at
there is almost no mention whatever of 'personal religion' in them;
that the whole gist of their thinking and speculation seems to be the
'privileges of our order,' 'strict exaction of our dues,' 'God's
honour' (meaning the honour of our Saint), and so forth. Is not this
singular? A body of men, set apart for perfecting and purifying their
own souls, do not seem disturbed about that in any measure: the
'Ideal' says nothing about its idea; says much about finding bed and
board for itself! How is this?

Why, for one thing, bed and board are a matter very apt to come to
speech: it is much easier to _speak_ of them than of ideas; and they
are sometimes much more pressing with some! Nay, for another thing,
may not this religious reticence, in these devout good souls, be
perhaps a merit, and sign of health in them? Jocelin, Eadmer, and such
religious men, have as yet nothing of 'Methodism;' no Doubt or even
root of Doubt. Religion is not a diseased self-introspection, an
agonising inquiry: their duties are clear to them, the way of supreme
good plain, indisputable, and they are travelling on it. Religion lies
over them like an all-embracing heavenly canopy, like an atmosphere
and life-element, which is not spoken of, which in all things is
presupposed without speech. Is not serene or complete Religion the
highest aspect of human nature; as serene Cant, or complete
No-religion, is the lowest and miserablest? Between which two, all
manner of earnest Methodisms, introspections, agonising inquiries,
never so morbid, shall play their respective parts, not without
approbation.

* * * * *

But let any reader fancy himself one of the Brethren in St.
Edmundsbury Monastery under such circumstances! How can a Lord Abbot,
all stuck-over with horseleeches 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
termi