ill account the accusation sufficient."

Parliament had not the courage to oppose the king's will. These members
of Parliament were nothing more than a flock of sheep, who, in trembling
dread of the sharp teeth of the dog, go straight along the path which
the dog shows them.

The king wanted them to condemn the Earl of Surrey, and they condemned
him.

They summoned him before their judgment-seat, and it was in vain that
he proved his innocence in a speech spirited and glowing with eloquence.
These noble members of Parliament would not see that he was innocent.

It is true, indeed, there were a few who were ashamed to bow their heads
so unreservedly beneath the king's sceptre, which dripped with blood
like a headsman's axe. There were still a few to whom the accusation
appeared insufficient; but they were outvoted; and in order to give
Parliament a warning example, the king, on the very same day, had these
obstinate ones arrested and accused of some pretended crime. For this
people, enslaved by the king's cruelty and savage barbarity, were
already so degenerate and debased in self-consciousness, that men were
always and without trouble found, who, in order to please the king and
his bloodthirstiness and sanctimonious hypocrisy, degraded themselves
to informers, and accused of crime those whom the king's dark frown had
indicated to them as offenders.

So Parliament had doomed the Earl of Surrey to die, and the king had
signed his death-warrant.

Early next morning he was to be executed; and in the Tower-yard the
workmen were already busy in erecting the scaffold on which the noble
earl was to be beheaded.

Henry Howard was alone in his cell. He had done with life and earthly
things. He had set his house in order and made his will; he had written
to his mother and sister, and forgiven them for their treachery and
accusation; he had addressed a letter to his father, in which he
exhorted him, in words as noble as they were touching, to steadfastness
and calmness, and bade him not to weep for him, for death was his
desire, and the grave the only refuge for which he longed.

He had then, as we have said, done with life; and earthly things no
longer disturbed him. He felt no regret and no fear. Life had left him
nothing more to wish; and he almost thanked the king that he would so
soon deliver him from the burden of existence.

The future had nothing more to offer him; why then should he desire
it? Why long for a lif