myself to you owing to hunger or thirst, or from any need whatsoever; pray be aware of that.’ The meaning of all this is that he wants to point out, as indeed he does afterwards in so many words, how valuable an acquisition he would be, and how glad the Church of Rome ought to be to receive him on terms however favourable. This seems reasonable enough, but the matter appears in a very different light when he begins to describe with glowing colours the treasures which his confidential position amongst the heretics has placed at his disposal. An account of the easy and luxurious life he led amongst the heretics is evidently inserted with a view to disparage and expose as hypocritical pretence the appearance of rigorous morality assumed, and in most cases no doubt justly assumed, by the elders of the dissenting churches. But all these comforts and enjoyments, Sicart declares, he has forsaken for the call of Heaven, interpreted to him by the eloquent voice of that chosen vessel, Izarn—the author, that is. The complacency with which the monk by the mouth of his convert pays a compliment to his own theological sagacity, mentioning especially ‘nine questions’ which have completely baffled the heretic, and not omitting at the same time an incidental reference to his poetical gift, is as amusing as it is characteristic. It furnishes, moreover, the best proof against the suspicion of a hidden satirical purpose, which the tone of the poem may have excited in the reader’s mind. The subtlest humorist could not artificially reproduce the naïve genuineness of this self-praise. No wonder that, convinced by such excellent argument, Sicart is willing to atone for former errors by the merciless persecution of his late friends and co-religionists. ‘Not twopennyworth of love or peace shall they find at my hands,’ he savagely exclaims, promising at the same time to betray to the Inquisition the most secret places where they and their treasures are hidden—all sentiments highly and unctuously approved of by the excellent Izarn, it need scarcely be added. No more barefaced disclosure of the vilest motives of the human heart can well be imagined than is to be found in this poem. ‘Mr. Sludge the medium’ himself would hesitate before entering into competition with the worthy monk and his no less desirable convert. If the utterly demoralising influence of religious persecution on both persecutors and at least the weaker part of their victims needed further proof in our days, this poem might be held up as a warning example.