Each of them carried with him a copy of the gospel of Matthew, and of the seven canonical epistles, according to the express order of Dominic: but that could redound to the credit of neither him nor them, while they lived in open violation of the most important precepts and the very spirit of those sacred writings. Had they made them, indeed, the ground of their religion, and the rule or guide of their lives, they would have been a blessing to the world in their day, and their memory would have been revered by all good men, to the latest posterity. But they preferred their own rule to that of the New Testament, and the persecuting and murderous ferocity of Dominic to the forbearance and meekness of Christ, and so became the oppressors instead of the benefactors of their species. In short we know not of any material benefit which the former inhabitants of this town derived from the Clough Lane convent, {513} or the incessant labours of its preaching friars. The reader however, on this point, as well as all others, must judge for himself. SECTION V. _Account of the Convent of the Austin Friars_, _or Hermits of the order of St. Augustin_, _in Hogman’s Lane_, _or Hopman’s Way_, _now St. Austin’s Street_, _with a sketch of that religious order_. This house must have been once a large, respectable, and stately edifice, inferior to none, and in some respects superior to most, and probably to all others in this town; especially in point of fitness for the accommodation of illustrious personages, or those of princely dignity, who might happen to come this way. It accordingly became the abode, or place of residence of the king and queen, the prince of Wales, the king’s mother, and the royal retinue, during their visit or stay here in 1498. Had there been any other house then in the town better adapted for their reception, it would, no doubt, have been chosen in preference, or instead of this, on so unusual and important an occasion. But however commodious, respectable, or stately a structure, this Augustinian convent then was, it has long ago disappeared, and not a stone of it has been left upon another. A gateway, or the arch of a gateway, filled up with brick, but once, perhaps, the principal entrance into the hallowed premises, is all that now remains, or is recognised as having ever belonged to it. Thus our firmest fabrics, though they may endure for ages, are doomed to perish like the very mortals by whose hands they were constructed.