Chapter 10

“Scire volunt secreta domus et inde timeri.”

“On the day preceding our first meeting, (which had not been intended before), the Director went to my father; he said, “Senhor, I think it best the brothers should meet. Perhaps God may touch their hearts, and by his merciful influence over them, enable you to reverse the decreethat threatens one of them with seclusion, and both with a cruel and final separation.” My father assented with tears of delight. Those tears did not melt the heart of the Director; he hastened to my apartment, and said, “My child, summon all your resolution, your artful, cruel, partial parents, arepreparing a scenefor you,—they are determined on introducing you to your spurious brother.” “I will spurn him before their faces, if they dare to do so,” said I, with the pride of premature tyranny. “No, my child, that will not do, you must appear to comply with their wishes, but you must not be their victim,—promise me that, my dear child,—promise me resolution and dissimulation.” “I promise you resolution, keep the dissimulation for yourself.” “Well, I will do so, since your interests require it.” He hurried back to my father. “Senhor, I have employed all the eloquence of heaven and nature with your younger son. He is softened,—he melts already,—helongs to precipitate himself into the fraternal embrace, and hear your benediction poured over the united hearts and bodies of your two children,—they are both your children. You must banish all prejudices, and——” “I have no prejudices!” said my poor father; “let me but see my children embrace, and if Heaven summoned me at that moment, I should obey it by dying of joy.”—The Director reproved him for the expressions which gushed from his heart, and, wholly unmoved by them, hurried back to me, full of his commission. “My child, I have warned you of the conspiracy formed against you by your own family. You will receive a proof of it to-morrow,—your brother is to be introduced,—you will be required to embrace him,—your consent is reckoned on, but at the moment you do so, your father is resolved to interpret this as the signal, on your part, of the resignation of all your natural rights. Comply with your hypocritical parents, embrace this brother, butgive an air of repugnance to the action that will justify your conscience, while it deceives those who would deceive you. Watch the signal-word, my dear child; embrace him as you would a serpent,—his art is not less, and his poison as deadly. Remember that your resolution will decide the event of this meeting. Assume the appearance of affection, but remember you hold your deadliest enemy in your arms.” At these words, unnatural as I was, I shuddered. I said, “My brother!” “Never mind,” said the Director, “he is the enemy of God,—an illegitimate impostor. Now, my child, are you prepared?” and I answered, “I am prepared.” That night, however, I was very restless. I required the Director to be summoned. I said in my pride, “But how is this poor wretch (meaning you) to be disposed of?” “Let him embrace the monastic life,” said the Director. At these words I felt an interest on your account I had never recognized before. I said decidedly, for hehad taught me to assume a tone of decision, “He shall never be a monk.” The Director appeared staggered, yet he trembled before the spirit he had himself raised. “Let him go into the army,” I said; “let him inlist as a common soldier, I can supply him with the means of promotion;—let him engage in the meanest profession, I shall not blush to acknowledge him, but, father, he shall never be a monk.” “But, my dear child, on what foundation does this extraordinary objection rest? It is the only means to restore peace to the family, and procure it for the unfortunate being for whom you are so much interested.” “My father, have done with this language. Promise me, as the condition of my obedience to your wishes to-morrow, that my brother shall never be compelled to be a monk.” “Compelled, my dear child! there can be no compulsion in a holy vocation.” “I am not certain of that; but I demand from you the promise I have mentioned.” TheDirector hesitated, at last he said, “I promise.” And he hastened to tell my father there was no longer any opposition to our meeting, and that I was delighted with the determination which had been announced to me of my brother eagerly embracing the monastic life. Thus was our first meeting arranged. When, at the command of my father, our arms were entwined, I swear to you, my brother, I felt them thrill with affection. But the instinct of nature was soon superseded by the force of habit, and I recoiled, collected all the forces of nature and passion in the terrible expression that I dared to direct towards our parents, while the Director stood behind them smiling, and encouraging me by gestures. I thought I had acted my part with applause, at least I gave myself enough, and retired from the scene with as proud a step as if I had trampled on a prostrate world,—I had only trampled on nature and my own heart. A few days after I was sent to a convent.The Director was alarmed at the dogmatizing tone he himself had taught me to assume, and he urged the necessity of my education being attended to. My parents complied with every thing he required. I, for a wonder, consented; but, as the carriage conveyed me to the convent, I repeated to the Director, “Remember, my brother is not to be a monk.”

“(After these lines several were unintelligible to me, apparently from the agitation under which they were written;—the precipitancy and fiery ardor of my brother’s character communicated itself to his writings. After many a defaced page I could trace the following words.) * * * * * *

“It was singular enough that you, who were the object of my inveterate hatred before my residence in the convent, became the object of my interest from that moment. I had adopted your cause from pride, I now upheld it from experience. Compassion, instinct, whatever it was, beganto assume the character of a duty. When I saw the indignity with which the lower classes were treated, I said to myself, “No, he shall never suffer that,—he is my brother.” When I succeeded in my exercises, and was applauded, I said, “This is applause in which he never can share.” When I was punished, and that was much more frequently, I said, “He shall never feel this mortification.” My imagination expanded. I believed myself your future patron, I conceived myself redeeming the injustice of nature, aiding and aggrandizing you, forcing you to confess that you owed more to me than to your parents, and throwing myself, with a disarmed and naked heart, on your gratitude alone for affection. I heard you call me brother,—I bid you stop, and call me benefactor. My nature, proud, generous, and fiery, had not yet quite emancipated itself from the influence of the Director, but every effort it made pointed, by an indescribable impulse, towards you. Perhaps the secretof this is to be found in the elements of my character, which always struggled against dictation, and loved to teach itself all it wished to know, and inspire itself with the object of its own attachments. It is certain that I wished for your friendship, at the moment I was instructed to hate you. Your mild eyes and affectionate looks haunted me perpetually in the convent. To the professions of friendship repeatedly made me by the boarders, I answered, “I want a brother.” My conduct was eccentric and violent,—no wonder, for my conscience had begun to operate against my habits. Sometimes I would apply with an eagerness that made them tremble for my health; at others, no punishment, however severe, could make me submit to the ordinary discipline of the house. The community grew weary of my obstinacy, violence, and irregularities. They wrote to the Director to have me removed, but before this could be accomplished I was seized with a fever. Theypaid me unremitting attention, but there was something on my mind no cares of theirs could remove. When they brought me medicine with the most scrupulous punctuality, I said, “Let my brother fetch it, and if it be poison I will drink it from his hand; I have injured him much.” When the bell tolled for matins and vespers, I said, “Are they going to make my brother a monk? The Director promised me differently, but you are all deceivers.” At length they muffled the bell. I heard its stifled sound, and I exclaimed, “You are tolling for his funeral, but I,—I am his murderer!” The community became terrified at these exclamations so often repeated, and with the meaning of which they could not accuse themselves. I was removed in a state of delirium to my father’s palace in Madrid. A figure like yours sat beside me in the carriage, alighted when we stopped, accompanied me where I remained, assisted me when I was placed again in the carriage.So vivid was the impression, that I was accustomed to say to the attendants, “Stop, my brother is assisting me.” When they asked me in the morning how I had rested? I answered, “Very well,—Alonzo has been all night at my bed-side.” I invited this visionary companion to continue his attentions; and when the pillows were arranged to my satisfaction, I would say, “How kind my brother is,—how useful,—butwhy will he not speak?” At one stage I absolutely refused nourishment, because the phantom appeared to decline it. I said, “Do not urge me, my brother, you see, will not accept of it. Oh, I entreat his pardon, it is a day of abstinence,—that is his reason, you see how he points to his habit,—that is enough.” It is very singular that the food at this house happened to be poisoned, and that two of my attendants died of partaking of it before they could reach Madrid. I mention these circumstances, merely to prove the rivetted hold you hadtaken both of my imagination and my affections. On the recovery of my intellect, my first inquiry was for you. This had been foreseen, and my father and mother, shunning the discussion, and even trembling for the event, as they knew the violence of my temper, intrusted the whole business to the Director. He undertook it,—how he executed it is yet to be seen. On our first meeting he approached me with congratulations on my convalescence, with regrets for the constraints I must have suffered in the convent, with assurances that my parents would make my home a paradise. When he had gone on for some time, I said, “What have you done with my brother?” “He is in the bosom of God,” said the Director, crossing himself. I understood him in a moment,—I rushed past him before he had finished. “Where are you going, my son?” “To my parents.” “Your parents,—it is impossible that you can see them now.” “But it is certain that I will see them.Dictate to me no longer,—degrade yourself not by this prostituted humiliation,” for he was putting himself in a posture of intreaty,—“Iwillsee my parents. Procure for me an introduction to them this moment, or tremble for the continuance of your influence in the family.” At these words he trembled. He did not indeed dread my influence, but he dreaded my passions. His own lessons were bitterly retaliated on him that moment. He had made me fierce and impetuous, because that suited his purpose, but he had neither calculated on, or prepared himself for, this extraordinary direction which my feelings had taken, so opposite to that which he had laboured to give them. He thought, in exciting my passions, he could ascertain their direction. Woe be to those, who, in teaching the elephant to direct his trunk against their foes, forget that by a sudden convolution of that trunk, he may rend the driver from his back, and trample him under his feet into the mire. Suchwas the Director’s situation and mine, I insisted on going instantly to my father’s presence. He interposed, he supplicated; at last, as a hopeless resource, he reminded me of his continual indulgence, his flattery of my passions. My answer was brief, but Oh that it might sink into the souls of such tutors and such priests! “And that has made me what I am. Lead the way to my father’s apartment, or I will spurn you before me to the door of it.” At this threat, which he saw I was able to execute, (for you know my frame is athletic, and my stature twice that of his), he trembled; and I confess this indication of both physical and mental debility completed my contempt for him. He crawled before me to the apartment where my father and mother were seated, in a balcony that overlooked the garden. They had imagined all was settled, and were astonished to see me rush in, followed by the Director, with an aspect that left them no reason to hope for an auspicious resultof our conference. The Director gave them a sign which I did not observe, and which they had not time to profit by,—and as I stood before them livid from my fever, on fire with passion, and trembling with inarticulate expressions, they shuddered. Some looks of reproach were levelled by them at the Director, which he returned, as usual, by signs. I did not understandthem, but I made them understand me in a moment. I said to my father, “Senhor, is it true you have made my brother a monk?” My father hesitated; at last he said, “I thought the Director had been commissioned to speak to you on that subject.” “Father, what has a Director to do in the concerns of a parent and child? That man never can be a parent,—never can have a child, how then can he be a judge in a case like this?” “You forget yourself,—you forget the respect due to a minister of the church.” “My father, I am but just raised from a death-bed, my mother and you trembled for my life,—thatlife still depends on your words. I promised submission to this wretch, on a condition which he has violated, which—” “Command yourself, Sir,” said my father, in a tone of authority which ill suited the trembling lips it issued from, “or quit the apartment.” “Senhor,” interposed the Director, in a softened tone, “let not me be the cause of dissension in a family whose happiness and honour have been always my object, next to the interests of the church. Let him go on, the remembrance of my crucified Master will sustain me under his insults,” and he crossed himself. “Wretch!” I cried, grasping his habit, “you are a hypocrite, a deceiver!” and I know not of what violence I might have been guilty, but my father interposed. My mother shrieked with terror, and a scene of confusion followed, in which I recollect nothing but the hypocritical exclamations of the Director, appearing to struggle between my father and me, while he mediated with God forboth. He repeated incessantly, “Senhor, do not interpose, every indignity I suffer I make a sacrifice to Heaven; it will qualify me to be an intercessor for my traducer with God;” and, crossing himself, he called on the most sacred names, and exclaimed, “Let insults, calumnies, and blows, be added to that preponderance of merit which is already weighed in the scales of heaven against my offences,” and he dared to mix the claims of the intercession of the saints, the purity of the immaculate Virgin, and even the blood and agony of Jesus Christ, with the vile submissions of his own hypocrisy. The room was by this time filled with attendants. My mother was conveyed away, still shrieking with terror. My father, who loved her, was driven by this spectacle, and by my outrageous conduct, to a pitch of fury,—he drew his sword. I burst into a laugh, that froze his blood as he approached me. I expanded my arms, and presented my breast, exclaiming, “Strike!—thisis the consummation of monastic power,—it begun by violating nature, and ends in filicide. Strike! give a glorious triumph to the influence of the church, and add to the merits of the holy Director. You have sacrificed your Esau, your first-born, already, let Jacob be your next victim.” My father retreated from me, and, revolted by the disfigurement which the violence of my agitation had caused, almost to convulsion, he exclaimed, “Demon!” and stood at a distance viewing, and shuddering at me. “And who has made me so?Hewho fostered my evil passions for his own purposes; and, because one generous impulse breaks out on the side of nature, would represent or drive me mad, to effectuate his purposes. My father, I see the whole power and system of nature reversed, by the arts of a corrupt ecclesiastic. By his means my brother has been imprisoned for life;—by his means our birth has been made a curse to my mother and to you. What havewe had in the family since his influence was fatally established in it, but dissension and misery? Your sword was pointed against my heart this moment; was it nature or a monk that armed a parent against his child, whose crime was—interceding for his brother? Dismiss this man, whose presence eclipses our hearts, and let us confer together for a moment as father and son, and if I do not humiliate myself before you, spurn me for ever. My father, for God’s sake examine the difference between this man and me, as we stand before you. We are together at the bar of your heart, judge between us. A dry and featureless image of selfish power, consecrated by the name of the church, occupies his whole soul,—I plead to you by the interests of nature, that must be sincere, because they are contrary to my own. He only wishes to wither your soul,—I seek to touch it. Is his heart in what he says? does he shed a tear? does he employ one impassioned expression? he callson God,—while I call only on you. The very violence which you justly condemn, is not only my vindication but my eulogy. They who prefer their cause to themselves, need no proof of their advocacy being sincere.” “You aggravate your crime, by laying it on another; you have always been violent, obstinate, and rebellious.” “But who has made me so? Ask himself,—ask this shameful scene, in which his duplicity has driven me to act such a part.” “If you wish to show submission, give me the first proof of it, by promising never to torture me by renewing the mention of this subject. Your brother’s fate is decided,—promise not to utter his name again, and——” “Never,—never,” I exclaimed, “never will I violate my conscience by such a vow; and his who could propose it must be seared beyond the power of Heaven to touch it.” Yet, in uttering these words, I knelt to my father, but he turned from me. I turned in despair to the Director. I said, “Ifyou are the minister of Heaven, prove the truth of your commission,—make peace in a distracted family, reconcile my father to both his children. You can effect this by a word, you know you can, yet you will not utter it. My unfortunate brother was not so inflexible to your appeals, and yet were they inspired by a feeling as justifiable as mine.” I had offended the Director beyond all forgiveness. I knew this, and spoke indeed rather to expose than to persuade him. I did not expect an answer from him, and I was not disappointed,—he did not utter a word. I knelt in the middle of the floor between them. I cried, “Deserted by my father and by you, I yet appeal to Heaven. I call on it to witness my vow never to abandon my persecuted brother, whom I have been made a tool to betray. I know you have power,—I defy it. I know every art of circumvention, of imposture, of malignant industry,—every resource of earth and hell, will be set at work against me.I take Heaven to witness against you, and demand only its aid to insure my victory.” My father had lost all patience; he desired the attendants to raise and remove me by force. This mention of force, so repugnant to my habits of imperious indulgence, operated fatally on intellects scarcely recovering from delirium, and too strongly tried in the late struggle. I relapsed into partial insanity. I said wildly, “My father, you know not how mild, generous, and forgiving is the being you thus persecute,—I owe my life to him.Ask your domestics if he did not attend me, step by step, during my journey?If he did not administer my food, my medicines, and smoothe the pillows on which I was supported?” “You rave,” cried my father, as he heard this wild speech, but he cast a look of fearful inquiry on the attendants. The trembling servants swore, one and all, as well they might, that not a human being but themselves had been suffered to approach me since I quitted the convent,till my arrival at Madrid. The small remains of reason forsook me completely at thisdeclaration, which was however true every word of it. I gave the lie to the last speaker with the utmost fury,—I struck those who were next me. My father, astonished at my violence, suddenly exclaimed, “He is mad.” The Director, who had till then been silent, instantly caught the word, and repeated, “He is mad.” The servants, half in terror, half in conviction, re-echoed the cry.

“I was seized, dragged away; and this violence, which always excited corresponding violence in me, realized all my father feared, and the Director wished for. I behaved just as a boy, scarce out of a fever, and still totally delirious, might be supposed to behave. In my apartment I tore down the hangings, and there was not a porcelain vase in the room that I did not dash at their heads. When they seized me, I bit their hands; when at length they were compelled to bind me, I gnawedthe strings, and finally snapt them by a violent effort. In fact, I completely realized all the hopes of the Director. I was confined to my apartment for several days. During this time, I recovered the only powers that usually revive in a state of isolation,—those of inflexible resolution and profound dissimulation. I had soon exercise enough for both of them. On the twelfth day of my confinement, a servant appeared at the door of my apartment, and, bowing profoundly, announced, that if my health was recovered, my father wished to see me. I bowed in complete imitation of his mechanical movements, and followed him with the steps of a statue. I found my father, armed with the Director at his side. He advanced, and addressed me with an abruptness which proved that he forced himself to speak. He hurried over a few expressions of pleasure at my recovery, and then said, “Have you reflected on the subject of our last conversation?” “I havereflected onit.”—“I had time to do so.”—“And you have employed that time well?”—“I hope so.”—“Then the result will be favourable to the hopes of your family, and the interests of the church.” The last words chilled me a little, but I answered as I ought. In a few moments after the Director joined me, He spoke amicably, and turned the conversation on neutral topics. I answered him,—what an effort did it cost me!—yet I answered him in all the bitterness of extorted politeness. All went on well, however. The family appeared gratified by my renovation. My father, harassed out, was content to procure peace on any terms. My mother, still weaker, from the struggles between her conscience and the suggestions of the Director, wept, and said she was happy. A month has now elapsed in profound but treacherous peace on all sides. They think me subdued, but * * * * *

“In fact, the efforts of the Director’spower in the family would alone be sufficient to precipitate my determinations. He has placed you in a convent, but that is not enough for the persevering proselytism of the church. The palace of the Duke de Monçada is, under his influence, turned into a convent itself. My mother is almost a nun, her whole life is exhausted in imploring forgiveness for a crime for which the Director, to secure his own influence, orders her a new penance every hour. My father rushes from libertinism to austerity,—he vacillates between this world and the next;—in the bitterness of exasperated feeling, sometimes reproaches my mother, and then joins her in the severest penance. Must there not be something very wrong in the religion which thus substitutes external severities for internal amendment? I feel I am of an inquiring spirit, and if I could obtain a book they call the Bible, (which, though they say it contains the words of Jesus Christ, they never permit us to see) I think——butno matter. The very domestics have assumed thein ordine ad spiritualiacharacter already. They converse in whispers—they cross themselves when the clock strikes—they dare to talk, even in my hearing, of the glory which will redound to God and the church, by the sacrifice my father may yet be induced to make of his family to its interests.

* * * *

“My fever has abated—I have not lost a moment in consulting your interests—I have heard that there is a possibility of your reclaiming your vows—that is, as I have been told, of declaring they were extorted under impressions of fraud and terror. Observe me, Alonzo, I would rather see you rot in a convent, than behold you stand forth as a living witness of our mother’s shame. But I am instructed that this reclamation of your vows may be carried on in a civil court: If this be practicable, you may yet be free, and I shall be happy. Do not hesitate for resources, Iam able to supply them. If you do not fail in resolution, I have no doubt of our ultimate success.—OursI term it, for I shall not know a moment’s peace till you are emancipated. With the half of my yearly allowance I have bribed one of the domestics, who is brother to the porter of the convent, to convey these lines to you. Answer me by the same channel, it is secret and secure. You must, I understand, furnish a memorial, to be put into the hands of an advocate. It must be strongly worded,—but remember, not a word of our unfortunate mother;—I blush to say this to her son. Procure paper by some means. If you find any difficulty, I will furnish you; but, to avoid suspicion, and too frequent recurrences to the porter, try to do it yourself. Your conventual duties will furnish you with a pretext of writing out your confession,—I will undertake for its safe delivery. I commend you to the holy keeping of God,—not the God of monks and directors, but the God of natureand mercy.——I am your affectionate brother,

Juan di Monçada.”

“Such were the contents of the papers which I received in fragments, and from time to time, by the hands of the porter. I swallowed the first the moment I had read it, and the rest I found means to destroy unperceived as I received them,—my attendance on the infirmary entitling me to great indulgences.”

At this part of the narrative, the Spaniard became so much agitated, though apparently more from emotion than fatigue, that Melmoth intreated him to suspend it for some days, and the exhausted narrator willingly complied.

END OF FIRST VOLUME.

(1)Mrs Marshall, the original Roxana in Lee’s Alexander, and the only virtuous woman then on the stage. She was carried off in the manner described, by Lord Orrery, who, finding all his solicitations repelled, had recourse to a sham marriage performed by a servant in the habit of a clergyman.(2)Vide Pope, (copying fromDonne).“Peace, fools, or Gonson will for Papists seize you,If once he catch you at your Jesu, Jesu.”(3)Vide the Old Bachelor, whose Araminta, wearied by the repetition of these phrases, forbids her lover to address her in any sentence commencing with them.(4)Vide any old play you may have the patience to peruse; or,instar omnium, read the courtly loves of Rodolphil and Melantha, Palamede and Doratice, in Dryden’s Marriage a la Mode.(5)Vide Southern’s Oroonoko,—I mean the comic part.(6)“A charm, a song, a murder, and a ghost.”Prologue to Œdipus.(7)Vide Le Blanc’s Letters.(8)Vide Betterton’s History of the Stage.(9)Rochefoucault.(10)Vide Cutter of Coleman street.(11)A fact, related to me by a person who was near committing suicide in a similar situation, to escape what he called “the excruciating torture of giddiness.”(12)See Henry IV. Second Part.(13)“Fire for the cigars, and iced-water for drink.”—A cry often heard in Madrid.(14)Vide Buffa—Anachronism prepense.(15)Vide Madame Genlis’s “Julien Delmour.”

(2)Vide Pope, (copying fromDonne).“Peace, fools, or Gonson will for Papists seize you,If once he catch you at your Jesu, Jesu.”

(2)Vide Pope, (copying fromDonne).

“Peace, fools, or Gonson will for Papists seize you,If once he catch you at your Jesu, Jesu.”

“Peace, fools, or Gonson will for Papists seize you,

If once he catch you at your Jesu, Jesu.”

(3)Vide the Old Bachelor, whose Araminta, wearied by the repetition of these phrases, forbids her lover to address her in any sentence commencing with them.

(4)Vide any old play you may have the patience to peruse; or,instar omnium, read the courtly loves of Rodolphil and Melantha, Palamede and Doratice, in Dryden’s Marriage a la Mode.

(5)Vide Southern’s Oroonoko,—I mean the comic part.

(6)“A charm, a song, a murder, and a ghost.”Prologue to Œdipus.

(6)

“A charm, a song, a murder, and a ghost.”Prologue to Œdipus.

“A charm, a song, a murder, and a ghost.”

Prologue to Œdipus.

(7)Vide Le Blanc’s Letters.

(8)Vide Betterton’s History of the Stage.

(9)Rochefoucault.

(10)Vide Cutter of Coleman street.

(11)A fact, related to me by a person who was near committing suicide in a similar situation, to escape what he called “the excruciating torture of giddiness.”

(12)See Henry IV. Second Part.

(13)“Fire for the cigars, and iced-water for drink.”—A cry often heard in Madrid.

(14)Vide Buffa—Anachronism prepense.

(15)Vide Madame Genlis’s “Julien Delmour.”

Transcriber’s Note:The following is a list of corrections made to the original. The first passage is the original passage, the second the corrected one.Page 22:ever see any extravagance or waste initever see any extravagance or waste init?”Page 84:from among the congregationanswersed,—“Becausefrom among the congregationanswered,—“BecausePage 111:could notposssiblyhave understood),could notpossiblyhave understood),Page 111:in paper theliknessesof some ofin paper thelikenessesof some ofPage 117:Beha’splays, where the cavaliers are denominatedBehn’splays, where the cavaliers are denominatedPage 122:thereafter, as David smoteGoliah. It wasthereafter, as David smoteGoliath. It wasPage 133:to tantalizeyonwith a sigh from thatto tantalizeyouwith a sigh from thatPage 140:He, whom he has for twelve hours been“He, whom he has for twelve hours beenPage 161:mostdeperateand fruitless attempt to savemostdesperateand fruitless attempt to savePage 161:announced safety was near and—impossisible;—lanthornsannounced safety was near and—impossible;—lanthornsPage 164:and unnatural. At this moment,at remendousand unnatural. At this moment,a tremendousPage 185:earilylife had had their usual effect, of exaltingearlylife had had their usual effect, of exaltingPage 191:Thebrethren always assumed before me“Thebrethren always assumed before mePage 194:Aswe went to the church, they conversed“Aswe went to the church, they conversedPage 197:Iwas disappointed at the measured“Iwas disappointed at the measuredPage 198:advantages.” “They seem so.”Mydearadvantages.” “They seem so.”“MydearPage 215:Iwas now in a state quite fit for the Director’s“Iwas now in a state quite fit for the Director’sPage 233:Iwas overpowered with congratulations,“Iwas overpowered with congratulations,Page 279:withb ood. The monks, with their lights,withblood. The monks, with their lights,Page 298:excitement. The paroxysmceasestheyexcitement. The paroxysmceases,theyPage 335:thisdelaration, which was however truethisdeclaration, which was however trueFootnote 2:Vide Pope, (copying fromDoune).Vide Pope, (copying fromDonne).

Transcriber’s Note:

The following is a list of corrections made to the original. The first passage is the original passage, the second the corrected one.

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