ny reader fancy himself one of the Brethren in St.
Edmundsbury Monastery under such circumstances! How can a Lord
Abbot, all stuck over with horse-leeches of this nature, front
the world? He is fast losing his life-blood, and the Convent
will be as one of Pharaoh's lean kine. Old monks of experience
draw their hoods deeper down; careful what they say: the monk's
first duty is obedience. Our Lord the King, hearing of such
work, sends down his Almoner to make investigations: but what
boots it? Abbot Hugo assembles us in Chapter; asks, "If there
is any complaint?" Not a soul of us dare answer, "Yes,
thousands!" but we all stand silent, and the Prior even says that
things are in a very comfortable condition. Whereupon old Abbot
Hugo, turning to the royal messenger, says, "You see!"--and the
business terminates in that way. I, as a brisk-eyed, noticing
youth and novice, could not help asking of the elders, asking of
Magister Samson in particular: Why he, well-instructed and a
knowing man, had not spoken out, and brought matters to a
bearing? Magister Samson was Teacher of the Novices, appointed
to breed us up to the rules, and I loved him well. _"Fili mi,"_
answered Samson, "the burnt child shuns the fire. Dost thou not
know, our Lord the Abbot sent me once to Acre in Norfolk, to
solitary confinement and bread and water, already? The Hinghams,
Hugo and Robert, have just got home from banishment for speaking.
This is the hour of darkness: the hour when flatterers rule and
are believed. _Videat Dominus,_ let the Lord see, and judge."

In very truth, what could poor old Abbot Hugo do? A frail old
man; and the Philistines were upon him,--that is to say, the
Hebrews. He had nothing for it but to shrink away from them;
get back into his warm flannels, into his warm delusions again.
Happily, before it was quite too late, he bethought him of
pilgriming to St. Thomas of Canterbury. He set out, with a fit
train, in the autumn days of the year 1180; near Rochester City,
his mule threw him, dislocated his poor kneepan, raised incurable
inflammatory fever; and the poor old man got his dismissal from
the whole coil at once. St. Thomas a Becket, though in a
circuitous way, had _brought_ deliverance! Neither Jew usurers,
nor grumbling monks, nor other importunate despicability of men
or mud-elements afflicted Abbot Hugo any more; but he dropt his
rosaries, closed his account-books, closed his old eyes, and lay