out.

This time More himself went up to the pew, and making a bow with his cap in his hand, said, "May it please your ladyship to come forth now my lord is gone." She thought he was only jesting, as he was always fond of doing, but he told. her sadly that it was only too true, for he was no longer "Lord Chancellor." With other jests he tried to turn her mind away from her grief, and lead her not to mind her loss of rank.

More had not, like so many others, gathered riches for himself whilst he was in office, and now he called his servants together, among whom were many gentlemen of good position, and told them that he could no longer keep them in his service as he gladly would, but that he would find them places in other households. With tears they answered that they would rather serve him for nothing than most men for great wages. But he would not agree to this, and took care to find them all good places. Next he called his children before him and told them that they would no longer be able to live with him as they had hitherto done, for his married daughters with their husbands had always lived in his house. So all went to their own houses except his favourite daughter Meg, who, with her husband Mr. Roper, stayed in the house next to him.

Sir Thomas More himself seems to have felt only delight at being freed from his burdensome duties, so that he might, as he wrote to his dear friend Erasmus, live some while only to God and himself. He spent his days quietly, busy with his books and his religious duties. But he was not long left in peace. Henry VIII. could suffer no one and especially not so famous a man as Sir Thomas More, to disagree with the

changes which he was making. Henry had broken with the Pope, so as to be able to put away his first wife and marry the lady he loved, Ann Boleyn, and More had already made him angry because he would not come to Ann Boleyn's crowning. After the birth of Ann's child, the Lady Elizabeth, Henry VIII. called upon all men to swear that the Pope no longer had any power in England, and that the Lady Elizabeth was the rightful heir to the throne. Sir Thomas More and many others were ordered to come to Lambeth, and take the oath before Cromwell and Cranmer the Archbishop.

He knew the danger he was going to run, and before he left his home he took the sacrament in Chelsea church. His wife and children wanted to come with him to the boat as usual, but he would not let them come beyond the gate, and there, sadly kissing them, he parted from them with a heavy heart. Only his son-in-law Roper went with him. For a while he sat silent in the boat, as if struggling with his thoughts; then suddenly turning to Roper he cried, "I thank our Lord, my son, the field is won."

When he reached Lambeth, he found the palace crowded with people who had come to take the oath. He was called in early, and when he had read the oath, he said that he could not take it without danger to his own soul. They told him to go and walk in the garden and think over the matter again. Sadly he lingered there, whilst crowds went up to take the oath. Latimer was there, very merry, for these changes were quite right in his eyes; only one, Fisher, the aged Bishop of Rochester, refused. At last More was called up again. Cranmer tried

hard to persuade him that he could take the oath, but he remained firm. All who heard were deeply grieved, and Cromwell exclaimed, "He had rather his only son had lost his head than that More should have refused the oath." But there was nothing to be done; the law must be obeyed. For four days More and Fisher were left under the charge of the Abbot of Westminster; then they were sent to the Tower. Cheerfully, with a bright word for every one he met on his way, More went to his prison. Those who had charge of him so admired his patience that they did all they could to make him comfortable. After about a month his daughter Margaret, who longed sore to see him, got permission to visit her father. When she first came into the room, before beginning to talk to her of any worldly matters, he said with her the psalms and prayers that they had always been wont to say together. After this he spoke cheerfully to her, saying that except for the separation from his wife and children he had nothing to murmur at in his prison, for by it God had made him one of His favourites, treating him as He had done His best friends, the holy apostles and martyrs. After this he seems to have been several times cheered by visits from his dear daughter. His time otherwise he chiefly spent in writing books on religious subjects. After a while the King would no longer allow him to have any ink to write with, and then he used to write with a bit of charcoal from his fire. His wife was once allowed to visit him, and she tried hard to show him his folly in choosing to stay in a filthy prison, shut up with mice and rats, when he might have enjoyed his own good house at Chelsea if he would only do as the King

wished. When he had heard her to the end, he said, "Tell me one thing, I pray thee, is not this house as near heaven as mine own?" To which she answered impatiently, "Tillie vallie, tillie vallie,” and went on urging him with words that did not move him. Many others, and amongst them some of the chief men in the land, came to visit him, in the hope that they might be able to persuade him to change his mind and take the oath, but he remained firm. The King, who knew well how highly every one esteemed More, was particularly anxious that he should give in; but when he saw that nothing would persuade him, he decided that he should be punished for his obstinacy. After he had been thirteen months in prison he was brought before the court of King's Bench, and condemned to death for treason. The punishment for treason was hanging, with horrible mutilations, but the King, by what was called a special act of favour, allowed that he should die by beheading. When More heard this news, with his ready wit he exclaimed, "God forbid that the King should show any more such mercy to any of my friends, and bless all my posterity from such pardons !"

After his condemnation More was led back to the Tower again, with an axe having its edge turned towards him carried before him. As he left the court his only son cast himself at his feet, and with tears implored his father's blessing. With loving words and embraces Sir Thomas parted from him. When he reached the Tower wharf a still sadder parting was in store for him. Margaret Roper was standing there waiting for a last greeting from her father. As soon as she saw him she ran towards him, pressing her way through the guards

who surrounded him as though she heeded nothing, and without a thought for those who stood by she fell upon his neck and kissed him; but her heart was so full she could say nothing but, "Oh my father, oh my father." Even then More was calm and cheerful; he gave her his blessing, and bade her remember that even though he was innocent, he could not suffer without the will of God. "You know all the secrets of my heart," he said; "submit your will to God's blessed pleasure, and be patient for your loss." Then she tore herself away from him, but she had not gone ten steps when she turned back and ran to him again and clung around his neck, kissing him passionately. He did not speak a word, but the tears gathered in his eyes, and few who stood round, not even the guards themselves, could help weeping. Some others of the women of his family also pressed round him at the same time, and even his daughter's maid embraced him, and of her he said afterwards, "It was homely, but very lovingly done."

The next days More spent in prison in prayer and stern devotions; he used to walk about his room with a sheet round him, and whip himself sore and long, fearing lest even now his body should be rebellious. Four nights after his condemnation he sent his whip and his hair shirt to his dear daughter. He had no more need of them now, and he did not wish cold, unloving eyes to look upon them. With them he sent a letter written with a piece of charcoal, in which he sent his blessing to all his children, and said that he longed to go to God on the morrow, adding, "I never liked your manner towards me better than when you kissed me last.