“If the testimony of past centuries in this matter is not sufficient, --consider at this instant, how the votaries of that religion are every day thinking to do service and honour to God, by actions which are a dishonour and scandal to themselves. “To be convinced of this, go with me for a moment into the prisons of the Inquisition.” --[God help my poor brother _Tom_.]-- “Behold _Religion_, with _Mercy_ and _Justice_ chained down under her feet, ----there sitting ghastly upon a black tribunal, propped up with racks and instruments of torment. Hark! --hark! what a piteous groan!” --[Here _Trim’s_ face turned as pale as ashes.]---- “See the melancholy wretch who uttered it” --[Here the tears began to trickle down.]---- “just brought forth to undergo the anguish of a mock trial, and endure the utmost pains that a studied system of cruelty has been able to invent.” --[D--n them all, quoth _Trim_, his colour returning into his face as red as blood.]-- “Behold this helpless victim delivered up to his tormentors, --his body so wasted with sorrow and confinement.” ----[Oh! ’tis my brother, cried poor _Trim_ in a most passionate exclamation, dropping the sermon upon the ground, and clapping his hands together --I fear ’tis poor _Tom_. My father’s and my uncle _Toby’s_ heart yearned with sympathy for the poor fellow’s distress; even _Slop_ himself acknowledged pity for him. ----Why, _Trim_, said my father, this is not a history, ----’tis a sermon thou art reading; prithee begin the sentence again.]---- “Behold this helpless victim delivered up to his tormentors, --his body so wasted with sorrow and confinement, you will see every nerve and muscle as it suffers. “Observe the last movement of that horrid engine!” --[I would rather face a cannon, quoth _Trim_, stamping.]-- “See what convulsions it has thrown him into! ----Consider the nature of the posture in which he now lies stretched, --what exquisite tortures he endures by it!” --[I hope ’tis not in _Portugal_.]-- “’Tis all nature can bear! Good God! see how it keeps his weary soul hanging upon his trembling lips!” [I would not read another line of it, quoth _Trim_, for all this _world_; --I fear, an’ please your Honours, all this is in _Portugal_, where my poor brother _Tom_ is. I tell thee, _Trim_, again, quoth my father, ’tis not an historical account, --’tis a description. --’Tis only a description, honest man, quoth _Slop_, there’s not a word of truth in it. ----That’s another story, replied my father. --However, as _Trim_ reads it with so much concern, --’tis cruelty to force him to go on with it. --Give me hold of the sermon, _Trim_, --I’ll finish it for thee, and thou may’st go. I must stay and hear it, too, replied _Trim_, if your Honour will allow me; --tho’ I would not read it myself for a Colonel’s pay. ------Poor _Trim!_ quoth my uncle _Toby_. My father went on.]--