sed towards the Lady Anne Boleyn:
nevertheless he retains lingering doubts on her behalf, all of which,
small and great, we have found reason to dismiss. We, for our parts,
are thoroughly convinced of her guilt. Our faith is, that no shadow of
any ground exists for suspending the verdict of the sentence; but at
the same time for mitigating that sentence there arose this strong
argument--namely, that amongst women not formally pronounced idiots,
there never can have been one more pitiably imbecile.

There is a mystery hanging over her connection with the king which
nobody has attempted to disperse. We will ourselves suggest a few
considerations that may bring a little coherency amongst the scattered
glimpses of her fugitive court life. The very first thought that
presents itself, is a sentiment, that would be pathetic in the case of
a person entitled to more respect, upon the brevity of her public
career. Apparently she lost the king's favour almost in the very
opening of her married life. But in what way? Not, we are persuaded,
through the king's caprice. There was hardly time for caprice to have
operated; and her declension in favour from that cause would have been
gradual. Time there was none for her beauty to decay--neither _had_ it
decayed. We are disposed to think that in a very early stage of her
intercourse with the king, she had irritated the king by one
indication of mental imbecility rarely understood even amongst medical
men--namely, the offensive habit of laughing profusely without the
least sense of anything ludicrous or comic. Oxford, or at least one of
those who shot at the Queen, was signally distinguished by this habit.
Without reason or pretext, he would break out into causeless laughter,
not connected with any impulse that he could explain. With this
infirmity Anne Boleyn was plagued in excess. On the 2nd of May, 1536,
the very first day on which she was made aware of the dreadful
accusations hanging over her good name and her life, on being
committed to the Tower, and taken by Sir William Kingston, the
governor, to the very same chambers in which she had lain at the
period of her coronation, she said, 'It' (meaning the suite of rooms)
'is too good for me; Jesu, have mercy on me;' next she kneeled down,
'weeping a great space.' Such are Sir William's words; immediately
after which he adds, 'and in the same sorrow fell into a great
laughing.' A day or two later than this, she said, 'Master Kingston,
s