cessively Governor of Ceylon, and Lord High Commissioner of the Ionian Islands, and he died, universally beloved and lamented, in the year 1843. The venerable heiress of the great house of Seaforth still survives, in a green and honoured old age. She nobly supports the dignity of the mighty Chiefs whose ample possessions she has inherited, and whose blood she has transmitted to her numerous descendants, mingled with the no less purple stream of one of the most illustrious branches of the Stewarts. cannot more appropriately conclude this family legend than by quoting the beautiful lines which Sir Walter Scott wrote as a "Lament for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail."

"In vain the bright course of thy talents to wrong,
Fate deaden'd thine ear and imprison'd thy tongue,
For brighter o'er all her obstructions arose
The glow of the genius they could not oppose;
And who, in the land of the Saxon or Gael,
Might match with Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail?

1

Thy sons rose around thee in light and in love,
All a father could hope, all a friend could approve;
What 'vails it the tale of thy sorrows to tell-
In the spring time of youth and of promise they fell!
Of the line of Mac Kenneth remains not a male,
To bear the proud name of the Chief of Kintail.

And thou, gentle Dame, who must bear, to thy grief
For thy clan and thy country the cares of a Chief,
Whom brief rolling moons in six changes have left,
Of thy husband and father and brethren bereft,
To thine ear of affection, how sad is the hail
That salutes thee the heir of the line of Kintail!"

I

An English Flower transplanted to Italian Soil.

THE seventh Earl Ferrers inherited some of that eccentricity of his family which, in the case of one of his line, had led to such sad results. Disliking the splendid seat of Staunton Harold, probably from the painful associations connected with it, he erected mansions on other portions of his large estates. Rakedale Hall was one of these, Ratcliff Hall was another. He had quarrelled with his only son, the amiable and accomplished Lord Tamworth, and the latter had died without any reconciliation having taken place.

The Earl had lost his last Countess, the daughter of Mr. Wrightson Mundy, and was living in moody retirement at Rakedale Hall, when an occurrence took place that afforded him an opportunity of making some atonement for the harshness he had shewn to his lamented son. One morning a woman of plebeian appearance came to the Hall, and at first requested, and then, being refused, demanded an audience of his lordship. She was at last ushered into the study, and she led by the hand a little girl of three years old, for whose support, as the

grandchild of the Earl, she supplicantly pleaded for some assistance.

While the mother was telling the tale of her troubles, the little one began to play with the stern Earl's shining knee-buckles. He looked down on the child, and, relaxing and relenting, said, "Ay, you have Tamworth's eyes." This likeness to Lord Tamworth, the little one's innocent prattle, and perhaps some compunctious feelings for his late coldness to his son, made a strong impression on the Earl's heart. He took the child on his knee; his stern heart was softened, and from that moment he formed the resolution of adopting her. During his life-time she never left him, but became the solace of his declining years. He bestowed great pains on her education, and by his will appointed Mr. Charles Godfrey Mundy, of Burton Hall, her sole guardian, with an allowance of three thousand pounds a-year for her maintenance during minority, and bequeathed her the beautiful manors of Rakedale, Ratcliffe, &c. &c., with a large amount of personal property.

Miss Shirley, as she was always called, was removed to Burton Hall. For years she had been entirely separated from her mother, who had married an humble innkeeper of Syston, receiving a small annuity, on condition that she should not have any intercourse with her daughter. The latter had, indeed, been led to believe that her mother was no more, and had, of course, been considerably mystified as to her origin, when a stranger arrived at Burton Hall. It was she who, fifteen years before, had demanded an interview with Earl Ferrers.

Inquiry was made as to the nature of the woman's business. It was to see her daughter, Miss Shirley, and she declared that nothing but force should remove her from the Hall door, till she had accomplished the purpose of

her visit.

A family council was held, and at length it was stipu lated that she should be admitted into the room in which Miss Mundy, Miss Shirley, and some other ladies were sitting, on the pretext of being shown the pictures and the furniture; and thus be allowed a look at her daughter, without in any way discovering herself.

She was brought in by one of the domestics. The young ladies pursued their drawing, none of them being at all conscious of any relationship between themselves and the rustic stranger. A picture or two had been described, but the woman's eye could not be diverted, she only saw her daughter, and in her overpowering emotion threw herself on her daughter's neck. The scene need not be described further.

There was a stipulation in the will of the late Earl that Miss Shirley should spend three months of every year on the continent. During a sojourn in Italy she was introduced to the young Duke de Sforza, to whom she was afterwards united. The rise of that Ducal house was almost as romantic as her own. Its founder, the famous Giacomozzo Sforza, was born at Cotignola, in Romagna, in 1369. He was originally a peasant; and being one day at work, was solicited to enlist for a soldier, when, throwing his spade into a tree, he declared he would do

so, if the spade did not fall down again. The spade sticking fast, he immediately embarked on that military career which afterwards rendered him so conspicuous. His son became Duke of Milan; and Catherine de Sforza, a heroine of this family, was united to one of the Medicis.

The little girl whom I first introduced to the reader in the character of an humble suppliant at the door of Rakedale Hall, is now Duchess de Sforza, wife of onc of the most distinguished men in Europe, and owner of Rakedale Hall itself, and the fine estates that surround it.

The Duke and Duchess reside on the Duke's ancestral home in Romagna. They rarely visit England.

Three or four years ago, a stranger and his wife were observed sketching for several days in succession the remarkable ancient manor-house of the Shirleys, called Rakedale Old Hall. This was nothing new to the villagers, as the fine old Jacobean house, with its beautiful chimneys and the picturesque chapel adjoining, is a frequent subject for the amateur's or the artist's pencil. The supposed artist and his wife came, however, so often from Leicester that they formed an acquaintance with all the farmers and cottagers in the romantic valley. They were only too happy to be allowed to take refreshment at the farm houses, for the village contains no inn. They entered freely into conversation with the people, heard the freespoken sentiments of the farmers about farming and their foreign landlady, and became such favourites that they met with a hearty welcome in every house. Even the children of the village learnt to love the strangers for their gentle manners, and still more, perhaps, for the