vicar or visitor-general, issued a commission, and intrusted it to lawyers, not priests, who found that the worst had not been told, and reported that two thirds of the monks of England were living in concubinage; that their lands were wasted and mortgaged, and their houses falling into ruins.  They found the Abbot of Fountains surrounded with more women than Mohammed allowed his followers, and the nuns of Litchfield scandalously immoral.

On this report, the Lords and Commons—­deliberately, not rashly—­ decreed the suppression of all monasteries the income of which was less than two hundred pounds a year, and the sequestration of their lands to the King.  About two hundred of the lesser convents were thus suppressed, and the monks turned adrift, yet not entirely without support.  This spoliation may have been a violation of the rights of property, but the monks had betrayed their trusts.  The next Parliament completed the work.  In 1539 all the religious houses were suppressed, both great and small.  Such venerable and princely retreats as St. Albans, Glastonbury, Reading, Bury St. Edmunds, and Westminster, which had flourished one thousand years,—­ founded long before the Conquest,—­shared the common ruin.  These probably would have been spared, had not the first suppression filled the country with rebels.  The great insurrection in Lincolnshire which shook the foundation of the throne, the intrigues of Cardinal Pole, the Cornish conspiracy in which the great house of Neville was implicated, and various other agitations, were all fomented by the angry monks.

Rapacity was not the leading motive of Henry or his minister, but the public welfare.  The measure of suppression and sequestration was violent, but called for.  Cromwell put forth no such sophistical pleas as those revolutionists who robbed the French clergy,—­that their property belonged to the nation.  In France the clergy were despoiled, not because they were infamous, but because they were rich.  In England the monks probably suffered injustice from the severity of their punishment, but no one now doubts that punishment was deserved.  Nor did Henry retain all the spoils himself:  he gave away the abbey lands with a prodigality equal to his rapacity.  He gave them to those who upheld his throne, as a reward for service or loyalty.  They were given to a new class of statesmen, who led the popular party,—­like the Fitzwilliams, the Russells, the Dudleys, and the Seymours,—­and thus became the foundation of their great estates.  They were also distributed to many merchants and manufacturers who had been loyal to the government.  From one-third to two-thirds of the landed property of the kingdom,—­as variously estimated,—­thus changed hands.  It was an enormous confiscation,—­nearly as great as that made by William the Conqueror in favor of his army of invaders.  It must have produced an immense impression on the mind of Europe.  It was almost as great a calamity to the Catholic Church of England as the emancipation of slaves was to their Southern masters in our late war.  Such a spoliation of the Church had not before taken place in any country of Europe.  How great an evil the monastic system must have been regarded by Parliament to warrant such an act!  Had it not been popular, there would have been discontents amounting to a general hostility to the throne.