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gave the name and country of many an unhappy inmate, with the date
of the fatal day of their captivity. Some consisted of lamentations
on the perfidy of false friends, denouncing their own folly, or
women, or the judge who condemned them. Among a few were brief
sketches of the victims' lives; still fewer embraced moral maxims.
I found the following words of Pascal: "Let those who attack
religion learn first what religion is. Could it boast of commanding
a direct view of the Deity, without veil or mystery, it would be to
attack that religion to say, 'that there is nothing seen in the
world which displays Him with such clear evidence.' But since it
rather asserts that man is involved in darkness, far from God, who
is hidden from human knowledge, insomuch as to give Himself the name
in scripture of 'Deus absconditus,' what advantage can the enemies
of religion derive when, neglecting, as they profess to do, the
science of truth, they complain that the truth is not made apparent
to them?" Lower down was written (the words of the same author),
"It is not here a question of some trivial interest relating to a
stranger; it applies to ourselves, and to all we possess. The
immortality of the soul is a question of that deep and momentous
importance to all, as to imply an utter loss of reason to rest
totally indifferent as to the truth or the fallacy of the
proposition." Another inscription was to this effect: "I bless the
hour of my imprisonment; it has taught me to know the ingratitude of
man, my own frailty, and the goodness of God." Close to these words
again appeared the proud and desperate imprecations of one who
signed himself an Atheist, and who launched his impieties against
the Deity, as if he had forgotten that he had just before said there
was no God. Then followed another column, reviling the cowardly
fools, as they were termed, whom captivity had converted into
fanatics. I one day pointed out these strange impieties to one of
the jailers, and inquired who had written them? "I am glad I have
found this," was the reply, "there are so many of them, and I have
so little time to look for them;" and he took his knife, and began
to erase it as fast as he could.

"Why do you do that?" I inquired of him.

"Because the poor devil who wrote it was condemned to death for a
cold-blooded murder; he repented, and made us promise to do him this
kindness."

"Heaven pardon him!" I exclaimed; "what was it he did?"

"Why, as he found he could not kill his enemy, he revenged himself
by slaying the man's son, one of the finest boys you ever saw."

I was horror-struck. Could ferocity of disposition proceed to such
lengths? and could a monster, capable of such a deed, hold the
insulting language of a man superior to all human weaknesses? to
murder the innocent, and a child!



CHAPTER X.



In my new prison, black and filthy to an extreme, I sadly missed the

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