rior
with the whole fraternity united to accuse him, so that
the abbot had no one friend remaining.

"He did again call us together," says the next deposition,
"and lamentably mourning for the dissolving
the said houses, he enjoined us to sing 'Salvator mundi,
salva nos omnes,' every day after lauds; and we murmured
at it, and were not content to sing it for such
cause; and so we did omit it divers days, for which
the abbot came unto the chapter, and did in manner
rebuke us, and said we were bound to obey his
commandment by our profession, and so did command us to
sing it again with the versicle 'Let God arise, and let
his enemies be scattered. Let them also that hate him
flee before him.' Also he enjoined us at every mass
that every priest did sing, to say the collect, 'Oh God,
who despisest not the sighing of a contrite heart.'
And he said if we did this with good and true devotion,
God would so handle the matter, that it should be to
the comfort of all England, and so show us mercy as
he showed unto the children of Israel. And surely,
brethren, there will come to us a good man that will
rectify these monasteries again that be now supprest,
because 'God can of these stones raise up children to
Abraham.'"

"Of these stones," perhaps, but less easily of the stonyhearted
monks, who with pitiless smiles watched the
abbot's sorrow, which should soon bring him to his
ruin.

Time passed on, and as the world grew worse, so the
abbot grew more lonely. Lonely and unsupported, he
was unequal to the last effort of repentance, but he
slowly strengthened himself for the trial. As Lent
came on, the season brought with it a more special call
to effort, which he did not fail to recognize. The
conduct of the fraternity sorely disturbed him. They
preached against all which he most loved and valued,
in language purposely coarse; and the mild sweetness
of the rebukes which he administered, showed plainly
on which side lay, in the abbey of Woburn, the larger
portion of the spirit of his Master and theirs. Now,
when the passions of those times have died away, and
we can look back with more indifferent eyes, how
touching is the following. There was one Sir William,
curate of Woburn chapel, whose tongue, it seems,
was rough beyond the rest. The abbot met him
one day, and spoke to him. "Sir William," he said,
"I hear tell ye be a great railer. I marvel that ye rail
so. I pray you teach my cure the scripture of God, and
that may