There is a story current of Lord Lovat that when he was born a number of swords that hung up in the hall of the house leaped, of themselves, out of the scabbard.  This circumstance often formed the topic of conversation, and, among his clan, was looked upon as an unfortunate omen.  By a curious coincidence, Lord Lovat was not only the last person beheaded on Tower Hill, but was the last person beheaded in this country—­April 9, 1747—­an event which Walpole has thus described in one of his letters, telling us that he died extremely well, without passion, affectation, buffoonery, or timidity.  He professed himself a Jansenist, made no speech, but sat down a little while in a chair on the scaffold and talked to the people about him.

And Aubrey, relating a similar anecdote of a picture, tells us how Sir Walter Long’s widow did make a solemn promise to him on his death-bed that she would not marry after his decease; but this she did not keep, for “not long after, one Sir——­Fox, a very beautiful young gentleman, did win her love, so that, notwithstanding her promise aforesaid, she married him.  They were at South Wrathall, where the picture of Sir Walter hung over the parlour door,” and, on entering this room on their return from church, the string of the picture broke, “and the picture, which was painted on wood, fell on the lady’s shoulder and cracked in the fall.  This made her ladyship reflect on her promise, and drew some tears from her eyes.”

CHAPTER XII.

ROMANCE OF DISGUISE.

    PISANIO to IMOGEN: 
      You must forget to be a woman; change
      Command into obedience:  fear and niceness—­
      The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
      Woman its pretty self, into a waggish courage: 
      Ready in gibes, quick answered, saucy, and
      As quarrelsome as the weasel; nay, you must
      Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek
      Exposing it—­but, Oh! the harder heart! 
      Alack! no remedy! to the greedy touch
      Of common-kissing Titan, and forget
      Your laboursome and dainty trims.
               “Cymbeline,” ACT III., SC. 4.

That a woman, under any circumstances, should dismiss her proper apparel, it has been remarked, “may well appear to us as something like a phenomenon.”  Yet instances are far from uncommon, the motive being originated in a variety of circumstances.  A young lady, it may be, falls in love, and, to gain her end, assumes male attire so that she may escape detection, as in the case of a girl, who, giving her affections to a sailor, and not being able to follow him in her natural and recognised character, put on jacket and trousers, and became, to all appearance, a brother of his mess.  In other cases, a pure masculinity of character “seems to lead women to take on the guise of men.  Apparently feeling themselves misplaced in, and misrepresented by, the female dress,