the greatest Englishman of his day, was the only son of Sir John More, one of the judges of the King's Bench, and was born in 1480 at Milk Street in the city of London. His first lessons were received from Nathaniel Holt, an eminent schoolmaster of that day in Threadneedle Street. It was at that time a custom with genteel parents to allow their sons, for the benefit of their training, to serve as pages to the nobility or to the high dignitaries of the church. More was accordingly placed, about his fifteenth year, in the family of the aged Cardinal Morton, a man of great wisdom, learning, and virtue. His residence there seems to have been both pleasant and profitable. He daily heard, as he waited at table, the conversation of the noble and learned guests that frequented his master's board. During the merry-makings of Christmas, when the household was assembled to witness the rude plays peculiar to the season, he was wont to step up among the players, form a character for himself on the suggestion of the moment, and delight the audience by his extempore jests. The old cardinal was charmed with the lively and ingenious wit of his young ward. He was fond of pointing him out to his visitors, and of remarking that "that child would prove a marvellous rare man."

In 1497 More entered the university of Oxford as a student of Canterbury, a college which was afterwards abolished to make room for Christ Church. His whole appearance and bearing at that time were peculiarly fitted to prepossess men in his favour. He had a well-proportioned figure, of a middle stature; his small gray eyes twinkled with innocent pleasantry; and his countenance beamed with good nature and benevolence. In a short time Grocyn, Linacre, and William Latimer, three of the most learned men of that day, had drawn towards him. Erasmus, too, who was then sojourning at Oxford in the height of his fame, would often leave the company of his eminent and aristocratic admirers to visit the young student of seventeen, in his solitary rooms in St Mary's Hall. The heart of the great scholar was touched with an affection almost womanly for the youthful Englishman, and a friendship sprung up between the two which all the toils and troubles and wanderings of after years could not impair. In the society of such men the susceptible nature of More could not fail to catch a noble ardour for learning. The scanty means of support to which he was restricted by his prudent father kept him back from the haunts of idle indulgence and dissipation. All his time was therefore devoted to his intellectual culture. He became an enthusiastic student of the Greek language, which was then slowly forcing its way amid much opposition to a place among the regular studies at Oxford. He composed Latin epigrams, both witty and sentimental. He also resolved his hard and rugged mother-tongue into the soft and flexible forms of poetry, and wrote many English verses sparkling with harmless quips and merry conceits.

After completing the ordinary curriculum at Oxford, More studied law first at the New Inn and then at Lincoln's Inn. He was subsequently appointed to lecture at Furnival's Inn on jurisprudence, and at St Lawrence's church on Augustine's *De Civitate Dei*. About this period a bitter remorse for his youthful sins began to haunt and torment his soul. That he might take refuge, as it were, in a holy atmosphere, he fixed his abode near the great Carthusian monastery called the Charterhouse, and daily attended the spiritual exercises of the priests. Every form of penance was also employed for mortifying the flesh. He kept Fridays and high fasting-days with severe austerity, and began to wear a shirt of hair next his skin. He often flung himself down to sleep on the cold floor, or on a bare settle, with a hard log under his head, and woke up after four or five hours' repose to watching and prayer. As the last stroke in this process of self-crucifixion he was meditating to consecrate his life to the priesthood, when an event occurred which diffused a sunshine over his gloomy condition and still gloomier prospects. A certain Mr Colt, a hospitable country gentleman, and the father of a family of daughters, was wont to invite the young lawyer to spend his holidays at the mansion of Newhall in Essex. More became fascinated with the artless and pious conversations of the young ladies, and thought of making one of them his wife. His taste would have led him to choose the second of the sisters; but his sympathetic heart shrunk from seeming to slight her who had a claim to his preference by her priority of birth, and so he married the eldest.

Towards the close of the reign of Henry VII. More had risen into professional eminence. There was scarcely an important case brought before the courts in which he did not appear as one of the counsel. He also held the honourable office of judge of the Sheriff's Court in the city of London. His merit was recognised about the same time by his being appointed a burgess in the Parliament which the King had summoned in order that he might obtain a grant of three-fifteenths for the marriage of his eldest daughter with the King of Scotland. It was then that More became, as Sir James Mackintosh asserts, the restorer of political eloquence. For this noble achievement the qualities of both his head and heart peculiarly fitted him. A moral courage unsurpassed for its serene dignity was supported by a ready power of thinking, an equally ready command of language, a polished wit that could wound deeply but not harshly, and a tone of speech that could conciliate an opponent without sacrificing a single opinion. Accordingly, no sooner was the royal demand laid before the House, than he stood forth to oppose it in a vigorous and eloquent speech. The silent and timorous burgesses, while astonished at the unwonted voice of opposition that sounded so boldly through the Parliament-hall, responded to the appeal of the orator, and refused the request of the King. Henry heard with indignation that "a beardless boy had disappointed all his purpose." He resolved to be revenged. But as the young offender had no possessions upon which the avaricious King might seize, old Sir John More, on some pretext, was cast into prison, and fined £1,100.

About 1509, the year of the accession of Henry VIII., all the available time of More was engrossed with his professional avocations. Yet in the few hours stolen from sleep his studies were diligently prosecuted. His attention was chiefly directed to the composition of *The Life and Reign of King Edward V.* This was the first history of England written in the vernacular, and it was also the first specimen of real classical English prose. It therefore forms no ordinary landmark in the annals of the literature of England. One of its more marked characteristics is the easy, sweet, and spirited flow of the narrative,—a striking type of the author's own disposition. More had scarcely finished this work in 1510, when he was appointed undersheriff of London. In the same year he received a visit from his friend Erasmus. The household scene which the eminent scholar then saw, and which he afterwards described, was a perfect picture of domestic felicity. More's first wife had died, leaving one son and three daughters. A widow—elderly, shrewish, and worldly—had succeeded to her place. Yet even she proved no obstruction to the well-ordered domestic routine. In the morning the inmates of the house knelt together round the family altar. Then they busied themselves with studies, reading, or the quiet and cheerful discharge of more special duties. In the evening the head of the house returned to chat with his family round the hearth. His very presence diffused harmony and good order. The impatient exclamations and worldly saws of "Mistress Alice," as he called his wife, were drowned in a flood of merry jests; the studies of his children were stimulated by an overflowing kindness; and the lessons of virtue and piety were inculcated by quaint and pleasant similes. He also spoke a kind and fatherly word to his servants, and saw that they were maintaining their good character. The day was then closed, as it had been begun, with family devotion.

Such domestic felicity filled the soul of More, and expelled from it every hankering after political preferment. There was also a wariness fitting in exactly with the other parts of his well-balanced character, which kept him back from climbing the unsteady ladder of ambition. Accordingly, the attempts which were made at the beginning of the reign of Henry VIII., to entice him into the service of the state were all in vain. Even after he had been employed in two embassies to the Netherlands, in 1514 and 1515 respectively, he returned immediately to his privacy, and refused the pension by which the King sought to buy his services. At length, in 1516, More was persuaded to venture into the arena of politics, and was elected a member of the Privy Council. The favours with which he was immediately loaded prevented his speedy retreat. The King became excessively fond of the company of his new councillor. On days of council he consulted with him, and on holidays he jested with him. In his grave moods he conversed with him on theology. When the nights were clear he took him up into the leads to observe the courses of the planets, and to discourse about astronomy. Then he would take him down to a private supper, and would crack jokes with him far on into the night. Even when the courtier had contrived to throw off these encumbering favours for a while, and thought himself safe in the bosom of his family at Chelsea, the King would drop unexpectedly in to dine. After dinner he would walk in the garden in deep consultation, with his arm round his favourite's neck. These great honours would have completely intoxicated the majority of men; but they did not even affect the strong head of More. His clear eye detected the bloated selfishness from which they all proceeded. "If my head," said he at that time to his son-in-law Roper, "would win the King a castle in France when there was war between us, it should not fail to go." Therefore, instead of dwelling upon the preferment which the royal kindness portended, his mind was quietly engaged in the composition of his Utopia. This work, written in good Latin, was published at Basle in 1518, became speedily popular among the scholars of France and Germany, and was soon afterwards translated into French, Italian, Dutch, and English. It is a description of the laws and customs of an imaginary island of America, feigned to have been discovered a short time previously. Of the principles of polity described many are wildly chimerical, some are plausible, and others are just. At first sight the book appears to be nothing else than a freak of the author's fantastic and exuberant fancy. There is a likelihood, however, that it has a hidden character. At this time the large mind of More cherished several wide and catholic opinions—such as the principle of religious toleration—which were obnoxious to the spirit of the age. To profess these sentiments openly would have been to dare the unscrupulous vengeance of Henry. It is probable, therefore, that in accordance with his ordinary custom of uttering a grave truth in the garb of a gay jest, he employed the cunningly-devised romance of Utopia for a cover to his earnest political opinions.

More had entered on the road to preferment, and he was now carried rapidly forward. A knighthood and the office of treasurer of the exchequer were conferred upon him in 1521. About the same time, greatly against his taste and home-feelings, he was employed in the artful negotiations which Wolsey carried on with France. In 1523 the Parliament that was then convoked elected him to be their speaker. On this occasion he stood forth once more as the restorer of political oratory and the champion of parliamentary freedom. The grant of a very heavy subsidy had been demanded from the House by the government. That the members might be awed into compliance, Cardinal Wolsey appeared with all his attendants and insignia, and made a solemn speech in support of the subsidy. The burgesses replied to it by a dogged silence. At length the speaker was demanded to return an answer for the rest. After calmly vindicating the ancient liberty of the Parliament to speak or to be silent, Sir Thomas More, with all due reverence, said, that though the members had entrusted him with their voices, yet they had not entrusted him with their heads, and therefore he could not answer his grace in so weighty a matter. The cardinal hurried from the House in a great rage against the speaker; yet the King, in spite of this thwarting of his wishes, continued his favour toward Sir Thomas, and in 1526 appointed him chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster. It was about this time that More began to occupy himself specially with the controversies against the Reformers. His attachment to that old form of religion through which he had derived so much pious comfort, and his natural love of peace and good order, made him cling fast to the sinking cause of Popery. Accordingly, mastering all his learning, wit, and acuteness, he set himself industriously to wage a war of pamphlets against Luther, Tindal, and other Reformers. The excitement of debate hurried him into an exaggeration of statement, and a bitterness of feeling, into which he had never fallen before; yet perhaps he was as fair and as charitable as any other writer that ever ventured on this same irritating controversy.

In 1527 Henry VIII. began to search for reasons for divorcing Queen Catherine. The opinion of Sir Thomas More, who stood so high in the estimation of the country and of Europe in general, was especially desirable. He was therefore sounded on the great subject that was perplexing the public mind. To advocate the divorce would have been to offend his conscience; to condemn it would have been to offend his liberal benefactor the King. He therefore evaded returning a direct answer. But Henry was not to be diverted, and resolved to overwhelm the scruples of his favourite by a great benefit. Accordingly, on the 25th October 1529 More was raised to the position of lord chancellor, that high and giddy seat from which Wolsey had just fallen. The duties of his new office were performed with all his native benevolence and unpretentious industry. He sat daily in his own hall to receive the petitions of the poor; he kept his hands clean from bribes; and, without being cruelly intolerant, he did his utmost to suppress heresy. But this conscientious performance of duty was not all that was expected by his royal master. His opinion on the divorce was repeatedly demanded. Again and again did More reply that he was neither worthy nor willing to be his Majesty's adviser. At length, foreseeing that he would soon be required, in his official capacity, to countenance the King's marriage with Anne Boleyn, he resigned the great seal in May 1532.

Sir Thomas More laid aside his robes of office as poor a man as when he had put them on. The establishment at Chelsea, in which, like a patriarch of old, he had gathered all his children and grandchildren under one roof, was immediately broken up. His sons and daughters went to their several homes. He himself retired to the chapel in his garden to prepare his soul by meditation and devotion. for the storm that was coming in the distance. It soon came. Commissioners arrived to exact from him an assent to the King's recent marriage. They first tried to wheedle him, by reminding him of the royal favour towards him. But his conscience accused him of ingratitude. They then tried threatenings. "Terrors are arguments for children, not for me," replied he, placidly. At length, in 1534, the act of succession for securing the throne to the issue of Anne Boleyn was passed. More was demanded to assent to it by an oath. He refused to swear, and declined to give any reasons for his refusal. Four days afterwards he was lodged in the Tower. There he lay for more than a year, resisting calmly every attempt to break his resolution, receiving the visits of his friends with his usual outflow of quaint and pious aphorisms, and writing devotional treatises and letters to his favourite daughter, Margaret Roper, with fragments of coal. On the 1st July 1535 his trial came on. He was indicted under the act of supremacy passed towards the close of 1534, for constituting the King supreme head of the church. His refusal to swear to this act was declared high treason, and he was condemned to death. On the 6th July he appeared on the scaffold in that same jesting humour which was a part of his nature. His head was already on the block, when he desired the executioner to stop until he had removed his beard, "for that," said he, "hath committed no treason." The next moment the fatal blow fell.

The best English translation of the Utopia is that of Bishop Burnet. More's English works were published at London, 1557, and his Latin works at Louvain, 1556. There are Lives of More by his son-in-law Roper, 8vo, 1626; Hoddesden, 8vo, 1652; his great-grandson Thomas More, 4to, 1726; and Sir James Mackintosh, 1844.