end, till I have removed my beard," he said, turning
his eyes upwards to the official, "for it has never offended his
highness."

His wit was not less ready than brilliant, and on one occasion its
readiness saved him from a sudden and horrible death. Sitting on the
roof of his high gate-house at Chelsea, he was enjoying the beauties of
the Thames and the sunny richness of the landscape, when his solitude
was broken by the unlooked-for arrival of a wandering maniac. Wearing
the horn and badge of a Bedlamite, the unfortunate creature showed the
signs of his malady in his equipment as well as his countenance. Having
cast his eye downwards from the parapet to the foot of the tower, he
conceived a mad desire to hurl the Chancellor from the flat roof. "Leap,
Tom! leap!" screamed the athletic fellow, laying a firm hand on More's
shoulder. Fixing his attention with a steady look, More said, coolly,
"Let us first throw my little dog down, and see what sport that will
be." In a trice the dog was thrown into the air. "Good!" said More,
feigning delight at the experiment: "now run down, fetch the dog, and
we'll throw him off again." Obeying the command, the dangerous intruder
left More free to secure himself by a bar, and to summon assistance with
his voice.

For a good end this wise and mirth-loving lawyer would play the part of
a practical joker; and it is recorded that by a jest of the practical
sort he gave a wholesome lesson to an old civic magistrate, who, at the
Sessions of the Old Bailey, was continually telling the victims of
cut-purses that they had only themselves to thank for their losses--that
purses would never be cut if their wearers took proper care to retain
them in their possession. These orations always terminated with, "I
never lose _my_ purse; cut-purses never take _my_ purse; no, i'faith,
because I take proper care of it." To teach his worship wisdom, and cure
him of his self-sufficiency, More engaged a cut-purse to relieve the
magistrate of his money-bag whilst he sat upon the bench. A story is
recorded of another Old Bailey judge who became the victim of a thief
under very ridiculous circumstances. Whilst he was presiding at the
trial of a thief in the Old Bailey, Sir John Sylvester, Recorder of
London, said incidentally that he had left his watch at home. The trial
ended in an acquittal, the prisoner had no sooner gained his liberty
than he hastened to the recorder's house, and sent in word to Lady
Sylves