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his monastery, but only by his speech. Moreover, he was so mortified in his eyes, that wheresoever he was, he knew no difference in places, no distance of cells: and, finally, he was a dead man to all exterior things. Neither was this mortification any stupidity of nature, or want of senses, but his continual busying his thoughts upon Almighty God, a more noble, and higher object. Who could but think this chaste child of St. Francis, to have made a covenant with his eyes, not to behold a virgin? and well he might be styled that son of a dove, whose eyes were washed with the milk of innocency. He kept such a continual guard over his eyes, that he never knew any woman by her face. There was a certain noble matron famous for her virtue, who was wont, at Placentia, sometimes to visit the holy Father, for his spiritual counsel, she meeting him at Abula, saluted him, and expressed to him the difficulties of her state; he modestly denied that he ever saw the woman. If ever he opened his eyes, it was in the choir; though he had so good a memory, that he knew most part of the office without book. Being Superior, he did particularly correct this imperfection with severity: knowing nothing to, be more prejudicial to the soul, than to set open those windows, at which doth enter the greater part of sin, that doth defile the heart of man.