The Monks and Friars of former times have so bad a name among Protestants, (and indeed there is too much reason for it) that it may seem strange that I should express a hope, that the establishment of this Friary of Franciscans in Bridgnorth, should have answered any good purpose; yet I venture to do so. No doubt such establishments became in later years exceedingly corrupt—almost as corrupt as those who profited by their dissolution wished to make out. Often they harboured evils within them of an enormous magnitude. Nevertheless, they at times numbered among their members some most earnest and devoted servants of our Lord, who, in the retirement of their closets, meditated devoutly on His Word, and went forth from thence with a burning zeal to preach it to others. In expressing an opinion, that piety of the highest order might be found among the inhabitants of a cloister, however corrupt the system may have been with which they were outwardly connected, I am glad to be able to fortify myself by so great an authority, and so unsuspected a witness, as Archbishop Leighton. His biographer states, that although he was no friend to monastic seclusion, and regarded the greater number of the regular Clergy of the Roman Catholic Church as “_ignavi fures_,” yet at the same time “he recognized among them a few specimens of extraordinary growth in religion; and thought he had discovered in the piety of some conventual recluses a peculiar and celestial flavour, which could hardly be met with elsewhere. Of their sublime devotion he often spake with an admiration approaching to rapture.”[33] On such a topic I cannot refrain from quoting also the following striking passage from Dr. Maitland, whose acute and learned researches into the state of religion in the middle ages, entitle his opinion to the greatest weight. “I feel no doubt, that, in the darkest age, there were many true and accepted worshippers of God. Not formed into churches, and eminently bearing their testimony in corporate capacities _as_ churches, against the See of Rome (for then I think we should have heard more about them); but as the sheep of Christ, dispersed abroad in the midst of this naughty world—known, perhaps, by this or that name of reproach—or, perhaps, the obscure and unknown, whose names were never written anywhere but in Heaven. I doubt not that there were such, living a life of faith and prayer and communion with God; overlooked in the bustle of cities, and the solitude of cottages, and even shut up in what some modern systems require us to consider as the strongholds of Antichrist—the cell and the cloister. I will not shrink from avowing my belief, that many a tonsured head now rests in Abraham’s bosom; and that many a frail body, bowed down with voluntary humility, and wasted with unprofitable will-worship—clothed in rags, and girt with a bell-rope—was a temple of the Holy Ghost; and that one day—a day when the follies of system, and the sins of party, and man’s