Farewell, dear daughter; pray for me, and I will pray for you and all your friends, that we may meet together in heaven."

The next morning very early there came to him a messenger from the King, saying that he was to die that day before nine o'clock. To which Sir Thomas answered: "I most heartily thank you for your good tidings," and said that he was more grateful to the King for this than for all the other favours he had showed him. Then he began to get ready as if for a great banquet, dressing himself in his best silk gown. When Kingston, the lieutenant of the Tower, came in, he with difficulty persuaded him to put on a simple gown, saying that his fine clothes would only come into the executioner's possession. Sir Thomas yielded out of friendship to Kingston, and sent one of the few pieces of gold he had left for the executioner, as a token that he loved instead of hated him.

At about nine o'clock More left the Tower. His face was pale and lean, and his beard had grown long whilst he was in prison; before that time he had always been shaven. In his hands he carried a red cross, and he cast his eyes to heaven. One woman, seeing him pass, came out of her house with a cup of wine for him, but he refused it, saying, "Christ at His passion drank no wine, but only gall and vinegar."

When he reached the scaffold, it seemed to him so weak that he fancied it might fall, so he said merrily to Kingston, "See me safe up, and for my coming down let me shift for myself." Crowds of people had gathered to see him die, and he began to speak to them, but he was not allowed to go on, so he only asked for their prayers. Then kneeling down, he repeated the

Fifty-first psalm, after which the executioner begged his forgiveness. More answered by kissing him, saying, "Thou wilt do me this day a greater benefit than ever any mortal man can be able to give me; pluck up thy spirit, man, and be not afraid to do thy office; my neck is very short; take heed therefore that thou strike not awry for saving thy honesty." The executioner offered to cover his eyes, but he said, “I will cover them myself," and bound them with a cloth he had brought with him for that purpose. Then he laid his head upon the block, but bade the executioner wait a moment whilst he moved aside his beard. "Pity that should be cut," he said; "that has not committed treason." These were his last words; even at that moment his bright cheerfulness did not leave him. The axe fell and severed his head from his body.

What the world thought of his death we can judge best from the words of Erasmus, who wrote: "Every man bewaileth the death of Sir Thomas More, even they who are adversaries unto him for religion, so great was his courtesy to all men. . . so excellent was his nature. . . Who was so great a stranger unto him to whom he did not seek to do one good turn or other . . . His bounty hath so engraven More in every man's heart that they all lament his death as the loss of their own father or brother. . . I myself have seen many tears come from those men who never saw More in their lives, nor never received any benefit from him; yea, whilst I write these things, tears gush from me whether I will or no. How many souls hath that axe wounded which cut off More's head!"

XXXI.

LADY JANE GREY.

A.D. 1553.

IN the time of the Tudors people in England grew to care much more than they had done before for learning. Since printing had been invented, books had grown cheap and plentiful, and any one could possess them. Not only boys were carefully taught, but girls too were encouraged to study, and some women became very learned. One of the most learned women of those days was at the same time one of the simplest and most virtuous. This was Lady Jane Grey, the daughter of the Duke of Suffolk, and grand-daughter of Henry VIII.'s sister Mary. She was brought up quietly, and lived a life devoted to study. When she was fifteen she was learning Hebrew and Greek, and when she was sixteen she was able to write Latin letters to a learned German. We can judge how much she loved learning from the account that Roger Ascham, a well-known scholar, has left of a visit he paid to her. When he reached her parents' house in Leicestershire he found that the Duke and Duchess, with all their household, both gentlemen and gentlewomen, were hunting in the park, but Lady Jane was sitting in her chamber reading Plato in Greek with as much delight as another lady would have read a merry tale. After saluting her, Ascham asked how she could bear to miss