stify that I have received this angry fiction concerning my death on
the twenty-first day of March, and that I have read it with considerable
pleasure and joy, except the blasphemous portion of the document in
which this lie is attributed to the exalted majesty of God. Otherwise I
felt quite tickled on my knee-cap and under my left heel at this
evidence how cordially the devil and his minions, the Pope and the
papists, hate me. May God turn them from the devil!

"However, if it is decreed that theirs is a sin unto death, and that my
prayer is in vain, then may God grant that they fill up their measure
and write nothing else but such books for their comfort and joy. Let
them run their course; they are on the right track; they want to have it
so. Meanwhile I want to know how they are going to be saved, and how
they will atone for and revoke all their lies and blasphemies with which
they have filled the world." (21b, 3376 f.)

Similar, even more grotesque tales have been served the faithful by
Catholic writers. The star production of this kind was published years
ago in the _Ohio-Waisenfreund_. It related that horrible and uncanny
signs had accompanied Luther's death. Weird shrieks and noises were
heard, devils were flying about in the air; the heavens were shrouded in
a pall of gloom. When the funeral cortege started from Eisleben, a vast
flock of ravens had gathered and accompanied the corpse croaking
incessantly and uttering dismal cries all the way to Wittenberg, etc.,
etc.

These crude stories have now been censored out of existence. Catholics
nowadays prefer to lie in a more refined and cultured manner about
Luther's death: Luther committed suicide; he was found hanging from his
bedpost one morning.

Comment is unnecessary.

Luther died peacefully in the presence of friends, confessing, Christ
and asserting his firm allegiance to the faith he had proclaimed with
his last breath. The probable cause of his death was a stroke of
paralysis. Luther began to feel pains in the chest late in the afternoon
of February 17, 1546. He bore up manfully and continued working at his
business for the Count of Mansfeld who had called him to Eisleben. After
a light evening meal he sat chatting in a cheerful mood with his
companions, and retired early, as was his custom in his declining years.
The pains in the chest became worse, and he began to feel chilly.
Medicaments were administered, and after a while he fell into a slumber,