The Sun.
London, England, 1869-12-29 00:00:00

THE SUN, LoNDON, 187a)1ASDAY EVENING, DECEIMER 29, ^ Ni 9.

FOREIGN NOTES.

A CHANGE FOR THE BETTER IN NEW 7RAT AND,

Matters in New Zealand appear to be decidedly mend-
ing. The Taranaki Herald in its summary for tho
November mail points out that the stereotyped heading of
" War in New Zealand "his disappeared from the columns
of the journals, to be replaced by " Our Gold Fields," or
" Our Flax Mills." Confidence is being gradually restored,
the settlers are putting in their crops, and are forgetting
their past troubles in their future hopes. The
Taranaki Herald considers the prospects of its own province
especially encouraging. It has abundance of flax, and the
land is suitable for the cultivation of the best varieties.
"We have sand on our beach which shortly we shall be i
sending away in ingots of superior steel; and we have
petroleum coming out of the ground which will one day
be a fortune to a company." The numerous streams
flowing from the mountains supply, too, cheap power for
d lying machinery.
The detailed accounts po.nt to the termination
of the rebellion. Some time ago Te Kooti met with
s wend defeats, and was being edged into a position from
which he would be unable to extricate himself. On the
25th of September he attacked Taken°, a position which
was occupied by Colonel M‘Donnell's troops, when he was
dc•frated with great loss and obliged to retreat. A few
days afterwards a severe engagement took place at Partero,
on the west side of the Wanganui River. The Allies drove
the enemy from their redoubt, and sustained a loss of
thirty-seven. Captain St. George, a valuable officer, was
killed. Te Kooti was wounded in three places,
and had his hand shattered. Ho fled towards
the sources of the Wanganui River. Te Kapu, another
rebel chief, and twenty-one of his followers surrendered.
The latest news states that Te Kooti, with a hundred fol-
lowers, had gone back to the position he lately left, and
seemed determined to carry on the fight. The remainder
of the Maories have been tried for high treason, and sen-
tenced to death. It is understood that the Governor
will commute this sentence to imprisonment for a few

years. The new Ministry have adopted a conciliatory
policy, which has produced good effects.

FLAX IN NEW ZEALAND.

The New Zealanders are beginning to devote a great deal
of attention to the cultivation of flax, which is likelyto form
a very important item in the commercial products of the
colony. The samples hitherto sent to the English market
hive not been good either in fibre or colour, and consequently
its value has not been correctly ascertained. Great improve-
ments are now being made in the cultivation; new machines
are being erected for dressing the flAx, and several companies '
established for the improvement of the manufacture. The
construction of roads in the West Country will
facilitate its progress, and in the Apumake dis-
trict, where flax grows in great abundance, it
is looked upon as affording a valuable resource for em-
ploying the natives. This district seems likely to become
the centre of the flax industry, and if the attention of the
natives could be turned to pacific pursuits, the prospects
of both Maories and settlers would be far more hopeful.
Application has been made to the Government for the
righ t of cutting flax upon the confiscated land in the Apumake
district, and the request has been granted on easy terms.
Companies or individuals may occupy land not exceeding
7,000 acres for the purpose of utilising the flax growing in
it, the Government reserving the right to eject such
occupiers at six months' notice. In Waitara new
machinery has been introduced by which one man can
use up nearly seven tons of green flax in the week. How-
ever, there is no fear of the supply being exhausted, as
enough flax grows near the works to last for three or
four years, should no more land be cultivated. The
Waitara flax gives a very superior result, yielding one ton
of fibre, besides tow, to four and a half tons
of green flax. During the last session of the General
Assembly a Commission was appointed to inquire into
the whole subject of flax cultivation in the colony. The
report of the Commissioners is looked for with great inte-
rest.

to track, almost unerringly, the subtlest transition
of feeling, and to illustrate her conceptions with an
originality and a suggestiveness of look, tone, and
gesture, which, in these days of photographic
realism, is as delightful as it is rare.
For au example of the power just mentioned—
that seizing the motives of character—we might
refer to her reading of Tennyson's "May Queen."
Those to whom it is familiar will have perceived at
once that she is not only mistress of the details of
effect upon which ordinary actresses rely, but that
she grasps in its fullness the poet's psychological
idea. While nothing more bright and bea itching
can be conceived than the coquetry of the village
maiden in the first part, it is pervaded by a fresh rus-
ticity, which totally separates it from the practised
and languid airs of a town beauty of the same
social grade, and by an impulsiveness which straws
that the girl's faults are the accidents rather than
the habits of her mind—the indications of youthful
thoughtlessnekos and exultation in the power of her
beauty, of vanity not fixed and conscious, but that
of an affectionate heart, in which the desire to be
loved mingles with the desire to be admired. Thus
the final elevation of the poor girl is prepared for
in the earliest scene. In the second part, where the
fatal disease is making way, Miss Neilson, with fine
perception, avoids the error, so tempting, of an
abrupt moral change to unrelieved goodness and
resignation. The young sufferer is still, to some
extent, the impulsive coquette of the first act. She
shows a touch of the old vanity, as recalls the last
May-day of which she was queen ; she is even a
little irritated and restless under her sickness ; but
still, chastened by the trial at which she rebels, she
passes from a moment's petulance to sweetness and
contrition. In the third cart, her purification is
complete. The tried spirit has gained faith and
peace, the dark portal of Death is become translu-
cent, and she has seen the realm beyond. All is
thankfulness and love. Yet, even here, where she
refers to her old coquetry, with her lover, a gleam of
tender archness flits over the face of the actress,
then leaves it earnest and rapt. 'thus one sees ner
individuality—has even a glimpse of her past foibles,
in the very sublimation of death. The noble pathos
of the concluding lines could never have produced
such effect if Miss Neilson had not thoroughly un-
veiled to us the nature of her heroine, male us the
sharers of all her moods and infitmities, and shown
us in her

" A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's dai'y food."

This is indeed to paint, not mere theatrical conven-
tions, but human life; to portray it in its breathing
individuality, with its joys, its vanities, its gene-
rosities, and its purification by sorrow. It is to
affect us with that " one touch of nature " which
46 makes the whole world kin," and to bid us look
from the straggles of good and evil, of character
and circumstance, in this divided world-
-44 To where, beyond these voices, there is peace."

In describing the reading of "'The May Qu.en,"
I have dwelt chiefly upon the actress's power to
grasp the leading idea of the poem, and to follow
that idea through its various developments. The
faculty of doing this is one far rarer than the
faculty of brilliant execution. But in Miss Neil-
son's case the latter is no less remarkable. Her
effects, as mere " effects," are at times superb.
Were au instance required of her power to embody
her ideas in look and tone, I should refer to her re-
cital of a second lay by the same poet, " The
Charge of the Light Brigade." Among many other
points may be noticed the grand ardour with which
she brings before us the prowess of the charging
squadron in the following lines :

" t anuon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them voiley'd and thundered."

The slow booming enunciation of the word " can-
no❑ " was iu every instance like the discharge of
artillery. The energy and fire of martial move-
ment were unflaggiugly kept up till the words,
" then they rode back," had been pronounced,
when, with a wonderful transition from power to
tenderness, the voice of the actress (and, like Miss
O'Neil, she has " tears in her voice ") sank into a
wail that penetrated all hearts, as she continued—

" rut not --
Not the six hundred!"

Rachel, declaiming the " Marsella!se " before the
enthusiastic French, might have been proud to be
associated with the noble figure of this young Eng-
lishwoman, who could feel the pride and grief of a
sister at the txploits and the fall of her brave coun-
trymen, and who could interpret the feelings of a
sister with the eloquence of genius.
I have dwelt upon these " readiogs" because

they do not come down to us with the traditional
joints and methods of great dramatic parts. The
reader, as distinguished from the actor, has to rely
more thoroughly upon his own resources, so that if
he have originality, it becomes more directly ob-
vious. But whoever has watched Miss Neilson's
personation of Shakespeare's Juliet will see that,
however wisely she conforms in many respects to
stage traditions that could hardly be improved, the
actress has exerc'sed independent judgment over
every detail, and has often shown her originality in
new renderings. That her love scenes are steeped
in an artletts tenderness, which throws the veil of
imagination over youthful passion, that her lighter
scenes with the Nurse are given with delicious
changes from the petulant to the coaxing, that her
defence of the slandered Romeo is as full of indig-
nation as her grief is of poignancy, may all be
granted, and yet it is not to be denied that these
excellences have been displayed by her best prede-
cessors. But the look with which, almost at their
meeting, she receives Romeo as of one who
" Lifted up her eyes
And loved him with that love which was her doom ;"
the long, fascinated gaze with which she follows
him when he quits her in the first act, so illustra-
tive of the words—•

" If he be married
My grave is like to Le my wedding bed."

The expression as of one dazed and stunned by
grief, when she discovers the selfish character of
her trusted nurse ; the way in which afterwards,
before the potion is taken, abandoning herself to
the old habit of affection, and, about to embrace
the nurse, she suddenly recalls her mercenary
counsels touching Romeo, and quietly turns from
her, chilled into reserve—these were touches of
true and poetic feeling which, so far as we recol-
lect, belong specially to Miss Neilson. Far more
important, however, both for novelty and impres-
siveness, was her realisation of terror in the famous
potion scene. We had no mere declamation, no
strained and grandiose effect, but the very nature
of a susceptible and imaginative girl environed
by supernatural menaces. One action may be
• especially remarked for its boldness and its truth.
When her fears have reached their climax, the
actress starts to her feet, and, with rapid whirls,
recoils from the phantoms of her brain ; at the same
time her hand, with a strange spasmodic motion,
passes down her dress, as if she would thus assure
herself that she is still free from their grasp. So
straightforward and abrupt au expression of fear
might have been thought hazardous beforehand, but
genius is self-reliant, and the enthusiasm of the audi-
ence justly hailed this example of daring simplicity.
The scene throughout was as nobly executed as con-
ceived; if Miss Neilson's struggle with her fears
was terrible, her victory over them was sublime.
Nothing could be'Lfiner than the look of exulting
love with which she drained the phial to Romeo. It
sprang from the same grand tragic feeling as her
final effect in the play. Romeo is dead ; Juliet,
dying, lies at a little distance. With a last rally
of her energies, she drags herself to his side, draws
the arm of the lifeless form round her neck, and,
with a sniile, drops her heal upon the still bosom.
Death and love have :trlven, and, under the very
blow of death, love sinks—a victor
You will see that I write warmly of th's woman
of genius ; still I do not intend to represent her as
" That faultless monster which the world ne'cr saw."
With all her fine powers, physical and intellectual,
Nliss Neilson has, doubtles4, something yet to
acquire, and something more to discard. With the
ardour and impulsiveness of youth she has seine of
its over ebulleuce. She undoubtedly knows that feel-
ing can evince itself by suppression as well as by
fiirect exhibition ; but of this truth she now and
' then loses sight. Iler passion, though always
genuine, at times kindles too soon, and speaks with
an over emphasis, that anticipates the climax, and

thus detracts from variety of expression. Her
comedy, again, though harmonious in itself, is
scarcely on the same large scale as her tragedy, and
the consequence is that she is greater in scenes of
pure tragedy or c )medy than in those which
require transition from the one to the other. In
serious playa she needs large and excitieg positions
to bring out her excellence. When the motives of
action become minute or superficial her interest in
her part visibly declines. In short, she is, as yet,
too much influenced by her own personal sympa-
thit s or antipathies in relation to the characters or
phases of char: c' er which she represents.
Iltr own nature is impassioned and poetic, and
hence she is seldom at her best in embodying the
prose comedy of real life. In poetic comedy, on
the other hand, all her spontaneousness recurs. In
the high& st type of poetical comedy Shakespeare's
Rosalind—she has not, to nay thinking, teen sur-
passed. Here, as in her tragedy, poAic feeling,
and the power of realising not only her character,
but the minutest circumstances ceenected with it,
are stiikiugly apparent. Her Rosalind, from the
beginning, is a lady, the daughter of a prince—SO
perfect a I.tdy that, arrogating nothing on account
of her state, she is
"Dower'd with the bate of hate, the scorn of scorn,
The love of love."
Never failing in the delicate tact and feeling
which flow both from birth and culture, she shows
the gaiety, the archness, and the self• enjoyment of
a nature so rich in its vitality, that in the conven-
tions of a court it must needs have found itself
prisoued. Hence her escape to the forest is a libe-
ration of soul as well as body. In the glee of her
look, in the elasticity of her step, in the joyful
abandon of every movement, she conveys a sense of
enfranchisement, which makes the spectator rejoice
that the once-caged bird is now free in the wild
wood. Yet, hand in hand with this impulsiveness,
goes an equal refinement. On many occasions,
with exquisite instinct, the nature of the woman so
glances through the boy's disguise, that one thinks
et is Muhoßt. deerve probable. and no treachery
to Rosalind, that Or:ando should have rehearsed
his love with such a boy.
The tenderness and the sportiveness of Rosalind
were not only harmonised in this representation ;
they were identified. So full of love was the mirth,
that its very archness had the effect of pathos. I
may be using a hadkneyed image in saying that
Miss Neilson's rendering of this part seemed like a
personification of April ; but I know not how to
convey better the impression which she gave me.
There was in her Rosalind the life and purity of
early spring, the trick of sunshine playing at hide
and seek iu the clouds, and surprising you through
the freshness of showers.
During the few years which have elapsed since
Miss Neilson's debut she has appeared not only in
the stock characters of a leading actress, but in
several original parts, her last being that of Lilian
Macronald, in the play of "Life for Life," pro-
duced last winter at the Lyceum, and revived at the
Adelphi ; its run at the latter house being abruptly
cut short by her severe illness. On this imperso-
nation the present writer can hardly dwell as he
would like. He will briefly say that when the
young tragedienne invited him to turn once more
from the far more popular field of modern comedy
to that of the ideal drama, he felt that he would
have been false to his art had he refused. At what-
ever disadvantage in other respects the battle of
Poetic Legitimacy had to be fought, here, at least,
was an actress who could make failure itself hon-
ourable. Miss Neilson did far more. In conjunc-
tion with that admirable actor, Mr. Hermann
Vezin, she made a triumphant stand for a school of
drama in which it was supposed that the public
(at all events in the case of a living writer) had
ceased to be interested. The author of the play
may venture to use the words of her critics, one of
whom observed that " her portrayal of the charac-
ter of Lilian gave her a c'ear and unquestioned
right to take a foremost position on the English
stage." Her acting, continues the reviewer,
" where courage and determination are called for,
rose to absolute perfection ; or, at least, as
near perfection as it is possible to arrive."
In the opinion of another influential journal,
" her acting reachel positive inspiration, hold-
ing the au hence breathless and spell-bound ;"
while an authority no lessguarded and judicial than
the Athenzum deposes that " her impersonation
had true tragic firo, her attitudes were full of
grandeur, her utterance was musical and impres-
sive." These eulogies, however warm, are such as
the author of " Life for Life" feels it a privilege to
endorse ; and did the play in question proceed from
any other pen, he would hardly confine the expres-
sion of his pleasure to this brief bat emphatic state-
ment. That Miss Neilson is not free from faults
has already been asserte,l ; but she can afford to
admit them. These faults are daily yielding to her
natural taste, and to her enlarged experience, and
they do not seriously affect the fact that we have
in her an actress endowed with that noble imagina-
tion which can alone enter into the conception of
poets, and with those executive gifts by which such
conceptions are made living to the senses. Such
concentrated power, such genuine pathos (and
never was there a finer illustration of the si vis me
flere, than Miss Neilson affords), such spontaneous
archness and vivacity, refined by fancy, have sel-
dom, indeed, been united in the same actress ; and
the combination is, indeed, valuable at a time like
ours, when, according to many, dramatic art is on
the decline. If any one has the gift to receive it
in the theatre, that gift belongs to the subject of
these remarks. Such, at least, is the opinion, of
one who has had some experience of the stage, and
who respects too much the art which he has pur-
sued through life to give vent to a rash and un-
considered impression. Such is the verdict, more-
over, in which many of our highest critics have
concurred, as the notices sent herewith will abun-
dantly testify. I trust that ere very long you will
see Miss Neilson in America, where I have
much confidence that the estimate formed of her
in her own country will be confirmed by the judg-
ment of the great trans-Atlantic republic.
P.S.—Since the above remarks were penned, Miss
Neilson has appeared at the Gaiety Theatre, Lon-
don, as the heroine of a piece adapted by Messrs.
John Oxenford and Horace Wigan, from M. Belot's
"Le Drame de la Rue de la Pala." The drama,
which is a contemporary story of love and crime in
Paris, however good and interesting in itself, hardly
furnishes scope for the exhibition of Miss Neilson's
best power. We have already said that the realistic
exhibition of modern life is not her forte, as, indeed,
it cannot be the forte of any actress poetical par
excellence. The drama in question is of a purely
realistic kind, and hence the judgments on Miss
Neilson's acting in it have been more conflicting
than those delivered upon her Shakesptrian
impersonations. Journals, however, which,
like the Athenatumn, . except to her per-
formance, on the ground of its being too tragic
for modern life, warmly point out the "flashes of
inspiration" with which it abounds, and the subtlety
of conception which it evinces. It is undoubtedly
true that the chief objection hitherto tenable re-
garding this lady's acting is that it is too full of
imagination and fire to accommodate itself easily
to the prosaic restraints of modern life. Her genius
has delighted to use its wings rather than its feet ;
but, if I might add my opinion of this, her latest
performance, I should say that she has made a strik-
ing advance in the power of interpreting the drama
of actual life, and that she will soon find it no less
easy to usdle than to soar. W. M A lISTON.

111:1 111 c E TS.-7 his Day.

LIVERPOOL COTTON.
Dec. 19.—Sales probably 10,000 bales. The market
steady.

DREAKFAST.—EPPS'S COCOA.—GRATEFUL AND CoM-
FORTINO,—The very agreeable character of this preparation has
rendered it a general favourite. The 'Civil tiervice Gazette' ra
marks:—" The singular success which Mr Epps attained by his
heft coopathic preparation of cocoa has never been surpassed by
any experimentalist. By a thorough knowledge of the natural
laws which govern the operations of digestion and nutrition
and by a careful applicat;on of the fine properties of well-selected
cocca, Mr Epps has provaled our breakfast tables with a deli-
cately flavoured beverage which may save us many heavy doc-
tors' bills." Made simply with boiling water or milk. Sold
only in tin-lined packets, labelled "JiILES EPPS and Co., Homeo-
pathic Chemists, London."

THE LAST HOURS OF MARY QUEEN OF

SCO7 S.

Mr. Froude has just published two more volumes
of his " History of England." We extract his ac-

count of the last hours of Mary Queen of Scots:--
She was allowed to take six of her own people
with her, and select them herself. She chose her
physician Burgoyne, Andrew Melville, the apothe-
cary Gorion, and her surgeon, with two ladies,
Elizabeth Kennedy and Curie's young wife, Barbara
Mowtray, whose child she had baptised. "Allows
done," she then said—" Let us go ;" and pasEi:ig

out, attended by the earlz, and leaning on the arm
of au officer of the guard, she descended the great
staircase to the hall. The news had spread far
through the country. Thousands of people were
collected outside the walls. About 300 knights and

gcntletnen of the county hall been all/lit:ea to wit-

nem the execution. The tables and forms had been
removed, and a great wood fire was blazing in the
_ . .

ci,i►n..ey. At the upper 611 of the hall, above
the fire-place, but near it, btoo.l the scaffold,
twelve feet square, and two feet and a half high.

It was covered with black cloth ; a low rai
ran round it coverel with black cloth als9

and the sheriff's guard of halberdiers were ranged
on the floor below on the four sides to keep off the

crowd. On the scaffold was the block, black like

the rest ; a square black cushion was placed behind
it, and behind the cushion a black chair ; on the
right were two other chairs for the earls. The axe
leant against the rail, and two masked figures stood
like mutes on either side at the back.
The Queen of Scots, as she swept in, seemed as
if coming to take a part in some solemn pageant.

Not a muscle of her face could be seen to quiver ;
she ascended the scaffold with absolute composure,

looking round her smiling, and sate down. Sl]r,ws-
bury and Kent followed, and took their places ; the
sheriff stood at her left hand, and Beale then
mounted a platform and read the warrant alou I.
In all the assembly Mary Stuart arpeared the per-
son leas.: interested in the words which were con-
signing her to tkath. " Madan)," said Lord
Shrewsbury to her when the reading was ended,
" you hear what we are commanded to do." " YGu

will do your duty," she answered, and rose as
if to kneel and pray. The Dean of Peter-
borough, Dr. Fletcher, approached the rail.
" Madam," he beg mn, with a low obeisance,
the Queen's most excellent Majesty ;" " Madam,
the Queen's most excellent Majesty"—thrice he
commenced his sentence, wanting words to pursue
it. When he repeated the words a fourth time, she
cut him short. " Mr. Dean," she said, "lam a
Catholic, and must die a Catholic. It is useless to
attempt to move me, and your prayers will avail
me but little." " Change your opinion, Madam,"
he cried, his tongue being loosed at last ; repent
of your sins, settle your faith in Christ, by Him
to be saved." "Trouble not yourself further, Mr.
Dean," she answered ; " I am settled in my own
faith, for which I mean to shed my blood." " I
am sorry, Madam," said Shrewsbury, "to see you
so add;cted to Popery." "That image of Christ you
bold there," said Kent, " will not profit you if He
be not engraved in your heart." She did not reply,
and turning her back 'on Fletcher knelt for her
own devotions. He had been evidently instructed
to impair the Catholic complexion of the scene, and
the Queen of Scots was determined that he should
not succeed. When she knelt he commenced an
extempore prayer, in which the assembly joined.
As his voice soulded out in the hall she raised her
own, reciting with powerful deep chested tones the
penitential Psalms in Latin, introducing English
sentences at intervals, that the and:epee might
know what she was saying, and praying with
especial distinctness for her holy father the Pope.
From time to time, with conspicuous vehemence,
she struck the crucifix against her bosom, and then,
as the Dean gave up the struggle, leaving her Latin,
she prayed in English wholly, still clear and loud.
She prayed for 'the Church which she had been
ready to betray, for her son, whom she had disin-
herited for the Queen, whom she had endeavoured
to murder. She prayed God to avert His wrath
from England, that England which she had sent a
last message to Philip to b seech him to invade.
She forgave her enemies, whom she had invited
Philip not to forget, and Can, praying to the
saints to interc:de for her with Christ, and kissing
the crucifix and crossing her own breast, " Even as
thy arms, oh Jesus," she cried, " were spread upon
the cross, so receive me into thy na,.rey and forgive
my sins." With these wards she rose; the black
mutes stepped forward, and in the usual form
begged her forgiveness. " I forgive you,"she said,
" fur now I hope you shall end all my troubles."
They offered their help in arranging ber dress.
" Truly, my lords," she said with a smile to the
earls, " I never had such grooms waiting on me
before." Her ladies were allowed to come up upon
the scaffold to assist her ; for the work to be done
was considerable, and had been prepared with no
common thought. She laid her crucifix on her
chair. The chief executioner took it as a perquisite,
but was ordered instantly to lay it down. The
lawn veil was lifted carefully off, not to disturb the
hair, and was hung upon the rail. The black robe
was next removed. Below it was a petticoat of
crimson velvet. The black jacket followed, and
under the jacket was a body of crimson satin. One
of her ladies handed her a pair of crimson sleeves,
with which she hastily covered her arms ; and
thus she stood on the black scaffold with the black
figures all around her, blood-red from head to foot.
Her reasons for adopting so extraordinary a cos-
tume must be left to conjecture. It is only certain
that it must have been carefully studied, and that
the pictorial effect must have been appalling. The
women, whose firmness had hitherto borne the trial,
began now to give way, spasmodic sobs bursting
from them which they could not check. "Ne criez
vous," she said, " ray promis pour vous."
Struggling bravely, they crossed their breasts
again and again, she crossing them in turn, and
bidding them pray for her. Then she knelt on the
cushion. Barbara Mowbray bound her eyes with
a handkerchief. " Adieu," she said, smiling for
the last time, and waving her hand to them,
" Adieu, au revoir." They stepped back from
off the scaffold, and left her alone. •On her
knees she repeated the Psalm, " In te, Domine,
confido," " In thee, 0 Lord, have I put my trust."
Her shoulders being exposed, two scars became
visible, one on either side, and the earls being now a
little behind her, Kent pointed to them with his
white wand, and looked inquiringly at his com-
panion. Shrewsbury whispered that thoy were
the remains of two abscesses from which she had
suffered while living with him at Sheffield. When
the Psalm was finished she felt for the block, and,
laying down her head, muttered, "Iu menus,
Domine tuas, commendo animam mean." The bard
wood seemed to hurt her, for she placed her hands
under her neck. The executioners gently removed
them, lest they should deaden the blow, and then
one of them holding her slightly, the other raised
the axe and struck. The scene had been too trying
even for the practised headsman of the Tower. His
arm wandered. The blow fell on the knot of the
handkerchief and scarcely broke the skin. She
neither spoke nor moved. He struck again, this
time effectively. The head hung by a shred of
skin, which he divided without withdrawing the
axe ; and at once a metamorphosis was witnessed,
strange as was ever wrought by wand of fabled en-
chanter. The coif fell off and the false plaits. The
laboured illusion vanished. The lady who had knelt
before the block was in the maturity of grace and
loveliness. The executioner, when he raised the
head, as usual, to show it, in the cr Nv,l, expos .d the
withers d ft atures of a gr:zz!ed, wrinkled old woman.
"So perish all enemies of the Queen," said the
Dean of Peterborough. A loud " Amen" rose over
the hall. " Such cud," said time Earl of Kent., rising
and standing over the body, " to the gm-teen's and
the Gospel's en :miss."

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