from such a party? or might he not, if he had been determined, have prevailed on them to rest on the Lord's-day? Suppose he had said, mildly yet firmly: My conscience forbids me to journey on the Sabbath. You can go, but you must leave me. I am sorry to interfere with your wishes, but I cannot 'offend God," is it not ten to one such a remonstrance would have been successful? I cannot help suspecting that the person was willing to be compelled in this case. But many said that this strict keeping of the Sabbath was an old Puritanical notion, and this seemed to ease their consciences somewhat. I remarked, that I thought it older than Puritanism. A Sinaitical notion I judged it to be, rather than Puritanical. Many Sunday travellers I met with, begged me not to tell their pious relatives that they had travelled on the Sabbath. They thought if these knew it, they would not think so well of them; and they would be likely to hear of it again. No one asked me not to tell God. They did not seem to care how it affected thera in his estimation. It never occurred to them that they might hear from the Lord of the Sabbath on the subject. I do not know any purpose which such apologies for Sabbath-breaking serve, since they satisfy neither God nor his people, but one, and that is not a very valuable one. They serve only, as far as I can see, i to delude those who offer them. I love to be fair. I have been objecting lately against the Catholics that they reduce the number of the commandments to nine. I here record my acknowledgment, that some of us Protestants have really but nine. The Catholics omit the seco 1; some of our Protestants the fourth. THE SORROW NOT TO BE REPENTED OF. It is seldom seen that a silent grief speeds well; for either a man must have strong hands of resolution to strangle it in his bosom, or else it drives him to some medied, and ever abates in the uttering. Your grief secret mischief; whereas sorrow revealed is half rewas wisely disclosed, and shall be as strangely answered. I am glad of your sorrow, and should weep for you if you did not thus mourn. Your sorrow is that you cannot enough grieve for your sins. Let re tell you that the angels themselves sing at this la e tation; neither doth the earth afford any so sweet music in the ears of God. This heaviness is the way to joy. Worldly sorrow is worthy of pity, because it leadeth to death; but this deserves nothing but envy and gratulation. If those tears were common, heli would not so enlarge itself. Never sin repented of was punished; and never any thus mourned and repented not. Lo, you have done that which you grieve you have not done. If God required sorrow proportionable to the heinousness of our sins, there were no end of mourning. Now, his mercy regards not so much the measure, as the truth of it; and accounts us to have that which we complain to want. I never knew any truly penitent, who, in the depth of his remorse, was afraid of sorrowing too much; nor any unrepentant, who wished to sorrow more. Yea, let me tell you, that this sorrow is better and more than that deep heaviness for sin, which you desire. Many have been vexed with an extreme re morse for some sin, from the gripes of a galled conscience, which yet never came where true repentance grew; in whom the conscience plays at once the accuser, witness, judge, tormentor; but an earnest grief for the want of grief, was never found in any but a gracious heart. You are happy, and complain. Tell me, I beseech you this sorrow which you mourn to want. is it a grace of the Spirit of God, or not? If not, why do you sorrow to want it? If it be, O how happy is it and blessedness hath said, "Blessed are those that to grieve for want of grace! The God of all truth hunger and thirst after righteousness;" and with the same breath," Blessed are they that mourn; for they shall be comforted." You say you mourn-Christ saith you are blessed; you say you mourn-Christ saith you shall be comforted. Either now distrust patience expect his promised consolation. your Saviour, or else confess your happiness, and with What do you fear? You see others stand like strong oaks, THE RECREANT FOILED. 371 unshaken, unremoved: you are but a reed, a feeble glass of water? I feel unwell." I arose and called plant, tossed and bowed with every wind, and with the family. He was manifestly ill, but not appamuch agitation bruised; lo, you are in tender and rently in immediate danger. The next morning he favourable hands, that never brake any whom their was worse. A physician was called, but did not unsins bruised-never bruised any whom temptations Search was at length made, and had bowed. You are but flax; and your best is not derstand his case. a flame, but an obscure smoke of grace. Lo, here his it was found that, by mistake, he had taken a dose Spirit is as a soft wind, not as cold water; he will of deadly poison. The hand of Death was then upon kindle, will never quench you. The sorrow you want him. For three hours his body was writhing in is his gift; take heed lest, while you vex yourself with dislike of the measure, you grudge at the Giver. agony, but that was forgotten in the more excruciatBeggars may not choose. This portion he hath ing agonies of his soul. I heard his minister tell him vouchsafed to give you; if you have any, it was more of a merciful Saviour. I heard his father, kneeling than he was bound to bestow; yet you say, What, no by his bed-side, pour out to God the most agonizing more? as if you took it unkindly that he is not more prayer for him that language could express. I liberal. Even these holy discontentments are danger- heard his mother exclaim, “O my son! my son!" ous. Desire more (so much as you can), but repine till she swooned and sunk upon the floor. I heard not when you do not attain. Desire, but so as you be free from impatience, free from unthankfulness; him, as he tossed from side to side, cry out, “O those who have tried, can say how difficult it is to Lord, have mercy on my soul! O my God, have complain, with due reservation of thanks. Neither mercy on me!-mercy! mercy! mercy!" and then, kr. w I whether is worse, to long for good things im-reaching out his hands toward his father, he expauently or not at all to desire them. The fault of your sorrow is rather in your conceit than in itself; and if indeed you mourn not enough, stay but God's leisure, and your eyes shall run over with tears. How many do you see sport with their sins, yea, brag of them! How many that would die for want of pastime, if they might not sin freely, and more freely talk of it! Yet so I encourage you in what you have, as one that persuades you not to desist from suing for more. It is good to be covetous of grace; and to have our desires herein enlarged with our receipts. Weep still, and still desire to weep; but let your tears be as the rain in the sunshine-comfortable and hopeful; and let not your longing savour of murmur or distrust. The tears are reserved-this hunger shall be satisfied this sorrow shall be comforted. There is nothing betwixt God and you, but time. Prescribe not to his wisdom-hasten not his mercy. His grace is enough for you-his glory shall be more than enough. -Bishop Hall. I AM LOST! I AM LOST! I ONCE knew a youth of sixteen, the son and hope of pious parents, and the favourite of a large circle of associates. He was my friend. We went together to the school-room-to the play-ground-to our chamber. I have seen him while listening to the pleadings of parental faithfulness, urging him to immediate repentance, and warning him, by a brother's recent grave, of the danger of delay. He listened in silent and respectful attention, but the alluring pleasures of youth dazzled him, and he resolved to leave religion for a future day. One evening he met a circle of youthful acquaintsance. It was a gay circle, and a thoughtless one. In the midst of their mirth, his eye fell on a hymnbook. He opened it and read claimed, "I am lost! I am lost! am I not, father?" THE RECREANT FOILED. Ar a very early period of my ministry, I laboured in a portion of the country where a singular circumstance happened in the common walks of life. A well-bred young man, apparently under much religious concern, united himself with a religious society. Although he had formerly been rather wayward and inconstant in his life, yet by his steady attendance on all the means of grace, and the rapid improvement which he seemed to make in his religious course, he had gained largely on the affections of his class-mates, and some of the most pious and discerning had already begun to regard him as a youth of some promise. In the same neighbourhood resided a comely and, in many respects, a very amiable, girl. Heaven had in mercy granted her one of the greatest of all earthly blessings, a pious parentage. But she was of an unusually volatile disposition, and passionately fond of the world, its fashions and amusements. Our young friend saw her, loved her, and finally made proposals of marriage. Eliza acknowledged that she was pleased with him. "But, William," said she, "there is one inseparable barrier to our union. You profess religion, and I have no reason to doubt your sincerity. You see what a giddy, vain, and heedless sinner I am. What domestic happiness do you suppose will arise from our marriage ? You, as a man of God, would feel it to be your duty to erect a family altar; I am ill-qualified to participate in holy exercises. You would love to see everything clothed in the sombre aspect of Christianity; I might love to shine out with my fashionable friends. ConIt is true, sider the great gulf that lies between us. it is not impassable. But I am not prepared to come over to you at present. It remains for you to consider whether you can forego your religious associations to accommodate me." William, with a sorrowful countenance and heavy sigh, observed that he would consider the matter. A few days after, in a heartless and reluctant manner, he requested the leader to have his name erased from the class-book, when the preacher came round. The leader, supposing he was labouring under some cruel temptation of the enemy, urged him to confide in his integrity, and unbosom all his sorrows. The more solicitous the leader was to dissuade him from his purpose, the more earnestly he pressed his suit. The preacher, judging from the vehemency of his manner, that all was not right, and that it might be more creditable to the Church to let him go, granted his request. It was not long before he stood before Eliza, and renewed his suit. She observed, "You are aware of the only difficulty that lies in the way- Before she finished the sentence, he exclaimed, with a smile, "O that is removed-my name is taken from the book-I am no longer a Church member." The young lady fell back in her chair. A deadly paleness overspread her face, and with quivering lips she said: "I will never consent to marry you as long as the world stands. It is true I am wild and irreligious; but the pious instructions of my parents, the religious opportunities which I have had, the many heartsearching sermons which I have heard, have for a long time disturbed my peace, and have determined me not to choose death. In view of my natural proneness to ruin, I had determined to marry none but a man who would help me to save my soul. I had flattered myself that you were such a character; but thought it would be safe to try your stedfastness. When the proposal to leave your class was first made, if you had rejected it with a manly and holy indignation, you would have received my hand on the spot. When you promised to consider the matter, I saw an indecision of character that made me tremble. But even after so many days' deliberation, if you had returned, and said you loved Zion above your chief joy-above father and mother, and wife and all, then I could have confided my life in your hands. But the die is cast. You will please never mention the subject again-for ever." We hope the reader will never realize the anguish of the rejected suitor. The Church avoided him as an insincere and dan gerous character. The world, more cruel, reserved him as a standing target of ridicule.-Pastoral Reminiscences. THE TWO PHYSICIANS. PHYSICIANS frequently plead their business as an excuse for neglecting a regular attendance in the house of God; but is this a valid plea-does their business justify their neglect? The following conversation, which I chanced to overbear the other day, between two physicians, may throw some light upon the subject. They are both in large practice in one of our northern cities: Dr. L.-How happens it, Dr. B, that you are so regular in your attendance upon the public and social meetings of the church? I hear that you are seldom absent at least, I always see you there when I am. There must be some secret about it, for your practice is as extensive as mine, if not more so; and with all my diligence, I cannot make out to attend half the time. I really should like to know how you manage it. I often wish that I could so arrange my business as never to be absent. Dr. B.-You are frequently called in consultation with your medical friends, are you not? Dr. L.-Certainly I am-once or twice every day, and sometimes oftener. Dr. B.-Are you not in the habit of meeting your consultations punctually? Dr. L.-I do, and am seldom obliged to make a draft upon the fifteen minutes' grace usually allowed. Dr. B.-That is all the secret I have about the matter. I have always made it a rule punctually and promptly to meet my consultations, and I feel that I have at least two every Sabbath in the house of God, ' and God, who loveth the gates of Zion more than all the dwellings of Jacob, has for more than thirty years enabled me, with very few exceptions, to meet them.-American Messenger. FALSEHOOD. To urge the people of the world to forsake it (false hood) is utterly hopeless; it forms the very soul of their intercourse; it gives the last polish to their compliments, the last gilding to their courtesies, the last finish to their politeness; it is the strong chain, without which their hollow society, as at present constituted, would fall to pieces. For who could tolerate sincerity, where the truth would often be so bitterly distasteful?-Blunt's Elisha. BE GENTLE TO THY MOTHER. BE gentle to thy mother; long she bore Thine infant fretfulness and silly youth; I Nor rudely scorn the faithful voice that o'er Thy cradle prayed, and taught thee lisping truth. Yes, she is old; yet on thy manly brow She looks, and claims thee as her child e'en now. Uphold thy mother; close to her warm heart She carried, fed thee, lulled thee to thy rest; May be that she will claim the care she gave; Or light neglect from thee, will give a pang G. W. BETHUNE |
