No; she was not hanged; nor crucified, which was the most vulgar of capital punishments in Christ's time; nor kicked to death, which you at present consider the proper form of capital punishment for your wives; nor abused to death, which the mob will consider the proper form of capital punishment for your daughters, [100] when Mr. John Stuart Mill's Essay on Liberty shall have become the Gospel of England, and his statue be duly adored. She was only decapitated, in the picturesque manner represented to you by Mr. Paul de la Roche in that charming work of modern French art which properly companions the series of Mr. Gerome's deaths of duellists and gladiators, and Mr. Gustave Doré's pictures of lovers, halved, or quartered, with their hearts jumping into their mistresses' laps. Of all which pictures, the medical officer of the Bengalee-Life-insurance Society would justly declare that "even in an anatomical point of view, they were--per-fection." She was only decapitated, by a man in a black mask, on a butcher's block; and her head rolled into sawdust,--if that's any satisfaction to you. But why on earth do you care more about her than anybody else, in these days of liberty and equality? I shall have something soon to tell you of Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, no less than Sir Thomas More's Utopia. The following letter, though only a girl's, contains so much respecting the Arcadia of Modern England which I cannot elsewhere find expressed in so true and direct a way, that I print it without asking her permission, promising however, hereby, not to do so naughty a thing again,--to her, at least; new correspondents must risk it. "I wish people would be good, and do as you wish, and help you. Reading 'Fors' last night made me determined to try very hard to be good. I cannot do all the things you said in the last letter you wanted us to do, but I will try.