loss of breath. He still preserved however his usual pleasantness and
gay good-humour, and in spite of prolonged sleeplessness continued his
lectures to the pupils about him. Verses of his own English tongue broke
from time to time from the master's lip--rude rimes that told how before
the "need-fare," Death's stern "must go," none can enough bethink him
what is to be his doom for good or ill. The tears of Baeda's scholars
mingled with his song. "We never read without weeping," writes one of
them. So the days rolled on to Ascension-tide, and still master and
pupils toiled at their work, for Based longed to bring to an end his
version of St. John's Gospel into the English tongue and his extracts
from Bishop Isidore. "I don't want my boys to read a lie," he answered
those who would have had him rest, "or to work to no purpose after I am
gone." A few days before Ascension-tide his sickness grew upon him, but
he spent the whole day in teaching, only saying cheerfully to his
scholars, "Learn with what speed you may; I know not how long I may
last." The dawn broke on another sleepless night, and again the old man
called his scholars round him and bade them write. "There is still a
chapter wanting," said the scribe, as the morning drew on, "and it is
hard for thee to question thyself any longer." "It is easily done," said
Baeda; "take thy pen and write quickly." Amid tears and farewells the day
wore on till eventide. "There is yet one sentence unwritten, dear
master," said the boy. "Write it quickly," bade the dying man. "It is
finished now," said the little scribe at last. "You speak truth," said
the master; "all is finished now." Placed upon the pavement, his head
supported in his scholar's arms, his face turned to the spot where he was
wont to pray, Baeda chanted the solemn "Glory to God." As his voice
reached the close of his song he passed quietly away.

[Sidenote: Fall of AEthelbald]

First among English scholars, first among English theologians, first
among English historians, it is in the monk of Jarrow that English
literature strikes its roots. In the six hundred scholars who gathered
round him for instruction he is the father of our national education. In
his physical treatises he is the first figure to which our science looks
back. But the quiet tenor of his scholar's life was broken by the growing
anarchy of Northumbria, and by threats of war from its Mercian rival. At
last AEthelbald marched on a state which seem