182 HIS LAST WORDS. tionate leave of him, and his wife and daughter. Amid their tears and sobs, he turned and looked once more at the fortress calmly, as if to take a last farewell of all his earthly trials. His step was firm; his bearing gentle. His enemies might destroy his body by an ignominious death; but they were powerless over William Tyndale's undaunted soul. Like Fryth, he forgave, And his last words proof voice, were, "Lord, In that dread moment, his whole life seemed to pass before him. He had attained his fiftieth year; so that his days had been longer on earth than that of the heroic Fryth. in dying, all his enemies. nounced, in a loud tone open the eyes of the King of England!" He then knelt down, and after a few moment's prayer, was strangled; and his body then consumed to ashes. His memory lives among us yet; and if no outward monument of our obligations to him has ever been erected, it matters but little; for few— hearing and reading that Bible, which he made plain even for the lowly ploughboy, whom, three centuries ago, he predicted might one day read God's word for himself-can ever forget England's obligations to William Tyndale, the translator of our first English Bible. JOHN FLAXMAN; Or, the Life of a Great Sculptor. A CLERGYMAN passing one day through New Street, Covent Garden, remarked in a shop window a number of plaster casts; and one of them taking his fancy, he entered and purchased it. He was leaving the shop, and drawing on his gloves, after paying for the little figure, when his attention was attracted, by a sharp cough proceeding from behind the counter, to a sickly-looking boy, who, propped up by cushions, was reading a book; though at the moment that Mr. Mathews noticed him, his large eyes were fixed attentively on the stranger. Struck with the intelligent expression of his childish little face, the clergyman's voice insensibly took a gentler tone, which softened into real kindness, while, when asking him what book he was reading, Mr. Matthew's eyes fell on a small pair of crutches, which lay on a chair beside the invalid. Colouring with pleasure, the boy answered 186 CHILDISH STUDIES. eagerly, "A Latin book, Sir; and I am trying to learn it." "Aye, indeed!" said Mr. Mathews; "but this is not a proper one for you to read. Shall I bring you another, to-morrow ?" Little Flaxman (the boy's name), thanking him, he took his leave, promising to come back the next day; being as good as his word, he returned, bringing with him an English translation of "Homer," "Don Quixote," and "Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress." The grateful manner in which the child received the present, as well as his crippled state, interested and attracted the divine; nor did it end there. A few weeks later, he revisited the elder Flaxman's shop, and from that time continued to befriend the whole family; though he did not know how great a genius he was encouraging, when taking notice of his little sickly friend. From his cradle, had little Johnny ever loved books, and looking at their pictures, better than any other kind of plaything. Sickly and delicate, he had ever also claimed the especial love of his family, and those little indulgencies, so dear to childhood, when God has seen fit to withhold the blessings of health to the tiny form of a weakly child. Brought up in the heart of London, his ideas of nature were bounded by the limits of the great market close to his home, in Covent Garden; and green fields, rivers, or blue sky, were as much a |