such an example would naturally be contagious. But it was only when long-continued indulgence and immunity had pampered them to excess, that laxity of morals became flagrant or general. And even when of this very Kirkstead it is recorded that, at the time of the Dissolution, the Abbot, Richard Haryson (1535) was fain to confess, in the deed of surrender, that the monks had, “under the shadow of their rule, vainly detestably, and ungodlily devoured their yearly revenues in continual ingurgitations of their carrion bodies, and in support of their over voluptuous and carnal appetites.” {243b} We cannot but suspect that such language was that of their enemies, put into their mouths, when resistance was no longer possible. They had, however, through long ages, acquired a powerful hold on the respect and affection of the people, and there were hundreds and thousands who were ready to say, what one once said of his country, England! with all thy faults, I love thee still. {244a} That the many virtues and the value of the monasteries came to be recognised by many after they were abolished is shewn by the “Pilgrimage of Grace,” and similar indications of smouldering discontent among the people whom they had long benefited. Yet there was always the danger arising from the perfunctory observance of multiplied services, that the “opus operatum” might oust the living faith; and there can be little doubt that such a result had largely come about. Though greed and plunder were the main motive of the Royal Executioner and his agents, the parties who suffered had certainly become only fitting subjects for drastic measures. But we pass from this digressive disquisition to the one interesting relic of Kirkstead Abbey which is still spared to us, in the little chapel standing in the fields, with reference to which I will here quote the words of a writer to whom I have referred before. {244b} He says, “A mile away from Woodhall is one of the loveliest little gems of architecture in the country, a pure, little, Early English church, now dreadfully dilapidated, which belonged, in some unexplained way,—probably as a chantry chapel,—to the Cistercian Abbey of Kirkstead.” As this little gem is now locked away from public view, I will here give extracts from the description of it given by the late Bishop Suffragan, Dr. Edwd. Trollope, one of our greatest authorities, on the occasion of the Architectural Society’s visit to it a few years ago; and which was handed to me by him at the time. They are worthy of careful examination.