“If you believed Olavida to be guilty of any pursuits or studies condemned by our mother the church, why did you not denounce him to the Inquisition?”--“Because I believed him not likely to be injured by such pursuits; his mind was too weak,--he died in the struggle,” said the prisoner with great emphasis. “You believe, then, it requires strength of mind to keep those abominable secrets, when examined as to their nature and tendency?”--“No, I rather imagine strength of body.” “We shall try that presently,” said an Inquisitor, giving a signal for the torture. * * * * * * * * * * * The prisoner underwent the first and second applications with unshrinking courage, but on the infliction of the water-torture, which is indeed insupportable to humanity, either to suffer or relate, he exclaimed in the gasping interval, he would disclose every thing. He was released, refreshed, restored, and the following day uttered the following remarkable confession * * * * * * * * * * * The old Spanish woman further confessed to Stanton, that * * * * * * * * * and that the Englishman certainly had been seen in the neighbourhood since;--seen, as she had heard, that very night. “Great G--d!” exclaimed Stanton, as he recollected the stranger whose demoniac laugh had so appalled him, while gazing on the lifeless bodies of the lovers, whom the lightning had struck and blasted. * * * * * As the manuscript, after a few blotted and illegible pages, became more distinct, Melmoth read on, perplexed and unsatisfied, not knowing what connexion this Spanish story could have with his ancestor, whom, however, he recognised under the title of _the Englishman_; and wondering how Stanton could have thought it worth his while to follow him to Ireland, write a long manuscript about an event that occurred in Spain, and leave it in the hands of his family, to “verify untrue things,” in the language of Dogberry,--his wonder was diminished, though his curiosity was still more inflamed, by the perusal of the next lines, which he made out with some difficulty. It seems Stanton was now in England. * * * * * * * * * * * About the year 1677, Stanton was in London, his mind still full of his mysterious countryman. This constant subject of his contemplations had produced a visible change in his exterior,--his walk was what Sallust tells us of Catiline’s,--his were, too, the “_fœdi oculi_.” He said to himself every moment, “If I could but trace that being, I will not call him man,”--and the next moment he said, “and what if I could?” In this state of mind, it is singular enough that he mixed constantly in public amusements, but it is true. When one fierce passion is devouring the soul, we feel more than ever the necessity of external excitement; and our dependence on the world for temporary relief increases in direct proportion to our contempt of the world and all its works. He went frequently to the theatres, _then_ fashionable, when