What he owed to no informant was his exquisite faculty of story-telling, and yet no story of his own telling is so touching as the story of his death.

Two weeks before the Easter of 735 the old man was seized with an extreme weakness and 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.