I was then between the four monks, who held me, and I felt that my appearance must have justified the impression he had received. I was ragged, famished, livid, and on fire, with the horrible treatment I had just received. I hoped, however, that my submission to whatever was to be performed, might, in some degree, redeem the opinion of the Bishop. He went with evident reluctance through the forms of exorcism, which were delivered in Latin, while all the time, the monks crossed themselves, and the _Acolytes_ were not sparing of holy water and of incense. Whenever the terms “diabole te adjuro” occurred, the monks who held me twisted my arms, so that I appeared to make contortions, and uttered cries of pain. This, at first, seemed to disturb the Bishop; but when the form of exorcism was over, he commanded me to approach the altar alone. I attempted to do so; but the four monks surrounding me, made it appear an act of great difficulty. He said, “Stand apart--let him alone.” They were compelled to obey. I advanced alone, trembling. I knelt. The Bishop, placing his stole on my head, demanded, “Did I believe in God, and the holy Catholic church?” Instead of answering, I shrieked, flung off the stole, and trampled in agony on the steps of the altar. The Bishop retreated, while the Superior and the rest advanced. I collected courage as I saw them approach; and, without uttering a word, pointed to the pieces of broken glass which had been thrown on the steps where I stood, and which had pierced me through my torn sandals. The Bishop instantly ordered a monk to sweep them away with the sleeve of his tunic. The order was obeyed in a moment, and the next I stood before him without fear or pain. He continued to ask, “Why do you not pray in the church?”--“Because its doors are shut against me.”--“How? what is this? A memorial is in my hands urging many complaints against you, and this among the first, that you do not pray in the church.”--“I have told you the doors of the church are shut against me.--Alas! I could no more open them, than I could open the hearts of the community--every thing is shut against me here.” He turned to the Superior, who answered, “The doors of the church are always shut to the enemies of God.” The Bishop said, with his usual stern calmness, “I am asking a plain question--evasive and circuitous answers will not do. Have the doors of the church been shut against this wretched being?--have you denied him the privilege of addressing God?”--“I did so, because I thought and believed--” “I ask not what you thought or believed; I ask a plain answer to a matter-of-fact question. Did you, or did you not, deny him access to the house of God?”--“I had reason to believe that--” “I warn you, these answers may compel me to make you exchange situations in one moment with the object you accuse. Did you, or did you not, shut the doors of the church against him?--answer yes or no.” The Superior,