“I went back to it in an agony inexpressible. The more I had laboured to clear myself, the more I had become involved. My only resource and consolation was in a determination to obey, to the strictest letter, the injunctions of the Inquisition. I kept myself studiously awake,--_he_ came not all that night. Towards the morning I slept,--Oh what a sleep was mine!--the genii, or the demons of the place, seemed busy in the dream that haunted me. I am convinced that a real victim of an _auto da fe_ (so called) never suffered more during his horrible procession to flames temporal and eternal, than I did during that dream. I dreamed that the judgement had passed,--the bell had tolled,--and we marched out from the prison of the Inquisition;--my crime was proved, and my sentence determined, as an apostate monk and a _diabolical_ heretic. The procession commenced,--the Dominicans went first, then followed the penitents, arms and feet bare, each hand holding a wax taper, some with _san benitos_, some without, all pale, haggard, and breathless, the hue of their faces frightfully resembling that of their clay-coloured arms and feet. Then followed those who had on their black dresses the _fuego revolto_(11). Then followed--I saw _myself_; and this horrid tracing of yourself in a dream,--this haunting of yourself by your own spectre, while you still live, is perhaps a curse almost equal to your crimes visiting you in the punishments of eternity. I saw myself in the garment of condemnation, _the flames pointing upwards_, while the demons painted on my dress were mocked by the demons who beset my feet, and hovered round my temples. The Jesuits on each side of me, urged me to consider the difference between these painted fires, and those which were about to enwrap my writhing soul for an eternity of ages. All the bells of Madrid seemed to be ringing in my ears. There was no light but a dull twilight, such as one always sees in his sleep, (no man ever dreamed of sun-light);--there was a dim and smoky blaze of torches in my eyes, whose flames were soon to _be in my eyes_. I saw the stage before me,--I was chained to the chair, amid the ringing of bells, the preaching of the Jesuits, and the shouts of the multitude. A splendid amphitheatre stood opposite,--the king and queen of Spain, and all the nobility and hierarchy of the land, were there to see us burn. Our thoughts in dreams wander; I had heard a story of an _auto da fe_, where a young Jewess, not sixteen, doomed to be burnt alive, had prostrated herself before the queen, and exclaimed, “Save me,--save me, do not let me burn, my only crime is believing in the God of my fathers;”--the queen (I believe Elizabeth of France, wife of Philip) wept, but the procession went on. Something like this crossed my dream. I saw the supplicant rejected; the next moment the figure was that of my brother Juan, who clung to me, shrieking, “Save me, save me.” The next moment I was chained to my chair