By tie Rev. Canon J. U. Jackson } F.S.A. 175 



had been covered up, but at what time was not known. It would 

 most likely have been about the year 1539, when Thomas Cromwell 

 obtained Henry the Eighth's consent to obliterate and put down 

 everything relating to Becket. Thomas Cromwell was very 

 enthusiastic in abolishing Roman Catholic practices, and certain 

 injunctions were issued for that purpose. One of them is so far 

 curious that it represents Becket's death not as a designed assassi- 

 nation, but as an accident that happened in a scuffle. It states 

 that Becket had stubbornly resisted some laws that had been passed for 

 correcting abuses, and that, having gone to Rome to urge the Pope 

 to condemn the King's laws, he had thus become a rebel to the King 

 of England. That these four gentlemen were sent to bring him to 

 reason — that he called one of them bad names, and struck another 

 nearly to the ground, and so in the fray was himself killed. That 

 he was no saint, but a traitor, and, therefore, the King's injunction 

 required that henceforth he should be called, not Saint Thomas, but 

 Bishop Becket, and that his images and pictures throughout the 

 realm should be plucked down out of Churches, and the day used as 

 his festival should not be observed, but be struck out of all books, 

 services, and offices. St. Thomas a, Becket's day was the 29th 

 December, and that day is so marked in all the old calendars pre- 

 fixed to ancient Church books. I may here mention an odd thing 

 about this that happened to myself. Two or three years ago I 

 happened to be on a visit to the Marquis of Bath, at Longleat. 

 Mr. Gladstone was there at the time, and I was showing him some 

 of the literary curiosities in the library, and among the rest one of 

 these old illuminated MS. Church books. He suddenly said, "I 

 wonder if they have struck out St. Thomas ?" I knew what he 

 meant, but felt rather awkward, as I did not remember at the 

 moment in which of the twelve months or three hundred and sixty- 

 five days to look for it. But he tossed the leaves over, went 

 directly to the day, and found that it had been struck out with a 

 pen. I confess I was quite astonished that, with so many vast 

 matters to think of, he should so instantly, and without the slightest 

 hesitation, have recollected the very day. But I found out the 

 reason afterwards. It is Mr. Gladstone's own birthday, so that he 



