marry; if married, they could not enjoy the privileges of the state:
hence, though they inhabited not the cloister, they were of the
religious order, and consecrated to God."

"This penance was not merely assumed by such as were anxious to make
atonement for some heavy sin; it was often voluntarily undertaken by
individuals whose lives had been blameless, and who were anxious by this
work of supererogation to increase their stock of merits. If the
penitent died of his disease, the intention of his sacrifice was
believed to be availing in the sight of Heaven; if he recovered, he
became a monk. No less a doom than excommunication, and a rigorous
penitential seclusion during life within the walls of a monastery, were
hurled against such as married, or used their conjugal privilege, or
laid down the habit. If, however, the married penitents were _very
young_ at the time he or she entered on the monastic obligation, in case
of recovery the bishop had power to permit the use of matrimony a
certain number of years. This was called an _indulgence_ or
_dispensation_, the _debitum conjugale_ being totally annihilated by the
obligations of the new state.

"This custom is not yet extinct in Spain, though, like many others of a
similar kind, its observance is daily weakening since the period of the
French revolution, and of the increased intercourse between the two
nations. Many of the greatest names in the Spanish annals voluntarily
assumed the profession, and thereby ceased to be laymen. Among these was
the author of Don Quixote."

* * * * *

THE GATHERER.

CONCEALED SORROW.

(_From the portfolio of a Correspondent._)

There oft times dwells within the human breast, a grievous and a bitter
sorrow; a sorrow once formed--seldom, if ever, entirely eradicated. Such
sorrow hath borne down to the grave many a noble, though ill-fated,
heart; there to seal up the remembrance of the degraded, the broken,
feelings of its once fine nature, and for ever crush the spirit of its
love. It is a sorrow that cometh not as the whirlwind's rushing blast,
in the fury of the tempest, or as the lion's roar; but rather as the
soft, still moan of the desert's poisoned breeze, or as the silent
gnawing of a cankering worm: so comes it preying on our heart's fondest
hopes till they gradually sink to ruin and oblivion. It is a grief that
mortal eyes cannot see; it is only keenly felt; its tears are the
wasting aw