the posture that becomes you.” At hearing these words, which sounded less dreadful than I had feared, I prostrated myself to the ground. A few moments before I would have thought this a degradation, but fear is very debasing. I had a dread of violent means,--I was very young, and life was not the less attractive from its being arrayed only in the brilliant drapery of imagination. The monks observed my posture,--they feared its effect on the Superior. They said, in that choral monotony,--that _discordant unison_ that had frozen my blood when I knelt in the same posture but a few nights before, “Reverend father, do not suffer yourself to be imposed on by this prostituted humiliation,--the time for mercy is past. You gave him his moments of deliberation,--he refused to avail himself of them. You come now not to listen to pleadings, but to inflict justice.” At these words, that announced every thing horrible, I went on my knees from one to the other, as they all stood in a grim and executioner-like row. I said to each with tears, “Brother Clement,--Brother Justin,--why do you try to irritate the Superior against me? Why do you precipitate a sentence which, whether just or not, must be severe, since you are to be the executioners? What have I done to offend you? I interceded for you when you were guilty of any slight deviation--Is this my return?” “This is wasting time,” said the monks. “Hold,” said the Superior; “give him leave to speak. Will you avail yourself of the last moment of indulgence I can ever afford you, to renounce your horrible resolution of recalling your vows?” Those words renewed all my energies. I stood upright before them all. I said, in a loud distinct voice, “Never--I stand at the bar of God.” “Wretch! you have renounced God.” “Well, then, my father, I have only to hope that God will not renounce me. I have appealed to a bar also, over which you have no power.” “But we have power here, and that you shall feel.” He made a signal, and the four monks approached. I uttered one short cry of fear, but submitted the next moment. I felt convinced it was to be my last. I was astonished, when, instead of fastening the cords round my neck, they bound my arms with them. They then took off my habit, and covered me with the sackcloth. I made no resistance; but shall I confess to you, Sir, I felt some disappointment. I was prepared for death, but something worse than death appeared threatened in these preparations. When we are driven to the precipice of mortality, we spring forward with resolution, and often defeat the triumph of our murderers, by merging it in our own. But when we are led to it step by step, held often over it, and then withdrawn, we lose our resolution along with our patience; and feel, that the last blow would be mercy, compared with its long-suspended, slowly descending, wavering, mutilating, hesitating stroke. I was prepared for every thing but what followed. Bound with this rope as fast as a felon, or a galley-slave,